


Lonely People

by mrtonguetwister



Series: Lonely People- Beatles [1]
Category: Beatles, George Harrison - Fandom, John Lennon - Fandom, Paul McCartney - Fandom, The Beatles, ringo starr - Fandom
Genre: 1960s, Asexual, Beatlemania, Bisexual, F/F, F/M, Gen, LGBT+, Lesbian, Pansexual, Women In Rock, for the girls the gays and the theys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 218
Words: 528,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrtonguetwister/pseuds/mrtonguetwister
Summary: It started when two best friends met under a blue sky, and it ended with a divorce underneath gray clouds.Sometimes, the loneliest individuals are those surrounded by people. Amelia McCartney is surrounded by millions of fans, friends who know her better than she knows herself, and family who love her no matter what, but she is lonely.Amelia McCartney, younger sister to the famous Paul McCartney and famous drummer in her own right, is the loneliest person to exist.~~~Look at all the lonely people. Where do they all come from?
Relationships: georgexpattie, johnxcynthia, johnxyoko, paulxjane, paulxlinda, ringoxmaureen, wlw - Relationship
Series: Lonely People- Beatles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172450
Comments: 46
Kudos: 17





	1. The Dawn

"Today we sit down with Amelia McCartney," the interviewer announced.

I took a deep breath. It had been many years since I sat down for an interview. Many years, in fact, since I had been in front of a camera at all. The last time I had done this, I was younger and I wasn't alone. Paul was with me then, maybe even Ringo or Linda. Now, it was just me.

I took a step out onto the stage. My bones ached all of the time, and my voice had long since become hoarse. I was an old woman now, and I looked much different than I did in my youth. I no longer had rosy, youthful skin, instead, I had sagging leather skin much too big for my body. My hair, once a dark brown, had become white as a sheet. 

They were interviewing me for who I was, not who I am. They want to know the story of my time with the greatest band in the world. Who I am now doesn't matter, at least, it won't for much longer. I am coming to the end, and I wanted the world to know everything I did before it was too late.

This interview was my idea, and it was my idea to make it all into a book. Most of my friends had all passed; John, George, Maureen, Cynthia, Linda, Minerva, Janice, all gone. Paul and Ringo were still going, but nobody knew for how long. Soon, we would all reunite in the next phase of existence. For now, however, it was up to me to make sure the rest of the world knew the story of The Beatles.

"Thank you for coming onto the show, Amelia," the reporter shook my hand.

He was a young man, perhaps in his early twenties. His blonde hair was slicked back and his suit was cleaner than clean. The smile he bore seemed to be held back with safety pins, but his eyes shone with curiosity. I could feel millions of equally curious eyes on me, all waiting to hear the details of a story everybody on Earth knew. 

"It's my pleasure," I smiled.

The two of us sat down. The white chair they had for me was extremely uncomfortable, but I dealt with it. I ignored the gaze of six different cameras and a live studio audience and focused on the matter at hand.

"Amelia McCartney, younger sister to the legendary Paul McCartney," the interviewer explained to the viewers, "I must say, it's an honor to sit here with you. You haven't been interviewed since the early eighties, is that correct?"

I nodded, "I was never one for interviews. The big stars were Paul, John, Ringo, and George."

"But, you were always there?"

"Always," I replied, "From the beginning to the end, I was there."

"I was told you were writing a book."

I smiled, "Yes, it has been in progress since the late seventies."

"What is it about?"

"It's about the greatest band ever to exist," I replied, "Most of all, it's about four lads from Liverpool who had hearts of gold and played with more passion than the world could contain."

"Where does the story begin?"

The interviewer smiled. I could feel the audience holding their breath in anticipation. I became excited with them. For the first time in decades, I felt young again. As if I were that little girl from Liverpool. No more aches, no more pains, I was left with a big dream in a town not quite large enough to contain it. 

"It started one such July evening in 1957," I smiled, "That night, two legends met face to face for the first time."

***

July 6, 1957

That warm July day was just another day to most Liverpudlian citizens. They didn't realize history was about to go down at a church fete right in the middle of their town. It was that day that two musical geniuses first met.

"Why'd you bring your bloody guitar?" I asked.

At the time, I was only fourteen. Paul was a year older than me, and a few inches taller. He made sure I never forgot it, either. Dark brown hair, a trait we both shared, was slicked back in the classic Teddy boy style. All lads his age had that hairstyle with the same leather jackets and tight jeans. That day, it was too hot to wear a jacket, so he stuck to his white button up. His guitar was slung across his back like a sash.

We were at St. Peter's Church Fete during a fair. Paul led me through several booths and games all set up to entertain the people. There were several places I wished to stop, but Paul had a destination in mind. Every time I would slow down in front of a booth, he would grab my elbow and drag me along the damp grass. 

"I already told you, Lia," Paul rolled his eyes, "Me mate's going to introduce me to a band. Maybe I can join."

I frowned, "Aren't you a little young?"

"I'm older than you, aren't I?"

"Bugger off."

Paul laughed. I rolled my eyes but continued to follow him, doing my best to ignore the sun rays beating down on my skin. Heat and I had never gotten along. It seemed that every time I stepped outside, I did a dangerous waltz with the sun where I would ultimately get burned. 

In Liverpool, everyone was pale. No matter their age, height, or gender, they all had the same pale skin. It was a common symptom we all shared due to living in a city covered in clouds. Our skin was susceptible to burns and other pains inflicted by the sun, which was why sunscreen sales rocketed in Liverpool. The sun didn't come out often, but, when it did, it made sure to make its presence known.

We walked up to a parked pickup truck in the middle of a field. A group of boys were already on stage, singing a song I had never heard before. They all wore similar picnic blanket shirts and light blue jeans. The boy in front smiled brightly, his hazel hair slicked back just like Paul's. He shook his head as they switched to a song everybody knew almost too well. 

"Oh, dirty Maggie Mae," he sang, "They have taken her away!"

His voice and his playing were quite good. I had never seen a live show before, and the second the first note hit my ears, I was entranced. All of the boys were so in tune with the music, it seemed almost magical. I closed my eyes and hummed along to the ever-familiar song, letting the music notes pick me up and take me soaring to a world filled with rhythmic melodies and beautiful faces. 

"The Quarrymen," Paul muttered, "Bloody amazing, they are."

I nodded, "They're alright, I'd say."

"I'd say more than that."

"You just did."

He glared at me, a small smile creeping across his lips. We pushed through the crowd to get closer to the stage. As the boys finished their first song, they moved on to the next. Each song was as good as the last. They were a bit out of tune, the drummer seemed to have no rhythm at all, but they were good nonetheless.

Had it not been for that show, history would be very different from what you remember. That show sparked the love between two men and music. That day, a friendship was made in Heaven and thrown down to Earth to bless every human soul.

It wasn't just history for John and Paul, I made my own history that day. That show truly sprung my love for music. Before then, I only ever casually played. Mostly I played with Paul. That day, I realized my true infatuation with music. 

Paul was tapping his foot and nodding his head to the music. I could tell he was containing his excitement for the sake of a cool image. Inside, he was bursting with enthusiasm.

"Ivan, mate, 'ello," Paul grinned.

A lad about his age walked up. He grinned at Paul, "'Ello Paul. Glad you could make it."

"Me too, that show was pretty good," Paul commented.

I cleared my throat. Paul glanced over his shoulder and connected eyes with me. He smiled sheepishly, "Right, sorry. Ivan, this is my sister Amelia. Amelia, Ivan."

Ivan stuck out his hand, "Pleasure."

"The pleasure's all mine."

Ivan jerked his thumb to the empty stage, "How'd you like the show?"

"Loved it," I replied, "They're pretty good."

Paul nodded, "More than good. Amazing, really."

"Ready to meet them?" Ivan asked.

Paul tried to hide his face brightening, "Sure."

He did his best to act casual, but I knew him well enough to tell he was excited. He practically bounced with every step he took, dancing slightly as he swayed his hips. I chuckled to myself and shook my head.

Ivan led us to one of the church buildings. It was a small auditorium tucked away behind the main chapel. The Quarrymen were there, drinking and celebrating the show they had just accomplished. None of the boys looked to be over eighteen, and yet, they were about to get completely drunk. 

"John," Ivan called, "This is Paul. Paul plays too."

All eyes were instantly on Paul. I stood behind him, gazing at the lead singer. John was a tall lad, taller than Paul even, with broader shoulders. He had a glint in his eyes that resembled curiosity as well as something mischievous. He grinned a crooked grin where one side of his lip was raised higher than the other. The first thing I noticed about him was how he looked like Elvis, in a way. He had the same arrogant attitude and smirk that spoke volumes for who he was inside. I thought I knew everything about him the moment I first laid eyes on him, I read him like a book, but that was far from true. To truly know John Lennon, you have to dig deeper than ever to find exactly where he hid himself away. 

"Plays with himself? I do too, it's good for the wrist muscles," John twirled his hands as his mates all laughed.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. John only noticed me then, looking me up and down before winking. I did my best to hide my second look of disgust.

"I'm John, John Lennon," John extended his hand.

Paul shook it, "Paul McCartney. This here's my sister, Amelia."

"'Ello," I waved.

John smiled at me before turning his attention back to Paul, "You saw the show?"

"Yeah."

"What'd you think?"

"You were alright."

John glanced back at his mates before they all laughed. At first, I thought they were laughing at Paul. I was ready to defend him until John smiled at him once again, "Alright. Ivan says you're alright, and he's alright, so I guess you're alright."

Paul stared at him for a moment. He pulled his guitar around and prepared himself to play. He pulled a pick out of his pocket as John inspected his positioning.

"You got the guitar upside down, mate," John commented.

Paul smiled, "I'm a leftie."

John exchanged glances with one of his mates. Paul played the opening verse of one of Elvis' songs. Both of us had an infatuation with Elvis. We both swore up and down that, one-day, we would go to one of his concerts and we would meet him. He was our idol, and everyone wanted to meet his or her idol.

"You're alright," John stated, "How old are you?"

Paul gulped, "Fifteen."

"When?"

"Last month."

John grinned, "Little young, aren't you?"

I could tell Paul was biting back a sarcastic comment. The boy in front of him couldn't be more than a year older, if that. Age shouldn't matter when it came to music.

"He's a bloody good guitarist," I said, "Shouldn't that be enough?"

Paul glared at me, "Lia."

"Oh, this one's got a lip," John grinned at me, "I like you already."

I tried not to let him know the pride I felt in that comment. Paul smiled slightly, turning back to John. He had hope written across his face.

"You said you needed another guitarist," Ivan commented.

John grinned, "So I did. Maybe you could come by, play with us sometime, see how it goes."

"Maybe I could," Paul cracked a smile.

"Look me up sometime. In the books, I mean."

"I will."

The two boys stared at each other for a moment longer. Something passed between them, something I would never be able to identify until I myself felt it. It was the feeling of a future in the relationship they would develop. In a way, John and Paul loved each other from the moment they met, but it wasn't a love like you or I know. It was something different, something never before seen, something that would create some of the most amazing creations in human history. 

"Go on," John finally said, "We've got stuff to do."

Paul nodded. He turned to leave, with me on his heel and Ivan staying back with John. The group resumed their celebrating just as we left.

"Congratulations, Paulie," I grinned.

He smiled, "I'm not in yet."

"You might as well be."

Little did we know, John did just ask him to join the band, in his own way. John Lennon had an odd way of asking things, eventually, we would learn that. As Paul began to realize what just happened, his face became brighter and brighter, like a dim Christmas light slowly gaining the spirit to brighten. 

"Let's go play a game now," I grabbed Paul's wrist and began to drag him towards the nearest game.

Paul groaned, "Not now, Lia."

"Paulie, you promised. Just one game."

"Alright, one game."

I smiled at my win. He let me drag him to the nearest ring toss. I gave the tender my shillings and we began to play. One game developed into five, each time I beat him and he demanded a rematch.

That day, history was made twice. Two of the greatest musicians ever made history just by meeting. Two lads started a chain of events that would create songs to be remembered for all time.

History was made when two siblings watched a live performance that would forever change their lives.


	2. Moments I Remember All My Life

Two days later, Paul got a call from John. The two of them agreed to meet at John's place with the rest of the group and go over a few numbers. Right then, I knew, Paul was in the group. John had all but told him he was in. I knew it would be official, and soon. Paul was too overwhelmed with his excitement to think of anything else.

"I get to write with someone else!" Paul exclaimed, "I've always wanted to write a collaboration."

I pouted, "Does writing with me not count?"

"You're a poet, Lia, not a musician. There's a difference."

"Technically not. Songs are just poetry put to music," our friend, George Harrison, explained.

We had known George for going on a year then. I had met him on the bus one morning and introduced Paul to him the next day. George was my age, but we were all in the same year.

You can't put a label on a fellow like George Harrison. He was many things all shoved into one person. He was emotional yet solemn, cheeky yet serious, loving yet angry. He was many things all at once. Most of all, he was friendly. He had his moments where he was angry at everything, but even then it was impossible not to like him. Even strangers liked George. He was always there to help his mates and always ready to smile when you felt like frowning. 

I used to think of Paul and me as The Dynamic Duo. We were The Batman and Robin of Liverpool, The Bonnie and Clyde of our neighborhood, and we had been since we were kids. When we met George, we became the Terrific Threesome. The Three Musketeers in a town in desperate need of a pick-me-up. 

George, like most lads in that time period, had the teddy boy style. His dark brown, nearly black, hair was slicked back and up, almost as if the wind had done his hair for him. It was huge, almost bigger than his head, and reminded me of Elvis' hairstyle. He always had intense dark eyes, even when he was fourteen. George and Paul went around with the same leather jackets and slicked up hair. The two boys looked so similar to each other, people thought they were the siblings rather than Paul and me. 

"Thank you," I told him, "And, I can play instruments."

Paul huffed, "Fine, I finally get to write a song with someone that isn't my sister."

"That's better."

Paul grinned. George and I exchanged looks and sighed. Paul often got over excited, he and Michael were similar in that way. Even at that moment, I was legitimately worried he would do something daft.

"Just don't embarrass yourself," George said.

Paul glanced at him, "How would I do that?"

"I don't think there's time for me to list it," I replied, "Don't freak out like you're doing now. He's a person, not a celebrity."

"And don't trip," George added.

"I don't trip."

"You do."

Paul frowned. He glanced at his watch and his face instantly became brighter, "It's time!"

He leaped up and hurried into the house. We had been sitting on the front steps of our house, watching the world go by. George was supposed to be over for a few hours to hang out with us, but Paul had other plans.

When he came out, he had his guitar and a notebook of songs. Papers stuck out in every which direction, and some of them even threatened to fall out. He grinned at us and said, "See you later, fellas."

"Don't be late for dinner!" our Dad called.

I jumped a little. I didn't realize he was directly behind George and I. Michael was just behind him, a book in his hands. More often than not, you could find my brother inside reading a book rather than playing outside with his friends. It wasn't a surprise to see him hanging back behind Dad. 

"I won't!" Paul replied.

He hurried down the street towards the bus stop. George and I watched until he vanished. When he was gone, George turned to look at me, "Want to go get a cone?"

"I'm always up for ice cream, let me just ask Dad first."

"I'll wait out here."

I jumped up and hurried into the house. Dad was sitting at the dining room table reading the daily paper. Michael was sitting across from him, his nose in his book.

"Can I go get ice cream with George?" I asked hopefully.

Dad glanced up from his paper, "Are all my children leaving the house today?"

"I'm not!" Michael replied.

"That's not unusual," I commented.

Michael stuck his tongue out at me. Dad put his paper down and said, "Alright, but don't be late for dinner."

"I won't, thanks, Dad!"

He nodded. I hurried back to George, who was waiting at the stairs. When he saw me he asked, "Did he say yes?"

"Of course," I replied, "He usually does."

George shrugged, "Not when it matters."

That was true. He wouldn't let Paul and I go to The Quarrymen concert, forcing us to sneak out in the middle of the day. He wouldn't even let me go places alone. That only started after Mum died.

Dad wasn't around much before Mum died. We saw him once in a blue moon, and even that was subject to change. After Mum's cancer took a turn for the worse, he was forced to come home and take care of the three children he barely knew anything about. After losing her, he became more strict, having a tight grip on all three of us. I suppose, when you lose someone who means the world to you, you work harder to protect who you have left. 

George and I fell into step with each other. Every so often, another pedestrian would walk around us or a biker would go by. Several cars drove past. Nobody paid any attention to anybody else. They were wrapped up in their own world, some with their noses buried in newspapers. They all went about doing the same thing every day.

Liverpool was a boring city. Everything was the same everywhere you went. People woke up, went to work or school, ate, and slept. That was it. Nothing exciting ever happened in Liverpool. Despite it being so large, it felt claustrophobic. As if the confines of society were pressing in on me, and I knew I would snap any day. 

"I am so sick of this town!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up.

George quickly grabbed my wrists and pulled my arms back down. People had turned to stare at us, and not in a good way.

"It's not so bad," he replied.

I crossed my arms, "Name one good thing about it."

"Well, there's-" he hesitated, "There's-erm-"

"Exactly, nothing."

He snapped his fingers, "There's us. I met you and Paul in Liverpool."

"Yes, but everything else is boring," I replied, "True, we have each other, but we can't do anything! We go to the same ice cream places, the same school, the same parks, etc, etc. I'm feeling claustrophobic."

"Come on, Mel, it's not-"

"You can't tell me you don't want to get out."

He rubbed the back of his neck, "I will admit, it's a bit stuffy."

"See!" I exclaimed, "Same thing, all the time. I just want something interesting to happen."

"Me too. It does get boring around here," George admitted.

I sighed, "We need to get out, get away. Explore the world and go anywhere that isn't boring old Liverpool."

"We're only fourteen," George said, "We can't even drive, how are we supposed to leave?"

I scratched my head, "I don't know, we'll just have to wait, I guess. Paul can drive next year. We can get him to drive us out of here."

"Where will we go? What will we do?"

"Easy, we form a band."

"What?"

"A band," I told him, "You, me, and Paul. With your guitar, Paul's songs, and my piano, we could make a pretty groovy band."

"Really, Melly?"

"Yes, really."

George shook his head. Back then, I was known for having big dreams in a small life. We were nothing then, not even our fellow Liverpool citizens knew who we were. Sometimes I wondered if my own father forgot my name. Back then, the thought of making a band was inconceivable. We knew we would never amount to anything, and making a band wouldn't fix that.

We were wrong.

George and I went to the best ice cream shop in town. In was decorated in various checkerboard colors and had several different ice cream choices. The cones were homemade and tasted like God sent them to Earth.

"What can I getcha?" the man behind the counter asked.

"I'll take a chocolate," George said.

I smiled, "Vanilla."

"Coming right up."

"Vanilla?" George snorted, "How bland."

"And chocolate isn't?"

We got our ice creams a few minutes later. We took the cones, thanked the man, and went to sit outside. For July, it wasn't terribly hot. It was comfortable enough for us to sit outside and enjoy it. Our ice creams didn't even melt on sight.

George and I sat in silence for a while. I kept thinking about what I said. I did want to get out of Liverpool, and I did want to find my profession in music. Whether that be making it or managing it, I had yet to decide.

I also wanted to travel the world. I wanted to leave, but that might mean leaving George and Paul. The two of them were my dearest friends, I didn't want to leave them.

"George?" I called his attention.

He turned to look at me, "What?"

"Do you think we'll be friends until we're dead?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "We'll become ghost friends and haunt our descendants."

I laughed, "I do a pretty good boo."

"And I can rattle chains. We're all set."

We both laughed. A small smile crossed my face as I looked out over Liverpool. The future was out there, and it was coming whether we liked it or not. We would leave Liverpool, and we would follow whatever path we were supposed to. Until then, the only thing that mattered was the moment.

Little did I know, the future held so much more than I anticipated.


	3. An Offer You Can't Refuse

The sounds of guitars and teenage voices rang through the house. Paul had invited John over for the time that Dad and Michael were away at the cinema. During that time they wrote music like they always did ever since they first met each other. The two bonded over their mutual love for music, and their unspoken infatuation with poetry. 

"That doesn't even rhyme," John pointed out.

Paul frowned, "It doesn't always have to rhyme."

"It does, it makes it sound better."

"Prose doesn't rhyme," I pointed out.

Both boys glanced at me. They were sitting on the floor of the living room, cross-legged with their guitars in their laps. I sat on the couch watching them. For a little while, they had forgotten I was there. It was obvious by the puzzled looks on their faces.

"You can't make music in prose," John said.

I learned quickly that John Lennon was a stubborn fellow, but kind all the same, once you got past the first few abrasive layers. He had an amazing sense of humor that often made adults lecture him. From the first minute I met him, I've always admired John Lennon. 

I shrugged, "You could always try something new, maybe it'll be interesting."

"Doubtfully."

"We can try it," Paul said.

John huffed, but went along with it. They scribbled a few words onto the paper. I watched them do so. As Paul wrote, John took to strumming a few chords. They hummed the same tune absentmindedly as if they could hear the music playing in each other's minds. 

"This needs something more than guitars," Paul thought out loud.

John nodded, "But what? Drums?"

"Something else."

"Ah!" John exclaimed, "It needs a piano."

Paul glanced up at him. For a moment, they seemed to have a silent conversation. Their song required two guitars, and they both had to play one. That left nobody at the piano.

"Didn't you say you could play piano, Amelia?" John asked.

I nodded without bothering to look up from my book, "Have since I was four."

"She can do it," Paul smiled, "We have one in the front hall."

Paul began to gather the music as John stood with his guitar. They both hurried into the front hall, completely forgetting me in the living room. I watched them go, confusion masking my face.

"Come on, Lia," Paul poked his head around the wall, "We need you to play with us."

I stood and went to him, "Do you have the chords?"

"Here."

John shoved a piece of paper into my hands. It had sloppily written chords on it along with unreadable lyrics. I was able to understand it enough to play the chords at least.

I sat down at the piano and set the paper on the stand. John and Paul stood on either side of me, looking over my shoulder at the sheet. As I raised my hands, they began to play.

The sounds of our symphony rang through the house. Paul and John sang along, strumming their guitars and tapping their feet. My fingers danced across the black and white keys and my foot kept in tune with the beat.

Playing music made me feel like flying through a sky made of lovely memories. The notes carried me higher, and the lyrics sent me soaring. They looped around me like a comforting hug and told me that everything will be alright. 

"That was brilliant!" Paul exclaimed.

John smiled, "I think it's finished."

Both boys smiled at each other. I spun around to where I was straddling the bench and able to look up at them, "Are you going to play it with the band, John?"

"I think so," John replied.

Paul grinned, "It'll be brilliant, it will."

"We'll need someone on piano," John pointed out, "All of us will be on other instruments."

Paul glanced at me and grinned mischievously. I lifted an eyebrow. He was devising some plan, but I couldn't tell what it was. The last time he had given me that look, we ended up sneaking out of my bedroom window to see a live band at a Church festival. 

"Lia could do it," Paul suggested, "She plays pretty good, and she can play other instruments. Like drums."

I frowned, "Paul-"

"You can!" Paul exclaimed.

He was right, drums were one of my favorite instruments. I knew orchestral instruments like the violin, the piano, and the flute, but those were no good in a skiffle group. Only the piano could be used in any genre of music. 

"You suggesting she joins?" John asked. 

Paul nodded, "Come on, John, she's as good as any of us. Could be a big help, I'd say."

I wasn't sure how to react. Part of me wanted in the band, most of me wanted to join, but there was a tiny part of me that said it was a bad idea. I would be playing in clubs and bars where kids my age weren't allowed. I wasn't even sure if Dad would let me join. 

"Bit young, ain't she?" John asked. 

It wasn't so much a question as a statement he made sound like a question. He knew I was too young, but he didn't want to put Paul down so quickly. I began to shrink into myself in an effort to vanish completely. 

"She's not even a full year younger than me," Paul replied, "Come on, John, you know she's good. You said so yourself."

I lifted an eyebrow, "You did?"

John shrugged, "Heard you play before, made a comment, I didn't think it meant anything."

Even so, I felt my cheeks heat up. Nobody had ever really complimented my music, nobody outside of the family, that is. John was such a good musician, I took what he said to heart. 

"I think I could be a valuable addition," I stated, doing my best to sound formal.

John cracked a smile, "Maybe you could."

"Can she join then?" Paul asked. 

"Alright. I'll talk it over with the lads. Who knows, maybe a bird would draw in more crowds."

I was too excited to get angry over his statement. Paul slapped John's back in a friendly manner as I simply smiled. Little did any of us know, he had just sealed all of our fates. 

"We'll be bloody brilliant!" Paul exclaimed, "We'll take this group to the top in no time!"

John's smile brightened. He placed a hand each on Paul and my shoulders. Squeezing, he said, "With the three of us working together, we'll take The Quarrymen to the toppermost of the poppermost!"

Paul cheered. I simply smiled. I didn't think The Quarrymen would get any bigger than they already were. We were a simple band with very few songs and no fans at all. The Quarrymen were nothing, yet. Many bands like us had come and gone without making their mark on the world. What was to say we would be any different?

"I wonder what Dad will say," I thought out loud.

Paul flung his hands up, "Who gives a bloody fuck what he thinks?!"

"Christ, Paul, language!"

"Does this bother you?" he smirked, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-"

I interrupted him by hitting his shoulder. He stepped back as John laughed. Paul gave me the pouty face while rubbing his shoulder.

"You deserved that," I placed my fists on my hips.

Paul sneered, "Did not."

"Did too."

"Don't forget, I'm older than you."

"So?"

"Payback's a bitch."

"Don't break each other's faces, you'll need them for the show," John put his hands up, "We still have to tell the rest of the band."

I glanced at him, "Will they be alright with us joining?"

"I'm the leader, and I say it's alright, then they'll think it's alright."

Paul grinned brightly. Looking back, I can remember many times when Paul smiled. He was almost always smiling, but that was the moment where he smiled the brightest. Through his many years, it was that moment in July of 1957, where he really and truly beamed.

John was smiling as well. It wasn't the brightest smile I've ever seen him produce, but a smile was a smile no matter how small. That was the first genuine smile I saw John Lennon produce.

I'm sure I was smiling too. Joy filled my body, lacing my nerves with a sense of invulnerability. I felt like I could jump off the roof and be fine just because I was so happy.

The best part of it was not the fact that I would be able to play music in front of a crowd, no, it was the idea that something was finally happening. Something exciting was finally happening to us. Liverpool looped its citizens into a boring life, but Paul and I escaped. The day we joined The Quarrymen was the day we had finally risen above the path we thought we had.

We were going on an adventure.

"I'm going to go tell the fellas," John placed his guitar in its case, "I'll ring you tomorrow, tell you when our next rehearsal is."

"We'll be here," Paul said.

John smiled at us, "Until then."

Paul and I watched him go. As soon as the door was shut, Paul flung his hands into the air and cheered. He grabbed my wrists and practically pulled me from the bench. The bun in my hair came undone when he spun me around.

"This is going to be bloody amazing!" Paul exclaimed.

We were still spinning. He had a tight grip on my wrists and was using the momentum to spin us both. I laughed along with him, "We're in a band!"

"We're in a band!"

We did two more rotations before we finally fell to the ground. Paul didn't stop laughing, and my smile was unstoppable. We laid on the ground, our heads a foot away from each other, laughing loudly.

"This is going to be amazing," Paul breathed, "We'll get to play our music in front of real people!"

I grinned, "You'll finally get to play your songs!"

"In front of people! With a real band!"

Paul had practically already joined the band before that, but that day was when it was sealed. He was officially a Quarryman, and I was not too far behind. We would finally do what we had always dreamed of, even if we didn't realize it. 

He cheered once again. The euphoria of the moment would not wash away for several days after that. The mere thought that Paul and I were going to perform with a band was breathtaking. Both of us had dreams of this, Paul more so than me.

Paul often said that he didn't know what he would do if it weren't for music. All he wanted was to play all his life. Whether he achieved fame or not, he didn't care, he just wanted to play. Both of us wanted a career in music, and we wanted to do it together. Whether that be playing together, or him playing and me doing things backstage, it didn't matter. All we knew was that we wanted to do it together, and John had finally given us the chance. 

We were still lying on the floor of the entry hall when the door opened. Michael stepped in with Dad just behind him. Both of them looked down at us in confusion.

"What're you doing on the floor?" Michael asked.

Paul grinned, "Celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"We're in a band!"

"You're what?" Dad demanded, "What band? When did this happen?"

Paul rolled over and stood up, "John's band. He just invited us."

"John Lennon? That kid you met at the park?"

I glanced at Paul. He hadn't told me he lied to Dad about where he met John. I figured as much, but the park seemed a bit of a stretch. We hardly went to the park when it was so hot.

"He asked us to join," Paul beamed, "Amelia and me."

Dad lifted an eyebrow, "You're too young."

"Are not. Paul's turning sixteen next year and I'll be fifteen," I argued.

"You're just children."

"So is he," Paul replied, "Please, Dad, he's only a year older than me."

I nodded, "And, we're not going to leave Liverpool. It's only a few performances a year, and they aren't very long."

From the moment Dad met him, we all knew he didn't like John. He thought John was a bad influence on us. I fully expected him to forbid us from ever playing with him, and he knew very well that Paul and I would fight back. 

Dad stared us down. Paul gave him the puppy dog eyes, which he was very good at. I simply smiled, trying my best to copy Paul, but failing miserably.

"Only in Liverpool?" Dad asked.

Paul nodded, "Yes, and only in safe venues."

"Alright," Dad sighed, "As long as you two promise to be safe, I'll allow this."

"We promise!" Paul and I exclaimed at once.

Dad smiled, "Very well. I don't think I've seen you two this excited since you were kids."

Paul and I exchanged glances. Dad had actually just told us yes, it was a miracle. Simultaneously, we surged forward to hug him. Michael got shoved away and pouted because of it.

"Thank you, Dad," I muttered.

He patted our backs, "Just be safe."

"We will."

We released him. He clapped his hands together and said, "Well, if you two are going to be big-time stars, I think we should have a celebratory dinner. Let's go out tonight."

Paul and I cheered. Even Michael smiled. That was one of the happiest nights I can remember. The entire family was happy, and Paul and I were beside ourselves.

We were in a band.


	4. Mackenzie

Paul and I had to walk to school. We were a few miles away, but the school bus was under repair. For the first week of school, we walked. As much as I enjoyed walking outside, it wasn't fun when the sun was rising and the traffic was heavy. Cars honked, giving me a headache that wouldn't go away, even when we made it to school. 

School started up early that September. It had gotten cooler, which made both of us eternally grateful. Walking in the heat with our school uniforms wasn't fun, especially when both of us had to wear thick suit coats. 

The Liverpool Institute was a 'prestigious' school that only accepted the finest students dressed in the finest clothes. It was filled with people as stiff as their collars. Everyday, I wished we could have gone to the Quarrybank High school like John did, but then we wouldn't have met George. 

"At least you get to wear a skirt," Paul commented, "It gets hot in those classrooms."

As usual, he was complaining about the stiff suit pants he had to wear. We both had matching outfits, navy blue jackets with white shirts and red ties. He had pants to match the jacket while I had a pleated skirt that fell to my knees. As if that wasn't bad enough, I had to wear itchy stockings inside of the most uncomfortable shoes on the planet.

"I would like to see you say that after you wore a skirt for eight hours," I scoffed.

"It looks comfortable."

"It's horrid!" I exclaimed, "My legs chaff, there's a draft, and I always have to worry that the back is caught in my underwear."

Paul cringed, "Alright, maybe not."

"Exactly."

Thunder shook the world. Clouds as dark as night coated the once-blue sky. It would rain any second, luckily, Paul came prepared. He opened his umbrella just as it began to pour. Rain beat against the umbrella in a tune only nature could produce.

"I can't wait until I graduate," Paul muttered.

I nodded, "Then we can finally get out of here."

"We could tour the world," Paul waved his hand out in front of him, "We could see more beyond these streets."

He kicked a puddle, causing water to splash up on him. My socks became wet as I sighed.

"It'll be a while. We're just kids," I muttered.

Paul smiled, "But, we're kids in a band. Who else can say that?"

"John can," I replied, "Stuart can. Ken can."

"Besides them."

I didn't reply. The Quarrymen were the only band I knew. There were a few others in Liverpool, but I didn't know any of them. I had heard of a group on the other side of the city, something about a man named Storm and his hurricanes. Sounded more like a botched weather report than a group to me, but, then again, I was in a group named after a school I didn't go to. 

"Exactly," Paul muttered.

As we rounded a corner, a car came speeding by. Paul managed to block most of the water it splashed in with his umbrella. Even so, our shoes and the bottom of our pants got soaked.

"I hate Liverpool," I groaned.

Paul shrugged, "It's boring, but it's home."

"Boring being the key word," I replied, "It's boring, wet, and nothing ever happens!"

"Well-"

"Besides us joining a band."

Paul frowned, he couldn't come up with a good answer. We rounded another corner and the school came into view. Many students were already filling in. Some held their backpacks over their heads, others used newspaper or umbrellas. All tried to rush in before the rain got much harder.

"I hate Liverpool," I repeated, "But I hate school even more."

"I can't argue with that."

The school was just as bland as the world around it. Each hall was bleached white and each occupant wasn't much better. The classrooms were decorated with educational posters and a chalkboard where we could read about the lessons. Each desk was the same, each classroom, each hall, and each lesson. They were all the same.

Paul and I had to separate. While we were in the same year, we weren't in the same class. He and George had homeroom on one side of the school while I was all alone on the next floor.

"Paul!"

George was waving at him from their homeroom door. Paul waved back before running over there. I sighed, turning towards the stairs and heading to my own classroom.

When I was halfway up the stairs, a hard force connected with my shoulder. Both of us went tumbling. We rolled down the stairs. Each roll was more painful than the last. I could hear my shouts mix with theirs. The pain made stars dance across my vision.

"Bloody hell," I muttered when I hit the ground.

The world was spinning for a moment. I rubbed my head, doing my best to ignore the pain coming from several joints as well as my skull. My entire body throbbed, particularly my left ankle.

"I'm so sorry," the girl said, "I-I wasn't watching."

I glanced up at her. It was a girl about my age, give or take a couple years. Her blonde hair had halfway fallen out of her braid, causing bits to stick up around her head. A spot just above her eyebrow was bleeding, and the blood traced around her blue eyes and down her rounded face.

She had a thick accent, one that wasn't English. It seemed to be Scottish, but it could also be Irish. I could never quite tell the two apart. Whatever it was, it was beautiful. I could listen to her talk for hours. 

"It's fine, we lived," I groaned, "My head feels like it's going to explode."

"Mine too. My clumsiness always seems to get me into trouble," she muttered.

I laughed, "I know a few people like that."

My vision was slowly returning to normal. After a few seconds, I would be able to stand up. I dug my fists into my eyes in an effort to stop the stars from dancing across my vision. 

"We should go to the nurse," the girl said.

I nodded, "Maybe she'll get us out of this hellhole."

The girl laughed. We stood slowly, babying our hurt limbs. When I put weight on my left ankle, I cried out. Pain roared, telling me that I had surely hurt myself worse than thought.

"Oh dear!"

The girl rushed forward to help me stand. She wrapped my arm around her shoulders and jammed herself underneath me like a crutch. I was able to lean on her to take the weight off my ankle.

"Lovely," I sighed, "Just my luck, I break my ankle on the first day of school."

The girl frowned, "It's my fault. I wasn't looking."

"Neither was I."

The two of us began to limp to the nurse. All the other students were in their classrooms as were the teachers. It was surprising they hadn't come out looking for us. Then again, it wasn't unnatural for troublemaking students to skip class. I'm sure they just thought we were absent; that we either ditched or were sick. 

"I'm Amelia, by the way, Amelia McCartney."

The girl looked up at me, "I'm Molly Mackenzie."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Really?" she asked, "You seem overly friendly to someone who might have just broken your ankle."

I laughed, "My brother broke my arm when I was six, and I still love him. A broken ankle is nothing."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's fine, honestly, don't fret about it. Ankles heal," I winced, "This your first year?"

"That obvious?"

I grinned, "I've been going here since I was a kid, I know pretty much everyone, but I haven't seen you before."

"Yes, it's my first year," Molly replied, "My parents and I moved here over the summer."

"Where from?"

"Edinburgh, Scotland."

I was right, her accent was Scottish. It was thicker than any accent I had heard, but one doesn't experience much of anything in Liverpool.

"Pretty big change, isn't it?" I asked.

Molly nodded, "Quite different. It's a lot grayer here."

"I can second that."

We finally hobbled into the nurse's office. She glanced up from her papers, glaring at us over half-moon spectacles. Seeing me favoring an ankle, and Molly's cut, she sighed, "What'd you do this time?"

***

"Your timing is terrible," Paul said as he walked into my room.

I sighed. The nurse had sent me home for the day, making Dad come to get me. Paul just got home, and that was the first thing he said to me. He dropped his bag on the floor and glared at me, still standing in the doorway.

"Calm down," I told him, "It's just a sprained ankle. I can still play."

"You can't even stand!"

I frowned, "You've been home for five seconds, how do you know?"

"Show me."

I groaned. Pushing my notepad off my lap, I slid off the bed and stood up. It hurt, but I ignored it.

"I can stand," I told him, "Walking, however, is another story."

He eyed the crutches in the corner. I was supposed to use those for three months. Paul rubbed his temples, "You couldn't have sprained your ankle before we joined The Quarrymen?"

"I didn't do this on purpose."

Paul sighed, "You're right, I'm sorry. Just-are you sure you can play? I don't want you to hurt your ankle anymore."

I smiled. Sometimes, Paul could be a severe pain in my arse, but he was still my brother. There were times where the brotherly love truly shone through, and that was one of those times.

"I'll be fine," I replied, "John wants me on the piano, which I can sit and play."

"Alright," he smiled, "Don't hurt yourself, Lia."

"I won't."

"I have homework," he dug in his bag and handed me a few papers, "The teacher gave me this for you."

I sighed, "First day of school and we already have to deal with homework."

"At least it's not much."

"I s'pose."

He left my room after that. I sat back on my bed and grabbed my pencil to do the homework. Rain still pattered against my window, singing to me as I did my work.


	5. The First Performance

October 18, 1957. It was a bit chilly, but the air was dry. The moon was nearly full, and it cast a light upon the New Clubmore Hall in Liverpool, England. Inside, The Quarrymen were busy setting up for their first performance with two new members.

"You can't walk?" John nearly shouted as soon as he saw me.

Paul and I had walked into the backroom of the club just seconds before. Paul stood next to me, his guitar in one hand and the notepad of songs in the other. I leaned on my crutches with a placid look on my face. Both of us stared at John.

"I'm walking now," I replied.

"You can't use crutches on stage!"

"I don't have to," I retorted, "John, calm down. I can play the piano sitting."

John sighed, "How are you going to get on the stage?"

"I'll help her to the bench. She can still play, John," Paul said.

Several emotions flew through John's face all at once. He opened and closed his mouth three different times as if trying to figure out what to say. I could see the tiny battle going on inside of his head. As Paul and I stared at him, daring him to argue, he sighed deeply. 

"Alright," John frowned, "Don't hurt yourself and don't mess up the show."

I smiled, "I won't, I promise."

"We go on in five."

He went to his guitar and began to tune it. Ken Brown, whom I had met just a week ago, came up on my left side, "Some first show."

Ken matched the other Quarrymen with his slacks and button up shirt. He had a jacket over his shirt, but it was three sizes to big, he nearly drowned in it. I met his sour gaze, my nose wrinkling in distaste. 

"I'll be fine," I told him, "It's just sprained."

"We'll see."

He left with me glaring at him. Paul glanced at me before putting all of the instruments down. I hobbled to a nearby bench and sat down, propping my crutches against the wall. My ankle throbbed from being upright, so I propped it on the bench. It took all of my willpower to hide the searing pain in my foot. 

John handed me a bunch of yellow papers that were clipped together with an extra large paperclip. Each paper had different chords on it for a different song, numbered so I knew which order to play in. By the handwriting, I could tell John had done it. He didn't have the neatest handwriting, but it still wasn't the worst I'd ever seen. It was somewhat legible. 

"Paul, can you get her onto the stage first?" Ken asked my brother.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "We still have four minutes until show time."

"She's supposed to be up first to start the piano."

Paul nodded. He came over to me and helped me stand. I flung my arm around his shoulder to where my left ankle was towards him. Using him as a crutch, I hopped onto the stage. Just before we made it out, John grabbed my elbow and said, "Can you do an introduction?"

"On it."

Each table in the club was occupied. Men and women dressed in fancy clothing watched Paul help me to the bench. Their demeanor was sour. They saw a girl in a cast and automatically presumed it was going to be a terrible show. As soon as Paul was sure I was steady, he left the stage.

I sat there for a second waiting for my cue. From the sidelines, I saw the band gather together. John, standing in the front, gestured to me.

"Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming out tonight," I smiled, "I would like to introduce the one, the only, Quarrymen!"

John, Paul, Ken, Stuart, and the others all ran out onto the stage. A few people clapped half-heartedly. They went to their instruments as I opened the piano.

The crowd was less than thrilled. They clapped a few times to support us, but, otherwise, they simply watched. Even so, the show was exhilarating. Every note I hit sent me higher on a roller coaster of joy.

The pure energy of the band was enough to make up for the tired crowd. We played with a passion, each note was filled with our love for music. John sang and played guitar, Paul and Stuart were on guitar as well, Ken took the drums, and I had the piano.

By the end of the show, the crowd had become somewhat more energized. They clapped with feeling for us when the last note was played. One man even whistled.

"Thank you!" John exclaimed, "I'm John Lennon, and these are The Quarrymen! Thanks for coming!"

They grabbed their instruments and began to leave the stage. Paul quickly dropped his guitar in the back room before coming back for me. Using the same method we did coming up, we went back into the back room.

"That was amazing," I whispered.

Paul nodded, "I know, I can still feel my heart."

"I can feel it too."

When we made it to the back room, the rest of the band was celebrating. Paul sat me on the bench next to my crutches. John ran up to him and hugged him. Next, he came to me and gave me a hug.

"You two were brilliant!" he said, "Perfect additions to the band."

Paul smiled brightly, "That was the greatest moment of my life!"

"It'll only get better."

The band cheered. Ken poured some pop in mock champagne glasses and handed them out. John lifted his glass and said, "I propose a toast. To The Quarrymen!"

"To The Quarrymen!" we all echoed.

I took a few sips of the pop, enjoying the bubbly taste. As they began to pack the instruments, there was a knock on the door. Paul answered it. I tried to peer over his shoulder, but all I saw was yellow.

"Lia," Paul leaned back, "Someone's here to visit you."

I lifted an eyebrow. Grabbing my crutches, I hobbled to the door. Paul stepped back to reveal Molly Mackenzie. She stood at the door, looking smaller than usual, with a smile bigger than the moon. Her chin was still bruised from our fall the other day, but that didn't seem to phase her. 

"Molly, I didn't expect to see you here," I said.

I hobbled into the hall and shut the door behind me. Molly smiled brightly, "My parents brought me to the show. I didn't know you were in a band."

"This was my first show with them, actually."

"Really?" she seemed genuinely shocked, "You were amazing! It was like you had done it before."

I smiled, "That means a lot."

"Was that your brother that answered the door?" Molly asked.

"Yeah," I nodded, "That's Paul."

Molly smiled, "He's very handsome."

"Really? He looks like an arse to me."

"I heard that!" a voice came from inside the room.

I scowled, "That's what you get for eavesdropping!"

The only response I received was a few laughs. Molly chuckled a bit under her breath, "You were both magnificent."

"Thanks," I smiled, "Say, would you like to come over sometime? I got a record player for my birthday, and just got some new records last week."

"I would love to."

"Molly, come on, dear, time to go home!" a woman called.

"Coming, mother!"

Her mum had a thicker accent than Molly, it was almost impossible to understand her. Molly smiled at me, "It was great seeing you again."

"You too. Thanks for coming out."

She nodded before hurrying down the hall. I hobbled back into the room where the band was almost completely packed up. John and Paul both smirked at me, a mischievous look in their eyes. 

"Your new friend is pretty," Paul smirked.

I elbowed him, "Fuck off."

"Language, Melly," John commented.

Both Paul and John busted out laughing. I rolled my eyes. The band bid farewell to each other and we all started home.

That night was the first night of the rest of my life.


	6. Three Becomes Four and Possibly More

Two months after Christmas, my ankle was healed. I could have sworn it healed better than before. I felt invincible as I ran around the city, laughing with my closest friends. Paul and I had played several shows with The Quarrymen, and each show was better than the last. With each show we played, I found myself falling deeper in love with the art of music.

"What about cello?" I asked, "That's kind of like a violin."

Paul snorted, "Rock and roll don't use cello."

I frowned. After so many concerts with the band, I decided I wanted to learn more instruments than just the piano, flute, and violin. I knew how to play the drums, but it wasn't one of my better instruments. Drums were easy, both Paul and I knew. John, Paul, Stuart, and I all knew piano. I wanted to learn something that would benefit the band, something nobody else knew how to play. 

"You could always learn the guitar," George suggested.

Paul, George, and I were waiting for the school bus to take us home. Being early in February, it was heavily snowing, making walking home impossible. Just sitting there, I was freezing, even though I was bundled up in a snow coat and pants. Even Paul was shivering, and he was almost never cold.

"There's already two and a half guitar players," I sighed.

Paul shrugged, "John said we need a new one since the other guy quit."

A few of The Quarrymen had quit and moved on with their lives. There were only five of us left, and we were struggling. After being in a band with so many people for such a long time, we weren't used to the shortage. 

"If I'm playing the guitar, someone else will need to play the piano," I replied, "Maybe I'll learn a woodwind."

"You could do saxophone," Paul said.

I snapped my fingers, "Brilliant, I'll do that."

It began to snow harder at that point. The wind had picked up, making the snow blow directly into our faces. I used my pack to block my face. It didn't do much good, I felt as if the snow was coming directly through the pack. 

"When will that bus get here?" George muttered, "I'm freezing my arse off."

Paul nodded, "I could really go for some hot tea right about now."

I shivered. Even with my double layers of clothing, I was still freezing. Paul and George were freezing, and they were taller and with more muscles than me. The only advantage I had was long hair.

"I feel like I'm freezing to death," I muttered.

"It'll be here soon," Paul glanced at me, "I'm sure."

George peered around me to look at both Paul and me, "We could sit closer together. Body heat helps."

None of us argued. We all scooted to where we were pressing up against each other. I was in the middle and was nearly overtaken by the two boys sitting next to me. I could feel their shivers as well as my own. All three of us shook hard enough to cause an earthquake, I thought.

The bus arrived ten minutes later. Paul, George, and I didn't hesitate to climb on. The rest of the students followed us, each trampling the rest to get on the warm bus. When we were inside, we realized there wasn't much of a difference. The bus blocked the snow, but it didn't stop the chill. The chill seemed to root itself in our bones, making permanent residence until the warm months of summer could melt it away. 

Paul and George sat on a bench in the back. I took the one behind them and leaned forward to rest my head on the back of their bench. The cracking leather poked into my skin, but I didn't care. A boy I didn't know sat next to me.

Michael boarded as well. He sat in the front, waving at Paul and I. I waved back, but Paul didn't see him. Michael sat next to one of his friends, giggling the entire way down. 

"Are you playing tonight?" George asked as the bus started down the street.

Paul nodded, "At the Blackjack Club on South Street."

Surprisingly, the club had asked us to come and play for their poker night. Every other time we had to sign up or ask to play, this was the first time we were invited. It was a stepping stone for the group. 

A stepping stone to where, I didn't know. John would talk of shows performed in front of thousands of people, maybe even millions, and records in every household in the world. He claimed each show was a step in the right direction, to get us to the top, but I had my doubts. Everyday, skiffle bands such as ourselves vanished, long forgotten by history. What made us any different? All it was was a good laugh while it lasts, at least, that's what I thought. 

"Say, Georgie, you should come watch us," I suggested, playfully tapping his shoulder.

He frowned, "I don't think my parents would want me to."

"Just say you're coming over to our house for a bit," Paul suggested, "We'll tell your folks you're helping us study."

George thought for a moment. I hoped he would come. He was one of my closest friends, and I wanted him to see our band. He was a great guitar player as well, maybe we could introduce him to John and have him join.

"They might buy it," George finally said, "Alright, I'll come."

Paul and I smiled brightly. The bus stopped to let the first few students off. The boy sitting next to me grabbed his pack and left.

"You'll love it!" Paul exclaimed, "And you can meet John."

"He's a pretty cool fellow," I added.

George smiled, "Brilliant, can't wait."

He got off at the next stop. When George left, I climbed over the seat to sit next to Paul. I sat up straight and said, "You know, we do need another guitar player."

"I don't think John will let George join," Paul pointed out, "He's too young."

"He's two months older than me."

Paul rubbed his chin, "True. We could always ask him."

Should George join the band, I was sure we would get even better. He was an amazing guitar player, and had been since before I met him. I was sure the five of us would make the perfect band. Then, we'd be able to play in places ten times better than dingy clubs or bars where the people were so drunk, they couldn't hear the music. 

When our stop came, Paul and I met Michael at the front. The three of us got off the bus and rushed into the house. Snow swirled around us, making it hard to see. We made it to the front door and hurriedly went inside.

The warmth overtook me, making me sigh in relief. I stripped my coat and boots off, leaving me in my school uniform. Paul and Michael did the same.

Dad wasn't home yet, his job usually ran until an hour before dinner time. That meant the three McCartney siblings were home alone and, as usual, the oldest was in charge.

"Do you have homework?" Paul asked Michael.

Michael nodded.

"Go do it, then."

"Who said you're the boss?" Michael frowned.

Paul grinned, "Dad said the oldest is in charge when he's not home. That's me. Go do your homework."

Michael stuck his tongue out at Paul before hurrying to his room. We heard the door shut and the lock twist. Paul turned to look at me.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know," I sighed, "Homework."

Paul grinned. Without saying another word, I headed to my bedroom. It was small, just large enough to fit a twin sized bed and a small desk. The ceiling sloped because it was under the stairs, but that didn't bother me. I had a bed, a desk, and a window all to myself.

Michael and Paul had to share an upstairs bedroom. Seeing as how I am the only girl, Dad thought it wrong for me to share a room with either boy. That meant I got the smallest room in the house. Even so, it was mine.

***

It had been snowing all day long. Dad feared there may be a blizzard, and told us we would not go to the show if it was snowing hard. Luckily, just an hour before we were supposed to be there, the snow had slowed to barely anything.

"Don't leave the club if the snowfall is thick," Dad said.

Paul and I, with two different cases flung over our shoulders, nodded. We had his guitar and a satchel filled with various things like music papers and cords.

"We'll be safe," I said, "Promise."

"Promise," Paul repeated.

Dad smiled, "Good luck to the both of you."

"Thanks!"

Paul left first. I gave Dad one last smile before hurrying after him. Snowbanks piled on the sides of the streets, and the pavement was almost non-existent. We ended up having to walk along the cleared roads to the bus stop.

The bus took us a block from the club. We disembarked, jumping into a snow bank. Nearby, the clock tower chimed seven o'clock, meaning we had ten minutes to get there.

Paul and I made it just in time. John, Ken, and Stuart were already backstage, preparing the instruments. When he saw us, John frowned, "Almost thought you wouldn't make it."

"The bus was slow," Paul replied.

John shrugged, "Doesn't matter anyway. Might as well not even go on."

"Why?" I asked, "What happened?"

Stuart came up behind him, "We don't have anyone to drum for us."

Drums were one of the most important instruments in a song. They kept the beat for the rest of the band. Without them, there was a higher chance we would lose the beat, and the songs didn't sound right. There were only two songs we played that didn't require drums because they substituted with a piano.

"I can play them," Paul suggested.

John shook his head, "We need you on guitar."

"I can do it," I said, "I'll go to the piano when those songs come on."

John thought for a moment. He exchanged glances with Paul and Stuart, both gave him nods. Finally, he looked back at me, "Alright, Melly's on the drums."

I grinned. It was time to go on. I grabbed the drumsticks from a counter near the stage entrance and followed my fellow bandmates onto the stage.

John began to introduce the band as I scanned the crowd. My eyes were searching for one person in particular. Finally, I saw the slicked up hair and bushy eyebrows. George had come, and he was smiling up at us from the crowd. To nobody's surprise, he had brought along his guitar. Paul and I had a running joke that we would one day attend a wedding between George and his guitar. He loved that thing more than anything in the world. 

For a moment, our eyes connected. He waved at me, but I couldn't wave back. Instead, I simply winked. He got the memo and smiled.

Playing the drums was a completely different animal than I was used to. Pianos were calm and relaxing, as were violins, but a drum was brash. All of my energy was put into hitting those drums. By the time the show was finished, my hair was damp with sweat.

The band left the stage. That was when I finally waved at George. Paul saw me doing it and followed my gaze to our friend. His face brightened as he beckoned for George to come backstage.

"Christ, Melly, did you jump into a pool or something?" John asked as soon as we were in the back room.

I shook my head, "It took a lot of energy to hit those drums."

"You look like you were attacked with a bucket," Stuart said, "Maybe an army of em."

Paul snorted, causing me to elbow him. John placed his guitar down and said, "I have to say, that was a bloody good show."

"It was amazing is what it was!" Paul exclaimed.

John grinned, "Fucking Hell, Paul, calm down."

Paul quickly slapped his hands on my ears and gasped, "Language, John, child ears are present."

"Paul, get the fuck off me!" I exclaimed.

"Eleanor Amelia McCartney," Paul gasped, "Watch your mouth!"

I slapped his shoulder. By then, John and Stuart were cackling loudly. Paul joined them as I scowled. There was a knock on the door. Rather than listen to male laughter, I turned to answer it.

"Georgie!" I exclaimed as soon as I opened the door.

He smiled as I flung my arms around his shoulders. He hugged back for a second. When we separated, Paul came up and did the same.

"Thanks for coming, lad," Paul grinned.

George nodded, "That's was brilliant."

"Come meet the rest of the band," I said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the room.

Paul shut the door behind us. I dragged George to where John and Stuart were putting up their guitars. John glanced up when George and I stopped.

"Lads, this is George Harrison," I introduced, "George, this is John Lennon, Ken Brown, and Stuart Sutcliffe."

Stuart stood and stuck out his hand, "Nice to meet ya."

"Pleasure," George shook his hand.

John stood up next, "I heard you were coming."

"Glad I did," George said, "Was a great show."

Paul came up behind him and flung an arm around George's shoulders, "George can play a groovy guitar."

"Paul-" George began, but I interrupted.

"He plays with us sometimes, he's really good."

John lifted an eyebrow, "What're you two gettin' at here?"

"You said we needed a new guitar player," Paul replied, "Well, we found one."

George glanced between the two of us. We knew he wanted to be in a band, but he was hesitant. It would require a push to make him actually do it. As it happened, Paul and I knew exactly how to push him in the right direction.

"How about a demonstration?" John asked.

George looked nervous, but he swallowed his fear. He slowly pulled his guitar around and glanced at us. Both Paul and I smiled at him encouragingly as he began to play. His fingers danced across the strings without him even having to look at them. He hummed along, smiling the entire time he played. 

"You're alright," John said when George finished, "Say, how old are you?"

George gulped, "Er, fourteen."

"Bit young, isn't he?" Stuart asked.

"He's two months older than me," I pointed out, "And you let me join."

John looked skeptical. He gazed at George, rubbing his chin and moving his eyebrows in every direction. George simply stood there with a placid expression, watching the older man. Every so often, John would glance at me or Paul. Ultimately, he sighed. 

"You almost didn't get in, Melly," John stated, "Only because Macca practically begged."

Paul scoffed, "I did not."

"So?" I asked. 

"Having one kid is enough. Try again when you're older, Harrison," John shook his head. 

He grabbed his guitar and left the room with Stuart and Ken just behind him. Stuart gave George and apologetic look before vanishing, leaving Paul and I alone with our disgruntled friend. 

"Rubbish," I crossed my arms and scoffed. 

Paul clapped George on the shoulder, "Sorry, mate, we tried."

"I'm not done yet," George shoved his guitar around his back.

He began to stomp towards the door, following John, Stuart, and Ken. Paul and I exchanged glances before grabbing our instruments and rushing out. Paul flung his guitar over his shoulders as I shoved the drumsticks in my pocket. We caught up to George just as he left the club.

"What're you doing?" I asked. 

George grinned, "Getting in the band."

"John said no," Paul added, "He's a stubborn as a mule, he is, there's no changing his mind."

George didn't reply, he simply smirked. We all saw John, Stuart, and Ken board a double decker bus and climb to the top. Despite all of the snow and the freezing winter air, they went to the uncovered top where they could be alone. Just as the bus was about to leave, George hopped on with the two of us in tow. 

"I said no, kid," John snapped as soon as he saw George.

Paul fell to sit on the seat in front of John. John glared at him, and he simply shrugged. Neither of us wanted to stop George. This was our idea in the first place, and we wanted to see it through just as much as George. Paul and I simply sat back as the two of them went head to head. 

"Let me try again," George insisted.

John frowned, "Are you deaf? No!"

"Come on, John," Paul tried.

John shot him another glare. Paul shut up, leaning back and cringing as he did. George pulled his guitar to the front as John sighed, "Play all you like, it won't change my mind."

"Can you play Raunchy?" George asked. 

"What?"

"Raunchy," George repeated, "Can you play it?"

John wrinkled his nose, "Nobody can play that rubbish."

George replied by playing. He strummed the perfect intro to Raunchy, without even missing. I had known John long enough to tell when he was impressed. His eyes were wide and unblinking as he watched George, though his facial expressions didn't change. I could see how impressed he was through the sparkles in his eyes. 

John Lennon was a difficult man to impress. It was nearly impossible, but George did it. On the top of that bus, in the freezing cold temperatures, with his fingers nearly frozen solid, George did it. 

"See, John? I told you he was good," Paul grinned cheekily.

John smirked, "Alright, kid, maybe you're not so bad."

"He's two months older than me, you know," I commented.

"Ey," John pointed at me, "Don't push it."

George smiled with childlike hope, "Can I join?"

For a few painful moments, John was silent. He stared at George, looking him up and down and studying his guitar. His mind was made up, but he enjoyed watching George, Paul, and I sit in agony as we waited for his answer. Finally, he smirked, "Alright, Harrison, you're in."

George only smiled. I could tell he wanted to jump around and dance, but he kept himself in line for the sake of looking professional. He nodded at John, "Thanks, mate."

I shuffled to kneel at the end of my bench and throw my arms around George's shoulders. He laughed, nearly falling to the ground. I squeezed him tightly, "I knew you could do it, Georgie!"

"Mel, you're about to make us hit the ground," George laughed.

I grinned, "Don't care, too busy hugging you."

"Hey, I'd like to get in on that," Paul said, latching to George's other side.

George laughed. John shook his head, "Didn't know I was in a band full of birds."

"Oh, sod off, John."

"Welcome to the band, Georgie," I muttered.

That night, three became four, but soon, it would be more. The pieces were slowly clicking together to form a bigger picture, though none of us knew it then. At that moment, we were all wrapped up in the excitement of being in a band together.


	7. They Forgot

It was quiet for a Sunday. March had long since come and gone, leaving us with the beautiful April weather. It was late in April, specifically the twenty-first, which was my birthday. Nobody had said anything to me today, leading me to believe they had forgotten.

I trudged along all the way to the park. Molly was supposed to meet me there and we would go get lunch. She was the only one who had acknowledged what day it was. I met her underneath the sycamore tree near the playground.

"Happy birthday, Amelia!" she exclaimed, lunging forward to hug me.

I nearly toppled backward. Hugging her back, I smiled, "Thanks, Molly."

"I got you something."

She shoved a small box into my hands. It was wrapped in golden wrapping paper with a blue and silver bow. I smiled at her before unwrapping it. Inside, a small pocket watch, no bigger than my palm, hung on a silver chain. I popped it open to see the clock was ticking.

"I love it!" I exclaimed, slipping it over my neck, "Thank you."

Molly smiled, "I knew you would. Paul said you liked clocks and stuff."

I pulled her into another hug. She accepted it and even returned it. When we separated, she looped her arm in mine and said, "How about some lunch? I heard there was a good shop down the block."

"Let's be on the way then."

The two of us began down the street. I fingered the clock, smiling sadly. When Molly noticed she asked, "Something wrong, Amelia?"

"You're the only one that remembered my birthday," I sighed, "Dad took Michael to work and Paul thinks his bloody music is more important. Not a single one of them told me happy birthday or anything."

Molly comfortingly patted my shoulder, "That's terrible."

"Bleeding nice family, ain't they?"

"Maybe they'll remember," Molly smiled, "I'll knock 'em over if you want me too."

I laughed, "It's alright, I'll knock some sense into them later."

Molly smiled. We continued down the road. Pedestrians pushed past us, some even muttering at us to get out of the way. I sneered at them and they went on their way.

"Oi! Melly!"

Molly and I stopped, and I glanced behind us. John was running across the street towards us, waving at us all the way. His hair was blowing in every direction and his glasses nearly fell off. I wrinkled my nose, "What do you want, John?"

"I've been looking all over for ye," he said when he caught up with us, "Wanted to tell you happy birthday."

I smiled, "Thanks, John, I'm glad someone else remembered."

"What?"

"Her family forgot," Molly said, "You and I are the only ones who remembered."

John knitted his eyebrows, "Ole Macca forgot your birthday?"

"Yeah, the arse."

"We'll beat some sense into him," John clapped my shoulder, "Make sure he never forgets again."

Molly and I laughed. John stood up straight and stretched his back, "I also wanted to say we have a show tomorrow at the club."

"What time?"

"Eight," John replied, "Tell Paul to bring that music we've been working on."

I nodded, "Will do."

"Would you like to come to lunch with us?" Molly asked suddenly.

John glanced at her. Something passed between them, though I couldn't tell what. It was warm, and fuzzy, if that was possible. It filled me with a sense of longing but disgust as well. John cracked a smile and said, "I don't think I've met your friend, Melly."

"John, this is Molly Mackenzie," I said, "Molly, this is John Lennon, leader of The Quarrymen."

Molly extended her hand, "I saw your show a few months ago."

"Really? Did you like it?" John asked, shaking her hand.

"Loved it."

The two smiled at each other. Something lurched in my heart, though I wasn't sure what it was. Later, I would identify it as jealousy, though I still did not know why. I cleared my throat and repeated, "Yes, John, would you like to join us for lunch?"

"Love too," John replied, "Where we going?"

"The sandwich shop down the block," Molly replied.

John grinned, "Heard they had a bleeding good turkey sandwich."

"Guess we're about to find out."

The three of us walked side by side down the road. Molly was on one side of me and John on the other. We were like three stairs, with John being the tallest and Molly being the shortest. I awkwardly stood in the middle doing my best to ignore the flirtatious atmosphere bubbling between them. John was like this with all of the birds, he couldn't see a girl without flirting with her. His life goal was to bed every woman in Liverpool, I swear. I should have shrugged it off and told John to sod off, but I didn't. Instead, I let it get to me, and I don't know why. Something about John flirting with my best mate made me upset. Not angry, just upset. 

We made it to the sandwich shop to see it was closed. The sign on the door was turned, and all lights were off. The red letters seemed to mock me, taunting me and teasing me until I was fuming. I stood in front and huffed, "Well, so much for that idea."

The day seemed to take one bad turn after another. First, my family forgets my birthday, and then the sandwich shop I was looking forward to was closed. With my luck, I'll sprain my ankle again just to top this day off as the worst yet. All I needed was a staircase. 

"We could go somewhere else," Molly suggested.

John glanced at Molly before grinning, "Come on, I have an idea."

"What idea?" I asked.

Molly and I followed him further down the street. A sly smirk crossed his face as he replied, "A good idea."

"That doesn't tell me much," I said, "What do you define as a good idea?"

"An idea that's good, simple as that."

Molly cackled loudly. I glared at her, but a small smile pulled at my lips. The two of us followed John down the streets of Liverpool. He led us to a small French cafe near the library. It was decorated with black and white pictures of France, the most popular model being Audrey Hepburn. Classical music played from a record player in the front, and people sat around not doing anything in particular, just enjoying the day. I recognized a few kids from school, who Molly and I both waved at. John plopped down in one of the chairs at a table outside and smirked at us. 

"I have to admit, this was a good idea," I said after our food had arrived.

One bite of my sandwich and I was already in love with it. Molly nodded in agreement, her mouth full of soup. John, one hand wrapped around a sandwich, smirked, "Told you. You should listen to me more often."

"I'll try."

Molly snorted. John cracked a smile, "You're alright, Melly."

"As are you, Johnny Boy."

"Don't call me that."

"Does it bother you, Johnny Boy?" I asked.

He sneered, making me laugh. We finished our meal a few minutes later. As we left the restaurant, Molly's eyes fell on the clock, "Bloody hell, is that the time?! Mam's going to kill me!"

"What? Why?" I asked.

"I promised her I'd babysit Reggie and Gina tonight," she sighed, "I have to go, Amelia, happy birthday!"

She hugged me once more before hurrying down the street. I watched her go, sighing deeply. I wanted her to stay, as she and John were the only ones I could celebrate my fifteenth birthday with.

"Your friend's pretty cute," John commented.

I elbowed him, "Don't be thinking anything dirty, John."

"I am not!"

I glared at him. His smirk told me otherwise, causing me to roll my eyes and stomp away. The lurch in my heart returned. Again, I didn't know why I was jealous.

"Let me walk you home," John smiled.

"I can walk myself home."

"Come on, Melly," John grinned, "It's your birthday, can't a friend spend time with you?"

A small smile crossed my lips, "I guess. Come on, then."

John followed me on the trek home. We had only made it a few feet when he grabbed my arm, "Melly, look!"

He pointed towards the park. A man was stationed in the corner, playing his guitar with his case open for tips. This wasn't an unusual sight, I'd seen the same man plenty of times. He wasn't even that good. His hands trembled, and he kept hitting the wrong chords. He barely got a smile let alone a shilling. 

"Yeah?" I replied, "He's there all the time, what's your point?"

"He's pretty good."

I lifted an eyebrow, "Do you have cotton in your ears? The guitar's not even tuned."

"If it were tuned, I bet he'd be good."

"You're spewing nonsense now."

I continued down the road, forcing him to follow. We made it another few feet before he grabbed my elbow again, "Look, we can get some candied nuts."

A vendor was selling said nuts. He called out to his potential customers, but most passed him by. I could smell the roasted nuts. It reminded me of Christmas' spent in front of the fire, laughing with Paul and Michael. 

"I'm allergic to peanuts," I replied.

John frowned, "Oh, I didn't know that."

I rolled my eyes, continuing my walk. Yet again, I made it another few feet before, yet again, John grabbed my elbow to stop me, "How about we go to-"

"John, what are you doing?" I interrupted, "You keep stopping me every three feet for pointless things! What's the deal?"

John smiled, "I'm not up to nothing, just looking for some fun."

"I'm going home. Either quit stopping me or go away, your choice."

John walked alongside me. This time, he didn't keep stopping me. He calmly walked next to me. I actually thought he had given up on trying to stop me, but that was not the case. Just as I was about to cross the street, he jumped in front of me and ducked, lifting me onto his shoulder.

"John Lennon, what the bloody fuck are you doing?!" I shouted.

He began to run down the street, laughing, "Have fun with it!"

"Put me down!"

He didn't listen. His shoulder jabbed into my stomach as he ran. Each step bounced me up and sent me down hard on his shoulder. I could feel a bruise developing right around my bellybutton, one that John would pay for later. He ran into the park and to the playground.

Without stopping, he jumped onto the ladder and began to climb. I fought against him, pushing on his shoulder and trying to wiggle out of his grip. Every profanity imaginable tumbled form my lips, and even a few I made up. He simply laughed. He only put me down when we made it to the top of the tower, which was only about fifteen feet off the ground.

"What the hell was that for?" I asked as soon as he put me down.

I pushed his chest to get him away. It was difficult to push him away, as the tower was made for children. There was barely enough room for me, let alone me and John. He was nearly standing on top of me. 

He smiled, "Oh, just have some fun for once, will ya?"

"My idea of fun is not being kidnapped and taken to playground equipment!"

John cackled. I crossed my arms and glared at him, doing my best to give him the stink eye. It didn't work well, perhaps because I had to crane my neck back to see him. We were nearly standing on top of each other, which didn't do well for my mood.

"What is the point of this?" I asked.

John grinned, "All in good fun."

"What?"

"There's only one way down," he pointed.

I turned. He was pointing to the covered swirly slide. It looped several times, eventually depositing the rider on the dirt below. I turned back to John, "Wrong, there's also a ladder."

"That I'm blocking," John replied, "Just go down the slide, Amelia."

"I would rather not."

"There's no other way down."

He was not going to relent, no matter how much I glared at him. Ultimately, I groaned, "I'll get you for this, Lennon."

"Not likely, McCartney."

I stuck my tongue out at him, to which he laughed. He had to step back for me to crouch and slip my legs into the slide. Before I could push myself off, John pushed me with his foot.

I tumbled down the slide. It turned me around in circles, almost making me dizzy. Eventually, I rolled out onto the dirt, a smile plastered across my face.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" John asked from the top of the tower.

I grinned, "I actually enjoyed that."

It wasn't like John to 'revel in childhood' but I didn't question it. John was many things, unpredictable being the first. One minute he could be this angry rocker and, the next, you could mistake him for a child. 

John came down next. He came out on his feet, grinning the entire time. I took his hand and he pulled me up.

"Let's swing!" I exclaimed.

John laughed, "Now who's the childish one?"

We did swing. I went higher than him, though he didn't even try. Laughter racked my body as I did so. He simply smiled, watching as I cackled like a lunatic. 

"You're right," I told him, "I should listen to you more often."

"Can I get that in writing?"

It was past one by the time John and I finally left the park. He had successfully distracted me for twenty minutes, which was exactly what he wanted to do. We continued towards my house, this time, without him having to stop me.

I suspected nothing. When we arrived at my house, I glanced at John and asked, "Do you want to come in for tea? Or pop or something?"

"Sure, I could go for a pop."

I went up the stairs first with John a few steps behind. The door was unlocked, which wasn't odd, as Paul was supposed to be home. When I pushed open the door, I was welcomed with darkness.

"That's odd," I commented, "Paul's supposed to leave on the lights."

John shrugged, "Probably forgot."

"Knowing him. Paul! Paul, are you home?!"

There was no response. Taking that as a no, I sighed. He must have really forgotten. Part of me was hoping that he would recognize my birthday whenever I got home.

I flicked on the lights. As soon as they turned on, several people jumped out from behind the couch and shouted, "Happy birthday!"

"What?!"

Paul, George, Ken, Stuart, Dad, Michael, and a few other kids from school were all smiling at me. Dad came up to me and placed an arm around my shoulders, "You didn't think we really forgot, did you?"

"I guess not," I laughed, "I didn't expect this!"

Paul grinned, "That's the point of a surprise, isn't it?"

"Is that why you kept stopping me for useless things?" I glanced at John.

The boy in question nodded, "You almost spoiled your own surprise."

"I almost told you yesterday," Michael said, "But Paul stopped me."

I beamed, "This is amazing! Thank you!"

"Come on, let's eat cake."


	8. Recording Session

Summer had returned. It was early in July, and hot as ever. I felt like I was melting, even though we were inside. Michael and I were spread eagle on the floor of the living room doing our best to soak in any chill the ground could provide. A fan was blowing on us, but that didn't do much.

"It's so hot," Michael complained, "I'm melting."

"Think cold thoughts."

"That doesn't help."

He rolled over on his stomach and looked at me. I leaned my head back and lifted an eyebrow. He placed his hands on my chest where my heart should be and sighed, "Ah, so nice and cold."

"Mike, you wanker!"

I hit his shoulder, causing him to roll off and cackle. As angry as I wanted to be, I couldn't help but laugh. My little brother's weird sense of humor never failed to make me chuckle. 

The fan circulated, landing on me every minute. Every time I felt the cold gusts of air, I breathed a sigh of relief. I heard Michael do the same.

"When is Dad supposed to be home?" Michael asked.

Dad had promised us he would take us to the public pool once he returned home from work. I lifted my head to look at the clock, "Four more hours."

"Bloody hell."

Both of us groaned simultaneously. It was usually cold in Britain, or, at least, a comfortable temperature. Heat waves always made me feel like death. I expected the entirety of Britain to melt into the ocean, becoming nothing more than a myth like Atlantis. 

"Do you think Paulie would take us to the pool?" Michael asked.

I shrugged, "I dunno. He's in his room."

"Paul!" Michael shouted.

"Paul!"

"Paulie!"

"Paul, come here!"

"Paul!"

"What?!"

Paul came running down the stairs. He stopped halfway down to glare at us. Both Michael and I lifted our heads to look at him.

"Will you take us to the pool?" Michael asked.

Paul sighed, "Wait for Da."

"Why can't you do it?"

"I'm busy," Paul replied, "Dad said to stay here until he got back."

"Come on, Paulie, please."

Paul shook his head, "Sorry, Mikey, Dad's orders."

"Paul, you're sixteen," I said, "You don't have to listen to everything Dad says."

Paul wrinkled his nose. I laid my head back down and took a deep breath. Visions of ice, snow, Antarctica, and cold pop ran through my head. I tried to think of everything chilly in an effort to cool myself down from the inside out, but it didn't work. If anything, I managed to make myself hotter.

"I'm going to make some cold tea," I muttered, sitting up.

Michael glanced up at me, "Who drinks cold tea?"

"Americans and boiling Liverpudlians."

"Touche. Make me some too."

I got up and began to make my way into the kitchen. My bare feet soaked up what little chill the tiled floor had, though it wasn't much. We had opened every window in the house in an effort to get a breeze going, but that was no use. We might as well jump into a microwave.

When I opened the refrigerator, a blast of cold air hit me. It sent chills down my spine and made a small sigh escape my lips. Part of me wanted to curl up in the fridge for the rest of the day.

I grabbed some ice and dumped it into two cups. It clanked against the glass, almost as if making music. I poured some water in it and dumped one tea bag into each. The water slowly began to turn brown and the ice crackled as it did so.

As I made my way back to Michael, the doorbell rang. I paused in the hallway. It rang again, causing me to sigh.

"Hold on!" I shouted, "Michael, take these."

He sat up and took both of the cups. He began to sip his and set mine on the coffee table. I hurried to the front door and swung it open.

"Christ, Mel, put some clothes on," George said.

I lifted an eyebrow. At the time, I wore a tank top and a skirt. The skirt was the shortest I owned, and it only fell to just above my knees. The tank was two sizes too large, but I had it pinned up. Only a tiny sliver of my stomach was exposed.

"Hang off it, George," I replied, "You've seen me in my swimsuit, this is better."

John, standing just behind George, laughed, "It's not that bad, Georgie."

"Exactly."

"Who is it?" Paul shouted.

I heard him running down the stairs. Every step he took sounded like thunder. I leaned back and shouted, "It's John and George!"

Paul ran up behind me. He opened the door more to where he could see out while still standing behind me. He smiled at our friends, "Hullo lads."

"Hullo," George replied.

John grinned, "No time for small talk. We have an opportunity to record two songs at the recording studio on Bicker Street."

I gasped. That recording studio didn't have many customers, mostly they recorded Church music and the like. We were a skiffle group, which was as far from a religious church group that you could possibly get. 

"How?" I asked.

"Stuart talked to the owner and he said yes," John replied, "We can record if we pay them seventeen pounds and six pence."

Paul grinned, "I have a few pounds."

"So do I," I added.

"Grab that and hurry up, we don't want to be late."

"Grab your guitar too," George said.

Paul nodded and hurried upstairs. I let John and George in before hurrying to my room. I slipped on a different shirt and my shoes and socks. My envelope of money was hidden underneath my mattress. I grabbed it and shoved it in my waistband. All the while, I became giddy. My muscles nearly bounced out of my body as I hurried to get ready. 

When I came out, Paul was hurrying down the stairs. He had put on a shirt and changed into pants, and his guitar case bounced at his side. He jumped down the last two stairs before saying, "Come on, lads, there's no time to waste."

"Wait, Paul," I grabbed his elbow, "What about Mikey?"

The little brother in question had been kneeling on the couch watching this all go down. He sipped his tea gingerly, staring at us, "You can't just leave me."

"Brilliant," Paul said sarcastically, "He's fourteen years old, can't he stay home alone?"

"Dad'll get mad at us," I replied.

"Bloody hell, fine, you can come with us, but stay quiet."

George and John exchanged looks, but didn't say anything. Michael jumped up from the couch and slipped his boots on. Once he finished, we all headed out to the bus stop.

The bus arrived rather quickly, and we all filed in. There were only a few riders, and every one of them gave us the same weird looks. We ignored them, moving to sit in the very back.

The bus smelled like old milk and body odor. I wrinkled my nose, doing my best to breath through my mouth. The smell was so pungent, I could taste it. I hid my nose and mouth in my shirt and did my best not to throw up. 

I bounced in my seat as we rode down the streets. There were no seatbelts, and each bounce sent us up in the air. George and I were sitting next to each other in one seat with John just behind us. Paul and Michael sat on the bench across from us with Michael taking the window seat. Every so often, we would hit a particularly large pothole, and one of us would be sent flying into the other's lap. More often than not, George was practically sitting on my lap. 

"What songs are we recording?" I asked.

John pulled out a paper, "That'll be The Day and In Spite of All The Danger."

"The first one isn't even ours," Paul pointed out.

"Doesn't matter," John replied, "People do covers all the time."

I furrowed my brow, "Seems like we could get sued."

"We'll say it isn't ours."

I didn't argue anymore. It seemed wrong to record someone else's song, especially an American song. Yet, we went along with it. The opportunity to record was not something we could pass over for something as small as a cover song. This was the biggest leap we had yet, everyone was sure this would take us somewhere. 

The ride to the studio was long. All of us waited in anxious silence all the way there. It took everything I had not to get off the bus and sprint the rest of the way there. I would be out of breath and exhausted, but it would be better than the agonizing waiting we had to do on that bus. 

It became annoying after the sixteenth stop the bus took. Barely anyone got on, as most people stayed in their homes and out of the heat. Even so, the bus stopped at every stop, whether there were people there or not.

"Walking would be faster than this," I commented.

George smirked, "Hotter though."

"I would take the heat over this snail pace."

George and Paul both laughed. John glared at me, silently telling me to shut up. I did so, keeping my gaze on the front of the bus.

It took three more stops to finally make it to our stop. We quickly gathered our equipment and practically leaped off the bus. The bus took off just moments later, leaving us on the corner of a street in an unknown part of town.

The recording studio was two stories tall, and barely any larger than my house. It was grey brick, as was a trend on that street. The windows were covered with white curtains, and the two front windows had gold lettering on the front. Each said 'Liverpool Recording Studios-Inquire Within'.

Ken and Stuart were waiting outside. When he saw us, Stuart frowned, "You're almost too late."

"We made it, didn't we?" John replied, "Come on, let's count our pounds."

We all shoved our money into John's hand. He carefully counted it, handing each counted bill to Stuart. As soon as he finished, he smiled, "Twenty pounds together."

"That's three more than we need," Ken grinned.

"Come on, let's record!"

John went into the studio, closely followed by the rest of the band. I took up the back with Michael. Inside of the studio, we walked straight into a waiting room. All of the black leather chairs were empty, and magazines neatly lined the center table. A fan spun in the corner, circulating in a half-moon fashion. Every so often, it would hit us with a blast of cool air, causing me to sigh in content. 

John, Stuart, Ken, and George went straight up to the front desk. They began to talk to the woman as Paul and I stood back with our brother.

"You stay in here," Paul told him, "There's plenty of magazines to read."

I glanced down at the table and noticed that one of the magazines had a woman in a bikini on the front. Without Michael noticing, I grabbed it and hid it in a nearby vase. That was something he didn't need to read.

"Aw, come on, I want to watch ya play," Michael whined.

Paul shook his head, "Not this time, Mikey, maybe some other time."

"It's our first recording," I explained, "We don't want nothing to go wrong."

"But-"

"Stay here," Paul ordered.

Michael grumbled something under his breath before falling back into one of the chairs. He grabbed a magazine and hid his face behind it, sulking in his own Michael way. I shot him a smile, though he didn't see it, before following Paul into the recording studio.

"Alright, George, Paul, Stuart, and I on guitars," John explained, "Amelia on drums, and Ken on the washboard."

I jumped behind the drum set in the corner. It wasn't at all what I was used to, but I went with it anyway. There were four drums, two cymbals, and a microphone that I was scared I would knock down. The drums in themselves seemed to be made for children. I was smaller than any of the lads, and I struggled to play the tiny drum kit. My back was hunched and my elbows kept jabbing into my sides, but I kept a smile the entire time. 

While the rest of the band tuned their guitars, I sat down. The drumsticks were a bit longer than the ones I used for our shows, and the stool was an inch too tall. I adjusted it and positioned my foot.

"We start with That'll be The Day," John said.

The rest of us nodded. He counted down under his breath and strummed as soon as we began. The other three quickly joined in followed by me on drums. That'll Be The Day was one of the easiest songs we played. It barely required any drums, I could do it one handed. 

"That'll be the day, when you say goodbye," Paul and John harmonized, "That'll be the day, when you make me cry."

It was easier to stay on beat in the recording studio than it was in a show. During the show, everything was loud and I had a difficult time staying on beat. The studio was much quieter.

It was less energized as well. On stage, you could feel the energy of the band as well as the audience. It gave you the ability to continue no matter how exhausted you became. In the studio, all you did was play, that was it. Compared to live shows, studio work was a drag, a well-known drag among musicians. 

When we finished the song, all of us took deep breaths. My heart was beating with the strength of six elephants, and my muscles begged me to play more. The pure excitement of hearing ourselves on an LP was invigorating. It could never go beyond the walls of our homes, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that we heard it. 

"That was brilliant," George commented.

Paul nodded, "In Spite of All Danger now?"

"Right oh," John replied.

I tightened my grip on the drums. John counted down once again, nodding his head to the beat. I started with a few drum hits, closely followed by the guitars.

"In spite of all danger, in spite of all that may be."

The vibrations of the drum hit me in my stomach. I could feel it vibrating through my very core, shaking me from the inside out. The notes flowed through me and gave me a newfound energy. By the time the song was over, I was laughing despite myself.

"Well, lads," John triumphantly placed his hands on his hips, "We just recorded our first songs."

The entire room erupted in cheers. I clapped the drumsticks together, laughing as I did so. Not a single face was devoid of a smile. I honestly thought my cheeks would fall off. It was a pure moment, a happy moment. One of the best moments I can remember.

"Come out to listen to it," a voice said over the com system.

I abandoned the drumsticks on the stool to follow my friends out of the room. We looped into the technical room where a man was working the controls. He smiled at us, "You lads are pretty good."

"Thank you," John replied, "Can we hear it?"

"Of course, here ya go."

He hit a button to play the first song. The notes drifted through the room, entering my ears and making me smile. Both songs sounded lovely. John and Paul's voices perfectly mixed with the instruments, providing a blend of music so brilliant anybody had to smile. It seemed quieter than most records, but that wasn't surprising. For a dingy shop in the middle of Liverpool, it was brilliant. 

When we had finished listening to the songs, I glanced around the room. The smiles were unparalleled. I stepped up to Paul and flung my arms around his shoulders. John and Stuart were embracing while George stared at the record player and grinned. 

"I can't believe that just happened," I said.

Paul squeezed my chest, "Me neither."

"Hey, let me in on that!" George exclaimed.

He practically ran into my back, squishing me between him and Paul. John, Stuart, and Ken joined on either side a few seconds later. They all squeezed the breath out of me.

"Breath!" I wheezed, "Can't breathe!"

They released me, all laughing the entire time. I took a deep breath, still smiling. The technician turned to us and said, "You should be able to pick them up in a few weeks."

"Thanks," John replied.

"No problem."

We had to leave the recording studio at that point. Our seventeen pounds and six pence only bought us an hour, and that hour quickly dried up. The lads gathered their equipment as I went out to get Michael.

"Mikey, come on," I said, "Time to go home."

Michael dropped his magazine, "Finally, I thought you'd never come out of there."

"It's only been an hour, bugger off."

John, Paul, George, Ken, and Stuart came out moments later. We left the studio and jumped back on the bus. All of us were still running on the adrenaline of actually recording our first track. I didn't know what we would do with it, but the fact that we actually did it was enough.

That was the first time we had ever recorded together, but it definitely wasn't the last. After that day, we would record together more times than I can count. That was just the first step down the long and winding road.


	9. I Read The News Today, Oh Boy

We didn't have another show for two weeks after our recording session. That gave us all a bit of a break, and the opportunity to enjoy our summer vacation. Even the heat had let up so we could actually go outside. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for teenagers to just be teenagers. All of us could spend time with our friends without any responsibilities weighing us down. It was exactly how life should be; with the children living carefree and the adults watching on with pleasant smiles. Everything was perfect, until I walked by that newsboy. 

Molly and I were walking along the streets in rhythm with each other. Every so often, we would shoot each other goofy grins, causing the other to break down in laughter. We were going to the public pool to take a quick dip in the cool water, perhaps even meeting a few of our school friends there.

"I don't know, I'm just not the dating sort," Molly said.

I smirked, "Ah, but Albert Peterson thinks otherwise."

A boy in our class had been continuously asking her out since she started at the school. He was short, stocky, and seemed to be blowing his nose more than actually breathing. I loathed having class with him because his constant horn-like blows got on my last nerve. Molly shook her head, "No way in hell would I go out with that Galoot. He gives me the boke."

I laughed. Despite being in Liverpool for a little over a year, she had yet to lose her Scottish charm. More often than not, I hear her using slang I didn't understand, sometimes even mixing it with Liverpudlian slang. 

We turned a corner where a boy was selling newspapers. He shouted, advertising his wares to everyone that passed. As we passed him, my eyes grazed over the title of a small article tucked in the corner of the large newspaper. 

Women Killed in a Hit and Run Accident

Things like that were uncommon in Liverpool, but there was no reason for me to suspect that it had anything to do with anyone I knew. With a population somewhere over 800,000, there was no reason to believe that this had anything to do with anyone I knew. Even so, my eyes continued down the page. I happened to see the next line.

'Yesterday evening, our own Liverpool citizen, Julia Lennon, was hit and killed by a speeding car.'

I stopped short. It took me a moment to realize what I had just seen. There were plenty of people in Liverpool with the same last name, but I had only ever known one Lennon. Molly kept walking a few steps before she realized I had stopped, "Amelia, what's wrong?"

"I'll take one," I told the boy.

We exchanged ten pence for one paper. He nodded thanks before continuing to peddle his wares. I stepped closer to Molly and opened the paper. It was so large, it took both of us to hold it open properly. Molly gazed over the comic section while I read the article that made my blood run cold. 

"Julia Lennon was killed by a speeding car yesterday evening," I read, "She died minutes later."

I could feel all the blood leave my face. I didn't know Julia Lennon, but I knew her son very well. John told us he didn't have a good relationship with his mother, but he did have a relationship. Even a little is enough to mourn.

"I have to go home," I muttered.

Shock completely covered my body. My nerves quaked as I turned around and began to speed towards my house. All I could think was that John needed someone. He had his Aunt, yes, but she was mourning as well. What he needed was a friend, and I knew of two kids who would provide him with all the comfort he needed. Molly was close at my heels, "What's going on?"

"John's mother was killed," I replied.

Molly gasped. She didn't put two and two together to realize it was John's mother in the paper until I said something. She hurried behind me as we sped towards my house.

I was walking so quickly, I was almost running. My breathing was labored and my muscles were tired, but I didn't care. My friend needed help, and that's all I focused on.

When we made it to my house, I paused at the door. I turned to Molly and said, "You can go on to the pool, you don't have to stay."

"I will if you want me to," she replied.

I shook my head, "No, it's fine. I'm going to go get Paul."

"Alright. Good luck, Amelia."

I nodded, heading inside. The living room was empty, and the house was dark. I could hear a light guitar strumming upstairs. That's where I went to.

"Paul!" I exclaimed, knocking on the door.

The guitar stopped. He opened the door with a scowl on his face, "What do you want, Lia?"

"Have you talked to John?" I asked.

"No?"

I handed him the paper, "I was afraid of that."

He took it and opened it up. I watched the color leave his face as his eyes scanned the first few sentences. He quickly closed the paper and looked at me, "We have to go see him."

"Right, let's go."

The two of us hurried downstairs. Paul slipped into his shoes and I grabbed my hat just before we left. It was a bit difficult for me to keep up with Paul's speed walking due to his legs being a few inches longer than mine. He took wider steps as well. Even so, I managed, the worry for my friend alone was enough to give me the energy to press on. 

John's house was a fair distance from our own. It took us half an hour to get there, even with Paul's speed walking. When we did arrive, we stopped down the street.

The house had police going in and out of it. The front window was open to expose a woman crying in the living room. She was dressed all in black.

"That's his Aunt Mimi," Paul identified.

"Where's John?"

"I dunno, but we're about to find out."

Paul hurried to the front door with me close behind. Only two police officers remained inside. They were in the living with John's Aunt Mimi. Paul and I walked right into the front hall, stopping in front of the door to the living room.

"You can't just walk in here," one police officer said.

Paul held up his hands, "We're John's friends, we came to see if he was alright."

"That's Paul McCartney," Aunt Mimi identified, "Let them in."

Paul bowed his head to her. Aunt Mimi waved him off, "He's not here."

"Where is he?" I asked.

Aunt Mimi sighed, "I don't know. He ran off. He won't let anyone near him, you might as well not even try."

"We have to try," Paul argued, "He's our friend, he's my best mate, I can't just let him go through this alone."

Aunt Mimi's eyes turned cold, but she cleared her throat. I glanced up at my brother in admiration. There were times when he did something above and beyond what I would ever expect. I had always looked up to him, but, in times like that, my admiration for him only grew. 

"I'm sorry, Paul, I just don't know where he is," Mimi replied. 

Paul looked like he was going to say something, but his mind clicked. I could almost hear the bells ringing as he came upon a sudden realization, "I do. Come on, Lia."

Paul hurried out the door. I followed just behind him after nodding to Mimi. Paul lead me through the streets once again, his mind set on a location, and his jaw clenched in determination.

"Where are we going?" I asked. 

Paul frowned, "John ran off, we've got to find him."

"Obviously. You know where he is?"

"I have an idea," Paul replied, "Strawberry Fields."

"What?"

He didn't answer. He spun me around several corners until we came upon a large gate just meters from the old Salvation Army orphanage. Behind the gates, trees lined a field leading up to the orphanage. There was nobody around as Paul and I slipped through the gate. Paul instantly took a left and headed towards a bunch of trees and bushes. We pushed through to find a man slumping against the tree, his head in his hands and his muscles trembling. His guitar was abandoned by his side, but we all knew that wouldn't last long.

That was the first time I ever saw John Lennon cry. In my mind, I had him pictured as an emotionally strong man. He was always joking around and laughing, I honestly thought he couldn't cry. It was that moment where my entire mental image of John changed for the better. 

Paul and I exchanged glances. I could see the worry in his eyes, though he did his best to hide it. He cleared his throat, "John?"

At first, John didn't reply. He seemingly didn't hear us. Not a muscle was moved nor a sound uttered. Paul and I exchanged another look before he called out again. 

This time, John acknowledged us. He quickly sat up and wiped his eyes, pretending that we didn't notice. When he turned to us, he smiled his usual cheeky grin, but this one was different. It held pain behind it. Once again, he put on his tough guy mask, the same mask that seemed to be more of a part of him than his actual face. He stood, doing his best to hide his shaking muscles. 

"Paulie, Melly, didn't expect to see you here."

"Are you alright, John?" Paul asked.

John's were glistening with unshed tears just begging to be released. His smile was trembling as he gripped the tree, doing his best to look suave but I know he was using it as a support beam. He shrugged casually, "Fine, obviously."

"Are you sure?"

Paul sounded skeptical. I looked at him as if his nose had just grown an extra two inches. Obviously, John was not alright, and Paul was completely oblivious. They stared at each other for a moment.

Rolling my eyes and releasing a deep sigh, I surged forward to hug John's waist. He wasn't much of a hugger, but, at that moment, I didn't care. He held his arms up above his shoulders to keep them off of me as he glared down at me, unsure of what to do. 

"It's alright to cry," I told him, "Crying is good, it gets the bad emotions out."

"Crying is for sissies," John shoved me off. 

I crossed my arms and sighed, "John, crying doesn't make you a sissy, it makes you human."

"I'm not bloody crying!" John lied, "I'm not some bird."

I did my best not to take offense to the comment. In the time that I had known him, I had learned that John didn't handle emotions very well. He either coped with humor, anger, or a dangerous combination of both. This time was no different, we just had to push past his shell and get to the grieving center. 

"John, mate, we don't think you're any less of a man for crying," Paul tried.

John crossed his arms, "I'm not crying, Macca, fuck off."

Paul looked pained, but he shook it off. If anyone knew how to deal with John it was him. They had something special, something I still don't understand even sixty years later. Never have I seen someone look at their best mate like John and Paul looked at each other. 

"Why are you here?" John suddenly asked, "Did Mimi send you? Told her I wanted to be alone, but she didn't bloody listen, as usual."

Paul shook his head, "We're here because we wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," I argued, "It's okay to not be okay, John, you have a right."

He glared at me with an ice-cold stare, "I'm not going to talk to you about my feelings and shit like a bird. Fuck off."

Paul and I exchanged glances. The logical thing would be to leave John to mourn alone, but Paul and I were as stubborn as he was. Paul crossed his arms and glared at John, "We're not bloody leaving you because we're your friends and we want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine!" John flung up his hands, "My Mum is dead, Paul! I just got her back, and now she's fucking dead! I'm-I'm fine."

He looked down at the ground for a moment, refusing to make eye contact with either of us. Paul stepped forward and placed a hand on John's shoulder. Surprisingly, John didn't shake him off.

"That's why you're not fine. Mate, it's good to cry, it gets all the bad emotions out," Paul said. 

John listened to Paul say the exact same thing I did. He listened to Paul when he wouldn't listen to anybody else. He slumped back against the tree and tangled his fingers in his hair. Paul sat next to him, keeping a supportive hand on his best mate's shoulder. 

"I just got her back," John muttered, "Things were getting better, and then she fucking dies. I just got her back and I've already lost her."

A few tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He kept his gaze latched to the ground, doing his best to hide his tears from us. I sat down on his opposite side and patted his shoulder.

For a few minutes, nobody said anything, for there was nothing to be said. All we could do was sit next to him and let John know that we were there for him no matter what, even if he didn't want us there. It was Paul that first broke the silence. 

"John, mate, you know you're not alone," Paul told him, "You've got us, Stuart, George, and the rest of the lads. We're not going anywhere anytime soon."

A small smile crept across John's lips, "S'pose it is good to have two birds as mates, sometimes."

Paul looked offended but laughed all the same. Even I was grinning. If John could crack a joke in a time like this, he would be alright in the end. So long as John was making jokes, the world wasn't ending. 

John sniffed, but covered it with a sneeze. Paul and I acted like we didn't notice whenever he wiped his eyes with his shirt. When he finished, he side-eyed me and lifted an eyebrow.

"I just realized something," he said.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "What's that?"

"Why is Melly in a bathing suit?"

I had completely forgotten that I wasn't in normal clothes. My bathing suit was covered with a large shirt, but my legs were exposed. I laughed, "I forgot to change."

Paul busted out laughing while John sadly smiled. He looked on the verge of a breakdown but never said anything. I had to resist the urge to give him yet another comforting hug. 

"The funeral's day after tomorrow," John said.

Paul gripped his shoulder, "We'll come if you want us to."

"No," John replied, "I...I'll handle myself."

"We're here for you, no matter how or when you need us," I told him.

He didn't reply. We were silent for a moment. All of us stared at the grass, not wanting to make eye contact while being unsure of what to say. I was the one to break the silence.

"Do you want us to stay?" I asked.

John hesitated, but nodded, "You do what you want, I s'pose."

Paul and I took that as a yes. John would never admit when he needed someone, it was up for those around him to figure it out themselves. I glanced at Paul as if asking for confirmation. He nodded slightly, telling me all I needed to know. 

John suddenly grabbed his guitar. His movements were so abrupt, I couldn't stop myself from jumping slightly. He set it in his lap and began to furiously strum the chords. He didn't write anything down, he didn't even have a rhythm, he simply strummed with all his emotions. Tears fell onto the strings and were promptly launched around every time he struck the chords.

Paul and I could do nothing but sit there. I watched him playing with his raw emotion. Every chord sent echoes of his thoughts and feelings spiraling around. He played with a fierce intensity that only a grieving person could have. It was beautifully terrifying. 

"Fucking hell," he stopped strumming and covered his face with his hands.

He began to sob again. Paul was the first to lunge forward and wrap his arms around John. John leaned into the embrace, his sobs shaking both male bodies. I quickly crawled closer and hugged his other side. His shudders gave me the chills, but I ignored any goosebumps rising on my skin.

"If you ever mention this," John sniffled, "I'll cripple the both of ye."


	10. The Birds

The world is a cold and unforgiving place. It takes and takes from the people living on it, and, for what? For a life of tragedy and hopelessness? It sucks the love from every corner of the world, and it doesn't have any mercy.

I thought the world was cruel when it took my mother. She died in her sleep, and the next day the wails of her three children she left behind could be heard across the city. I didn't think it could get much worse than that, but to see your own mother be hit and killed by a car, that was beyond cruel. Never did I think something so dark as that could happen to someone like John Lennon.

Even the streets of Liverpool seemed to mourn right along with him. Not a single pedestrian passed as I sat on the stoop of my house. It was as if Liverpool had suddenly become empty.

I held a tea in my hand, but I wasn't drinking it. My anxiety seemed to clamp at my nerves to make it impossible for me to swallow. All I wanted was to go and make sure John was okay. The funeral hadn't even started yet and I was already desperate to see him. 

"Mel, what are you doing?"

I glanced up. George stood a few feet away from me. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his hat was on crooked. He looked at me with obvious concern.

"I'm building a bleeding rocket ship," I replied, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

George smirked, "You don't have to get sarcastic."

"I'm always sarcastic."

"That is true."

He moved to sit by me. I scooted over slightly to give him enough room. He looked down at my tea and asked, "Are you drinking that?"

"No, you can have it."

I handed it to him. He took a sip, smiling at the flavor. I had made my favorite, lemon with a dash of honey, which happened to be George's favorite as well. We sat on the stoop together for a few minutes, gazing out onto the Liverpool streets. Nothing interesting passed, though that wasn't a surprise.

"I tried to visit John last night," George said, "He wouldn't let me in."

I sighed, "That sounds like him. We're lucky he let Paul and me in."

"Wonder if he'll quit the band."

"That'll be the last thing he does," I replied, "He channels his emotions into music. He won't quit, mark my words."

George took a generous sip of the tea. I sighed deeply, running my hands through my hair, "I wish there was something I could do to help him."

"You can only help him as much as he'll let you," George replied, "He won't let most of us get near him."

"I don't think he'll let me in again."

George frowned, "Maybe Paul can get through to him. They seem to have a good friendship."

"I dunno, he won't even talk to his Aunt. Grief works in weird ways, I s'pose."

George shrugged. On the tree nearby, a bird sang. Several birds across the city responded, creating a choir of birdsong. I listened to each note from each tree. The birds had their own symphony going, one that reflected whatever emotions the listener felt. To the happy people, the birds were singing happy tunes, but to the sad people, the birds sang through their despair. All I could hear was a desperate call to someone close to them. 

"The birds are singing," I pointed out.

George cleared his throat, "Maybe they're weeping too."

"The birds are singing," I said, "Maybe they're weeping."

"That sounds like a song."

George reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap piece of paper and a pencil. I lifted an eyebrow but didn't ask why he carried it around. He wrote the two sentences down.

"They're crying music," he said.

I smiled, "And screaming a symphony."

"Brilliant," he muttered, "And they say John and Paul are the only songwriters."

"They'll think different after they read this."

George nodded. He scratched a few more letters onto the paper. I glanced over his shoulder as he tapped the pencil on his chin, "In the dark of night, the birds take flight."

"Birds sing during the day," I pointed out.

He glanced at me, "It's fiction."

"Alright then."

He wrote that down as well. I smiled, "They're crying for those we've lost."

"They dance across, The moonbeams," George muttered, writing everything down.

"To the beat of their music teams."

George quickly wrote all of this down. I watched his pencil move, resting my chin on his shoulder. His handwriting was sloppy, but it wasn't nearly as bad as John's. It took some practice for me to understand John's handwriting. George wrote faster than he could think, and the words came out lopsided and misspelled.

"We need a chorus," I said.

George tapped the pencil on his chin, "What about the first four lines? The birds are singing to symphony."

"Perfect."

As he wrote that down, thunder shook the sky. It surprised me to the point where I jumped slightly. George, noticing this, laughed, "Come on, Mel, don't tell me you're scared of a wee bit of thunder?"

"Can it, Georgie," I replied, "It took me by surprise is all."

"Of course it did."

His sarcasm was enough to drown the entire city. I glared at him, "I didn't think it was supposed to rain today."

"Weather's weird," he replied, "No tellin' what it'll do."

"Sounds like a few people I know."

George belted out laughing. I giggled as well. He knew I was talking about John and Paul. Both boys had an uncanny knack for making unpredictable moves and surprising those around them. Sometimes, this behavior resulted in me smacking Paul, usually when he scares me.

"What about the next line?" George asked, "They dance the waltz in the light of the-er-"

"What rhymes with waltz?" I asked.

George shrugged, "All I can think is daltz."

"That's not a word."

"I know."

We were both silent. I stared at the paper, unblinking. The words began to dance right off the page, spinning and leaping around the paper with the grace of a ballerina.

"What about," I said, "In a way, they're no different, then you or me."

"I love it."

George scratched it down while muttering, "They cry, we cry. They scream, we bottle it up and make it seem like we're smiling."

"Despite pain's ugly bite," I finished.

He wrote every word down. At the end, he pulled the paper away from his face and read it all out loud. There was no beat yet, but that was soon to change. George read it with a raising voice, like he was reciting an epic ballad. When he finished, both of us smiled. 

"Beautiful," I muttered.

George grinned, "I wonder if the lads'll let us play it."

"We have to have music first," I replied, "Did you bring your guitar?"

"Does it look like I brought me bloody guitar?"

I cringed. He was right, if he had brought it, it would have been sitting right next to him. I shook my head.

"Maybe Paul will let us borrow his," I suggested.

George snorted, "Doubtfully, he's more attached to that thing than a leech to a hippo."

I busted out laughing. George quickly followed until both of us were cracking up on the stoop of my house. I held my stomach as I laughed.

"What're you two on about?"

Paul had opened the door and was staring down at us quizzically. A pencil was tucked behind his ear and his fingers were red, telling me that he had just been writing music. I wiped my eyes and said, "Nothing, nothing, you wouldn't get it."

"You're just saying that."

"She's right, Paulie," George grinned, "It's an inside joke."

We looked at each other and belted out laughing once again. I'm not sure why that comment was so funny, perhaps it was picturing Paul as a leech stuck to his guitar. Whatever it was, that sentence was the funniest thing I'd heard all week.

"Bloody wankers," Paul muttered.

I pointed at him, "Look who's talking!"

"Bugger off."

All three of us laughed at that point. That was true friendship; laughing at anything and everything because everything was better when you were together. Even if we were poking fun at each other, we still laughed, and we still had fun.

It thundered once again. I turned my head to gaze out over the rooftops. Dark clouds were slowly creeping in, and, with them, came thunder and rain.

"Come on, you two," Paul said, "Before it starts raining on you."

I pushed myself off the stoop and followed the two boys inside. Just as we shut the door, sheets of rain began to fall from the sky. It pelted against the rooftop, creating a noise loud enough to drown out the sounds of the world outside.

"Our timing is impeccable," I commented.

Paul shook his head. He seemed tired today, which was unlike him. I suspected that he was worried about John. All of us were, we all wanted to be there for him even if he didn't want us there. At the time, however, it was difficult to do so when he was at a graveyard across town and it was pouring rain.

"Were you writing?" George asked.

Paul nodded, "I've got half a song written."

"So do we," I smiled triumphantly.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "I didn't think you wrote?"

"We all have secrets," George replied, "Want to hear it?"

"Of course."

George handed the sheet to me. I unfolded it and began to read. Paul watched me, nodding his head every time something rhymed. When I finished, he smiled, "That was pretty good."

"Thank you," George and I both said.

"It needs some music though," Paul held up his hand, "Wait here a moment."

He hurried upstairs. When he returned, he was carrying his guitar. George grinned, "I like it. Mel, you play the piano."

"Right oh."

I sat at the bench and Paul came up behind me. George held the paper and read it out loud. Paul and I played with the chords, and I wrote down whatever sounded good. After an hour, we had a full song complete with music notes and lyrics.

"Brilliant," George grinned, "We've written a song, Mel."

Paul clapped his back, "And a pretty good one, I might add."

"Think the lads will play it with us?" I asked.

"I don't see why not. We'll show it to them next rehearsal."

George squeezed my shoulder. I smiled brightly, the pride of writing my first song swelled within my chest. Even George felt proud, I could see it in his smile. It was the first song, but it sure as hell wasn't the last.


	11. Amelia The Overdramatic

John didn't let any of us speak to him for a week after that. When he returned, he seemed as chipper as ever. None of us pestered them, though I desperately wanted to comfort him.

John was good at a great many things; guitar, harmonica, singing, song writing, dancing, joking, etc. John was the reigning champion at hiding his emotions. He had a mask that nobody, not even his best mate, could get through. It was a mask of joy to hide the pain he felt inside. That mask, sometimes, hurt more than the pain it worked to hide. It's one thing to feel the pain, it's another to have to hide it. 

Around Christmas time, John had called all of us to a band meeting. It was supposed to be simple, just four mates getting together and laughing. No fights, no surprises, and nothing out of the ordinary. 

Paul, John, George, and I had decided to have a friendly hang out at the local coffee shop. Ken and Stuart were supposed to come, but Ken was sick and Stuart had to cancel for family reasons. That left the four of us to sit at the corner table in a coffee shop I hadn't known existed before that day. 

I pushed my chair back, resting my heels on the nearby railing. Paul sat to my left with John to my right. George was across the table, inspecting a biscuit. He poked it like a scientist does a sample of some foreign material. 

"What's wrong, Georgie?" I asked.

George frowned, "The biscuit is soggy."

"Wait for it to dry, then."

George shrugged. He poked at it a few more times. Paul watched him do so with the same intensity as a mother watching her child.

"Almost forgot," John leaned forward, "Me girl's going to join us for a bit."

"You got a girl?" Paul asked.

"Just last week. Lovely gal, she is."

"I'm excited to meet her," I smiled.

John didn't look at me. I found that odd, considering he always looked at whoever was talking to him. Even George and Paul noticed as they exchanged confused glances. 

"Hullo!"

Molly Mackenzie pushed through the gate of the café patio. I thought she was talking to me, as she was my best friend. I was about to reply when John stood up and opened his arms for her. She practically dove into his embrace, and he kissed her temple.

"Lads, meet my girl, Molly Mackenzie," John introduced.

I leaped up, "What?!"

"I was going to tell you," Molly said in a small voice, "I was worried how you would react."

Seeing the two latched to each other, I felt my heart lurch. A sickening feeling developed in my stomach and slowly crawled to my brain. The jealousy was overpowering. I did my best to shove it down deeper into my heart and cover it with anger, but one bad emotion is no better than the next. 

"Calm down, Melly," John tried.

I flung my arms up, "I'm not going to calm down, John! You're dating my best friend, and you didn't even tell me!"

"Amelia-" Molly began.

"No, stop," I sneered, "I can't bloody believe the two of you! Fucking hell!"

I pushed away from the table and began to stomp towards the gate. Anger lit fires inside of me, propelling me forward. There was so much I wanted to yell at them, but the other people in the café were beginning to stare. Instead of gaining more useless attention, I thought it best to leave.

"Come on, Melly, don't get your knickers in a twist!" John shouted.

I paused and spun around, "Sod off!"

Without another word, I stomped down the street. The very air seemed to be tinted with red. I felt fires in my stomach, and red lines crossed my vision.

Of all the rubbish John could have done, he goes and dates my best friend! He didn't even tell me! A friend doesn't do that to another friend, it was against the unspoken friend code. 

Molly played a part of this too. My own best friend turned on me for a date. It's rubbish! All of it! Both of them had turned their backs on me and ran to each other.

They didn't even go well together. John was suave, Molly was always tripping over her own feet. John was nearly eighteen, and Molly was barely fifteen. They were two very different people who shouldn't be together even if they were the last two people on Earth. 

"Amelia!"

I didn't have to turn around to see who it was. Paul was running down the street in an effort to catch up with me. I ignored him, picking up my pace slightly.

"Bloody Hell, Lia," Paul huffed when he caught up to me, "Didn't you hear me?"

"Go away, Paul."

He did his best to stay in step with me. It was easy for him with his long legs. He shoved his hands in his pockets and asked, "What was that all about?"

"Are you daft?!" I exclaimed, "John and Molly, dating, and they didn't even tell me! Rubbish!"

I kicked a nearby trash bag. Paul was taken aback, "I don't see why you're so angry about this."

"John and Molly are my friends, they can't just turn around and date each other. This is betrayal!"

"They have as much of a right to date as you have of being their friend," Paul replied.

I sneered. Deep down, I knew I wasn't angry because they didn't tell me. In fact, I wasn't truly angry. Mostly, I was jealous. At the time, I had no idea how or why, but I was. Perhaps I was jealous because I was worried that John would take my best mate away from me, or vice versa. In reality, it was so much more than that. 

"They could have told me," I grumbled.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "They just did."

"They could have told me sooner!"

"Lia, honestly, you're overreacting."

I glared at him, "I happen to think I'm reacting the perfect amount for someone in my situation."

"Really?" Paul replied, "You ran out of the café after yelling at John and Molly because they've been dating a week. That's overreacting if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you!" I exclaimed, "How would you feel if it were me dating John? Or George?"

Paul frowned, "That's different, you're my sister. I'd have a right to be angry. Neither Molly nor John are related to you. They are their own people, they don't have to ask you if they can date."

I paused. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. As much as I hated to admit it, Paul was right, Molly and John were their own people. Neither of them had to ask for my permission to date. I let my jealousy take a hold of me instead of focusing on the facts.

"Bloody hell, you're right," I muttered.

Paul's grinned, "What was that? I didn't quite hear you."

"I'm not saying it again."

Paul laughed. We had stopped on a corner only two blocks from the café. I knew I would have to go back and apologize to them, but I didn't know what to say. Paul placed a hand on my shoulder, "Better now?"

"Yeah," I replied, "Christ, they must be angry at me."

"They were more confused than anything, though poor Molly looked like she was going to cry."

"Course. I'm a terrible friend."

"Come off it, you're not that bad," Paul pulled me to where his arm was over my shoulders, "You just have a bit of a temper."

"I do not."

"You do and you know it."

I grumbled but didn't object. We turned around and began to head back towards the café. Hopefully, nobody had left and I could apologize. I wasn't even sure if they would listen to me. 

In the past, I have been known to easily trigger strong emotions, the most common of which were anger, depression, and excitement. Never had I gone off on someone like I did on John and Molly. That was very uncharacteristic of me.

Looking back on it, I think Paul knew. He and I were close since the day I was born, he knew things about me before I knew them. I think he knew exactly what had happened that day, he just didn't let on.

George and John were the only two remaining at the café. George was casually leaning back in his chair, but John had yet to sit down. He was gazing down the street. He was the first one to see us.

"Didn't think you'd come back," he said, a hint of anger in his voice.

I sighed, "Look, John, I'm sorry. I was surprised, is all. I overreacted."

"You can say that again."

"I'm not going to."

John shook his head, "That's a hell of a way to overreact."

"I'm sorry," I repeated.

"Well, I forgive ya," John gazed at me, "We did sort of spring it on you. Shock is one hell of a drug."

I smiled. John slowly matched my smile, though I could still see a hint of disdain in his eyes. That would be there for a couple of days but, eventually, this whole situation would be behind us.

"Besides, it's not me you should be apologizing too," John glared at me.

I hid my hands behind my back, "Where is she?"

"Ran off a few minutes before you came back," George answered, "Don't know where."

"She went home," John clarified.

"I'll go talk to her," I smiled at John, "And, if you two are happy, then so am I."

"Thanks, Melly. Glad to hear that."

I nodded at him. Paul clapped my shoulder supportively before I headed off down the road. Each step felt like I was weighed down by a million pounds of bricks.

Molly lived in a quaint white house at the end of Heaven's Street. She lived there with her parents and her two younger siblings. I had been there many times, to the point where her family expected me to be there.

I could see her bedroom window from the ground. The lamp next to it was on, and a fan blew the curtains. They would separate and show a portion of her beige walls, or a picture she had tacked up. I never saw her.

Hesitantly, I knocked. Her family was close-knit, anything that hurt one of them was immediately the problem of the rest of them. Even if they knew me, and liked me, the fact that I had hurt Molly pretty much assured their sudden dislike of me.

Molly's younger brother Reginald, also known as Reggie, opened the door. He had a shaggy head of classic Scottish ginger and matching green eyes. He was only twelve at the time, and a full foot shorter than me. He looked up at me a sneered.

"What're you doin' here?" he spat.

He had a thick Scottish accent, just like Molly. His twin sister, Regina, came up behind him. The two were mirror images of each other, except for Regina's freckles.

"I'm here to see Molly," I replied, "I want to apologize."

Regina scowled, "There's no use in that, you've already done enough."

"It was an accident. Just let me see her."

"I don't-"

"Reggie, who is it?"

Molly's mother came around the corner. She was a short woman, but, what she lacked in height she made up for in beauty. She had passed her golden blonde hair down to Molly, and her green eyes to Reginald and Regina. Her slender figure was covered in a blue dress underneath a pastel pink apron. As soon as she saw me, she placed her fists on her hips, "What're you doin' here?"

"I'm here to apologize to Molly," I replied, "What I said was wrong, and I didn't mean it. I want to apologize."

Miss Mackenzie came closer. She stood just behind her children, gazing at me. Her eyes searched mine for something. Ultimately, she sighed, "She's upstairs. She was quite distraught when she came home."

"That's my fault."

"I know," Miss Mackenzie shook her head, "Reggie, Gina, let her in."

The twins stepped back hesitantly. All three Mackenzie's watched me as I made my way up the stairs. I knew the path to Molly's room by heart. Her bedroom door had a paper taped to it that read 'Molly's room-keep out!'

I knocked slowly. Had I called out, there was a chance she would ignore me. I wasn't sure if she was hurt or angry, or both. Either way, I didn't want to chance it.

"Go away," her voice called out.

I sighed, "Molly, please, talk to me."

"No!"

"Molly, I'm sorry," I replied, "I overreacted. If you and John are happy together, then I'm happy for you. I'm sorry I acted the way I did, it was a real cock-up on my part."

Molly was silent for a moment. I began to fear she would ignore me, but her door swung open. Her face was red with tears as she looked at me. I had to resist the urge to hug her. There's a lot of things I regret doing in my life, and hurting Molly was near the top of the list. 

"Do you mean it?" she asked.

I nodded, "With all my heart. I'm sorry, Molly, honestly."

She stared at me for a moment more.

"You're not upset?" she asked, "You won't be mad if John and I stay together?"

I shook my head, "No, I'm happy for you. You two look good with each other."

It hurt to say that. Somewhere, I could feel a splinter jab into my heart. It may have been painful for me to say, but the smile Molly sprouted was worth every bit of pain.

"Oh, Amelia, I forgive you," she lunged forward to hug me.

I hugged her back, smiling despite myself. She pushed away a few seconds later and said, "John said you might freak out, but it wouldn't last."

"He was right," I replied, "It was shocking, is all."

She smiled. We stood in silence for a moment. I tried to swallow my pride, and the hint of pain still remaining, "When did this all begin?"

"Just a week ago," she replied, "Come on, I'll tell you all about it."

She pulled me into her room and shut the door. Both of us sat on the floor, cross legged, across from each other. She leaned on her elbows and said, "I stayed after one of your shows to wait for you, but you and Paul had left early. John was still there, however, and we struck up a conversation..."


	12. Minus One

Once again, The Quarrymen were on stage. We had found a steady gig at the Cavern Club, one that was named after the cavern-like room where we played. It was a bit claustrophobic, but, after a few shows, I had gotten used to it. That club began to feel like home.

I sat in the back on the drums. John had realized that nearly every single song needed drums, but not piano. Those that needed piano could be short a guitar, so one of the boys played when necessary. I was left to be the designated drum player. We played several songs, all leading up to what John called 'The Finale'.

We finished In Spite of All Danger, which I thought to be the end of the show. Sweat completely drenched me as well as my bandmates. Droplets of sweat hit the ground, forming tiny puddles just big enough for fleas to have a bath. John seemed to be the sweatiest of all, which wasn't surprising, he put the most emotion into his playing.

George and I both thought the show was over, but that proved to be wrong. Just as we were preparing to leave the stage, Paul pushed me back onto the seat and grabbed George's shoulder.

"One more," he said.

I lifted an eyebrow. George, glancing at me, was just as confused. Paul winked at us before stepping closer to the front of the stage. John handed him a piece of paper.

"This next song is dedicated to the two blokes that wrote it," John turned and winked at George and me.

Both of us were completely confused. George took a step closer to me and lifted an eyebrow, asking if I knew anything. I shrugged. Neither of us had the music for this song. Turns out, we didn't need it.

"The birds are singing, maybe weeping," John and Paul began to harmonize.

I audibly gasped. That was our song, they were playing our song! George and I had written it, and they played it! I expected John to dismiss it, but no, he surprised us.

George laughed out loud and began to strum his guitar. I followed suit on the drums, playing the memorized song with the ease of practice. For the first time, I heard the song I had helped write played by a full band. Each chord was perfect, and each lyric came out beautifully. By the time we had finished, my smile was bigger than my face.

It was one thing to write a song, but it was something completely different to hear it being played live. The harmony made the song sound even better. John and Paul sang it perfectly, glancing back at George and I every so often. 

The crowd clapped as soon as we finished. We all stood, bowed, and left. On the way out, George elbowed me playfully, "We wrote a song."

"We wrote and played a song," I corrected giddily.

John and Paul both smiled at us. We went into the back room, all of us smiling brightly. All of us except for Ken Brown. He looked upset, neither angry nor sad, just upset. Somewhere in between them, or on either side.

"That show was bloody amazing!" Paul exclaimed.

I smiled, "You think every show is bloody amazing."

"They all are!"

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch," John chuckled, "It doesn't do one good to get so excited."

"Who said?"

Nobody had noticed Ken sulking in the corner. I happened to glance back at him, and I saw the deciding look on his face. His eyebrows were knit and his jaw was set. Inside, his brain was working at a thousand miles per hour. He had a decision to make, it was was by no means an easy one.

"Ken, what's wrong?" I asked, interrupting the conversation around me.

Everyone fell silent. All eyes turned to look at the upset man in the corner. He looked up at us, "I'm quitting the band."

"What?!" John exclaimed, "Why?!"

"I want to do something other than play short shows at the same club all the time!" Ken exclaimed, "I want to do something else with my life, this band is going to take me nowhere."

My hands flew to my mouth. None of us had seen this coming, Ken seemed so happy with The Quarrymen. Nobody had expected him to up and quit the band.

"Are you sure?" Paul asked.

Ken nodded, "I've been thinking about it awhile and, yeah, I'm sure. I want to do something with my life, and this band won't get me there."

He dropped his guitar into the case and latched it up. Passing John, he clapped the man's shoulder, "It's been fun, John."

All of us watched him leave. Nobody said anything because there was nothing to say. For the moment, we were all wrapped up in the shock that our friend had just left the band.

"What're we going to do now?" George muttered.

John straightened, "We'll make do."

"How?" Paul asked, "We've never played with less than four guitarists."

"It'll be fine," John sucked in a deep breath, "You, George, and I will be on guitars. Amelia on drums and Stuart will jump from guitar to piano when necessary. We'll make do."

He kept a straight face, but I could see that he was torn up about this. The band had become a tightly knit group. Seeing Ken leave was like losing a family member. All of us felt it shake us to the very core.

I had never been close to Ken, but he was a bandmate and that entailed a certain connection. We might not have hung out much outside of the band but, when it was showtime, we were connected. The music connected us where we would have never been before, loosing Ken was like loosing a a head off of our seven headed monster. 

"We'll make do," John smiled, "Where we going, fellas?"

Paul, George, Stuart, and I all replied, "To the top, John."

"And where's that?"

"To the toppermost of the poppermost!"

It had become a routine to do that every time we encountered another obstacle. John had started it as a way to keep our spirits up. He was determined to make this band work even if it cost his sanity. 

"Get your stuff, lads, it's time to go," Stuart muttered.

None of us answered, but we all obeyed. Paul grabbed his guitar and beckoned to me. We both nodded at George, John, and Stuart before leaving the club.

Liverpool was cold, a temperature which perfectly reflected our moods. The streets were dark, the lights were dim, and our breath made tiny puffs around our lips every time we exhaled. It seemed as if the world felt the same thing we did.

"I can't believe he quit," I muttered.

Paul frowned, "What if he's not the last?"

"What?"

"What if Ken isn't the last to leave?" Paul asked, "Next, it could be George, or Stuart, or John, or even one of us. The band could break up, and then where would we be?"

This had torn him up more than anyone else. I had expected it to hurt him, but not this much. He loved this band with all his heart, he put every ounce of passion into it, seeing it falling apart was enough to make him cry. Just by looking at him, I felt tears in my eyes as well. I moved to where I was in step with him and laid a supporting hand on his arm, "Don't talk like that, Paul, nobody else is gonna leave."

"How do you know? We could be nothing tomorrow. The Quarrymen could become a distant memory."

"They won't," I firmly stated, "As long as the sky is blue, the band will stay together. John, George, you, and I are too in tune with the music. I'm not sure if we could live without it. None of us will leave, I promise you that."

"You can't promise me that, you can't promise anything. You can't see the future," Paul retorted.

I frowned, "I can't see the future, but I have faith in this band, I have faith in all of us. We'll make it out of sheer spite if nothing else."

Paul snorted, a small smile crossing his lips. I grinned as well. He took a deep breath, "I s'pose we'll just see what the future holds."

"S'pose so."

Bright or dark, happy or sad, the future was in the future, and there was nothing more to it. We couldn't prepare for it, we couldn't change it, the best we could do was go forward with our chins held high and a smile on our lips.

The future was out there, we just had to face it, no matter what.


	13. Blackout Boys

Christmas had come and gone quicker than the blink of an eye. Time passes quicker, I've learned, when you have a show every other night. It gives you something to look forward to, and that makes the days fly by quicker.

The Quarrymen had been playing at The Cavern Club for some time now. We were almost denied, as nobody under the age of eighteen is allowed in. Paul was going to be eighteen soon, but George and I still had a couple years. Luckily, John was able to talk them into it. 

The house was empty except for Paul and I. Michael had gone over to a friends house for the night, and Dad had decided to celebrate at a bar with his friends. The house was ours. As any adult can tell you, leaving two teenagers in an empty house for an entire night is never a good idea. Especially when those teenagers were as exuberant as The McCartney Siblings. 

I sat at the piano, playing with the keys. Paul was on the couch nearby, strumming his guitar and writing down what he thought of. Both of us occasionally commented on the work of the other.

"What about g?" I asked, hitting the key.

Paul wrinkled his nose, "Definitely not, it's too low."

"A then."

I hit that key. Paul smiled, "That sounds better."

I wrote that down. Paul jerked his hand down, hitting every single chord. The music echoed through the house, bouncing off the walls and into my cranium. I winced slightly.

"It's nearly ten thirty," Paul sighed, "When will it be time?"

I turned to look at him, "Are you bored?"

He simply glared at me. I smirked, "Go get some cards, we'll play a game."

Paul abandoned his guitar on the couch. I closed the piano gently, making sure not to harm the keys. It was an old piano, older even than Dad. Our Grandmum on our Dad's side had given it to us when she passed away several years ago. From the moment we got it, it has been my piano. Paul and Michael played it sometimes, even Dad tapped the keys on a rare occasion, but I used it the most. Those piano keys are covered in my fingertips from when I was old enough to reach the keys to now. 

Paul was anxiously awaiting the arrival of our friends. Celebrating News Years alone was no fun, so we had the idea of inviting them over. It was still a bit before they arrived.

I sat across from Paul at the coffee table. He shuffled while I watched to make sure he didn't cheat. As he dealt, he counted the cards out loud.

"Nine?" Paul asked.

I shook my head, "Go fish."

He grumbled. We went on like this for ten minutes before he dropped his cards in exasperation, "I can't live like this!"

"Christ, Paul, calm down," I calmly set my cards down, "It's just a half hour, it's not that bad."

Paul fell backward, "Boring! It's all boring!"

I rolled my eyes. Standing, I straightened my pants and gazed down at my brother, "If you want to be a sissy about it, then go ahead."

"I am not a sissy."

"You sure are acting like one."

Paul jumped up. Just a month ago, I was barely an inch shorter than him. Given a week or two, I might have actually been the same height as him, but Paul went through a growth spurt. He rocketed to five inches taller than me overnight. In the typical annoying older brother fashion, he made sure to never let me forget it. 

"Well, what do you suggest?" Paul asked.

I frowned, "I'm not your nanny."

He groaned. I watched him spin around and go to the kitchen. The clanking of metal against glass told me he was making something. I could smell tea moments later.

Paul never was one for waiting. He was very impatient in his youth. People always told me he and I were a lot alike, impatience being one of the similarities. I always chose not to see it.

I went to the front window and peered out. Soft snow was falling from the sky, blanketing the world in a white fluff. It fell gently, dancing across the wind until it touched the ground. There was no sound, and yet, the snow was melodic. The way it drifted had a rhyme all its own.

An idea bubbled to my mind like an overflowing tea pot. I smirked, glancing back at the kitchen. Paul was still making his tea and was thoroughly distracted.

I quickly hurried to the door and slipped on my coat and boots. The fur on the inside of my coat brushed against my skin, making me shiver slightly under the tickling sensation. My boots were still warm from walking to the mailbox that morning. Paul was none the wiser as I snuck out of the house and onto the sidewalk. It was covered in snow, as was the rest of the pale world. I quickly made a moderately sized snowball and crouched to the side of the door.

My legs became tired mere minutes into waiting. Still, I remained in position, my arm poised to shoot. As soon as Paul came looking for me, he would be pelted by frozen snowballs. That would give him a distraction. 

"Mel, what're you doin'?"

I jumped, nearly dropping the snowball. For a moment, it bounced between my hands as I did my best to regain my grip. When I did, I clutched it close to my chest. George had arrived and was standing a few feet away from me. He watched me curiously.

"I'm going to surprise Paul whenever he comes lookin' for me," I replied, "Care to join?"

"Why not."

He molded a snowball and stood behind me. Even George was taller than me, and he was shorter than anyone else in the band. They never did let me forget my height or my age. The only person I had any height over was Molly, and that was barely an inch. Even Michael, though one year my junior, was three inches taller than me. It was frustrating. George, at least, didn't tease me about it. He was the only one who never once made any jokes about my height. 

"Are you sure he'll come out here?" George asked.

I nodded, "Of course he will, he'll come looking for me."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Well, then, aren't we a couple of tossers?"

George chuckled. I heard the lock click and quickly elbowed George. We both raised our arms, ready to strike at any moment.

"Lia?" Paul's voice rang from the door, "Lia, come on, you'll catch a cold."

I swallowed my laughter. It took Paul a few seconds to step out, but, when he finally did, he was hit with two snowballs at the same time. He shouted loudly, jumping two feet in the air. George and I fell over laughing.

"Fucking hell!" Paul exclaimed, "You gits!"

George and I were laughing louder than braying donkeys. Paul glared at us from the door. When I finally regained my composure, I wiped my eyes and looked up at him, "Not bored anymore, are you?"

Paul stared at us for a moment before grinning slightly. Chuckles escaped his lips despite his best efforts to keep them in. He shook his head, "Alright, come inside before you freeze your arses off."

George and I obeyed. Just as I was upright, George slipped, grabbing the back of my coat and pulling me down with him. We both fell into the nearby snowbank, laughing.

"What's goin' on here?"

John and Molly were walking up the sidewalk. I poked my head out of the snow bank to grin at them, my mouth full of snow. George was still head first in the bank, his legs kicking madly to get out of it.

"Bit of fun is all," I replied.

Molly shook her head, "You'll catch a cold, you will."

"That's what I told them," Paul replied, "They won't bloody listen."

John grabbed George's ankle and jerked him out. Snow exploded around him as the boy rolled out. He jumped up and grinned, "That was entertaining."

"Come on, let's get inside before my toes fall off," I said, pushing myself out of the bank.

John, George, and Molly went in first. I dusted the snow off and followed them, hanging my coat on the rack by the door. I went into the living room to find everybody already lazing about.

I fell onto the couch next to Molly. She passed me a tin of mints, which I gratefully took. Molly always seemed to have some sort of mint tin about her person, even when she didn't have pockets. Half the time I was scared to ask where she kept it.

"Is Stuart still coming?" I asked.

"He's on his way," John replied, "Had a bit of a problem at home."

Molly knitted her eyebrows, "Is everything alright?"

"Just an argument with his mum."

None of us questioned it. We were silent for a moment, listening to the wind outside and the breathing filling the room. Molly yawned, stretching her arms behind her head. I rubbed my hands together and stood, "How about some drinks?"

"We could raid Da's liquor cabinet," Paul suggested.

"He'll kill us if we do," I replied, "Besides, it's locked."

"Nothing a pick won't fix."

I crossed my arms, "Do you want to be murdered?"

"We'll just take a speck."

I glared at him. Dad had told us time and time again never to touch his liquor cabinet. While we had broken many rules, this was one of the very few that could possibly have us kicked out of the house. Paul knew it just as well as I did. Dad loved his liquor like any normal person would love their pets. His vast collection was his prized possession; we weren't even allowed to look at it let alone drink it. 

"Those snowballs must have hit you harder than I thought for you to think that's a good idea," I said.

"Come on, Melly," John threw his head back and blinked at me rapidly, "It's all in the name of fun."

I glared at him, "I don't want to get arrested in the name of fun."

"We won't get arrested, we'll stay in here," Paul tried.

John stood up and grinned, "I don't see why we're trying to convince you, we're all older."

"That's right," Paul snapped his fingers, "We don't need your permission."

He and John began to make their way towards the cabinet. Molly and I watched them. I glared daggers into Paul's back, doing my best to make him uncomfortable. George got up and began to follow.

"Not you too," I huffed.

George only shrugged in response. Paul opened the basement door and the trio began to head down the stairs, all while Molly and I watched. When they vanished, I slid down lower on the couch and groaned loudly. 

"What a bunch of bloody tossers," I muttered, "They're going to get blackout drunk, and it'll be us that has to clean it all up."

Molly rested her head on the back of the couch, "Maybe it won't be that bad."

There was a knock at the door then. In the basement, I could hear three sets of male laughter echo. I answered the door to find Stuart shivering in the cold. He hung up his coat and asked, "Where're the lads?"

"Downstairs," I replied, "They're raiding the liquor cabinet, maybe you can stop them."

Stuart grinned, "Stop them? I'm going to join them."

"Dammit, Stuart!"

He hurried down to the basement as well. I groaned, moving to sit next to Molly on the couch. We were left alone in the living room, listening to the sounds of male laughter echoing from the basement.

"I swear, everything would be so much easier without boys," I groaned.

Molly laughed, "I don't know, they have their perks."

"Name one."

"We can make them do the heavy lifting."

Both of us laughed at that. The boys in question returned a few seconds later with a bottle of liquor each. Paul carried several glasses. He didn't bother handing us a glass, as he knew we would deny, and I would fight him about it. Molly and I watched as they poured the liquor.

"A toast," John lifted his glass, "To a New Year."

I rolled my eyes, "It's not even midnight yet."

Either they didn't hear me, or they ignored me. They all tapped glasses before downing the entire cup worth of liquor. George burped loudly, causing the rest of the boys to cackle.

They each downed two more cups in the next hour. Molly and I watched from the couch. Every so often, I would say something to try and stop them, but they ignored me. By the second cup, Paul and George were a bit tipsy. It took John and Stuart another cup before they reached that. By Midnight, all four boys were completely drunk.

"Da is going to kill them," I muttered.

I had half a mind to let him. He would walk in to see Paul and the rest of them completely drunk while Molly and I were asleep in my room. I would be home free, but Paul would be lucky if he ever saw any of us ever again. 

Molly winced. The four boys began to dance in circles and sing loudly, though their words were incoherent. Paul grabbed George and the two began to waltz.

"It's a bit funny," Molly said, "Them acting like a bunch of dunderheads."

I shook my head. John leaped onto the coffee table and raised his glass, "I have somethin' to say, and all you wankers better listen!"

The rest of the group stopped dancing. They swayed on their feet, their eyes unfocused as they watched John. Loopy smiles were plastered on their faces like a kindergarten painting. 

"You're all a bunch of swines," he sloshed the liquid in his glass, "But I love ye anyways! Let's have a toast!"

The clock chimed midnight at that point. All eyes turned to the old Grandfather clock in the corner. Paul began to cheer first, "It's a new century!"

"Decade," I corrected, under my breath.

The rest of the boys quickly joined in. They all cheered loudly, shaking the walls of the house. I covered my ears. 

John jumped down from the coffee table and grabbed Molly's wrist. He forcefully pulled her up and smashed his lips against hers. I wrinkled my nose and stood, going towards my drunk brother.

I happened to glance back just as John separated from Molly. For a moment, Molly looked like she was both scared and disgusted. I only had a second to register it before her face was blocked by John's body. I thought it must have been my eyes playing tricks on me.

"Happy New Year, Mel!" George exclaimed.

He grabbed my arm and twirled me around. I laughed. Whenever he stopped, he drunkenly wobbled, "Ho-how about a kiss?"

"George, you're drunker than an elephant in a liquor store," I told him.

He simply shrugged. Rolling my eyes, I kissed his cheek, causing him to howl with laughter. He ran off to Stuart who was leaning against the wall. Both laughed heartily before clinking their glasses and drinking even more. 

Paul was leaning against the fireplace, his eyes spacing out. I jerked the bottle from his hands and glared at him, "That's enough of that."

"Come on, Lia," his words were slurred, "Don't spoil the fun."

"Paul, you're drunk."

"I am not."

"You are," I replied, "Sit down before you fall and break somethin'."

Paul crossed his arms, "You forget, I'm older than you."

"I'm more sober."

I touched his chest with my finger. He stumbled backward, eventually falling into Dad's armchair. He groaned loudly but didn't get up again. I watched as his eyes became glazed over and, eventually, fluttered shut. 

I went around the room collecting the bottles and the cups, much to the dismay of the boys. They all argued, but none were sober enough to stop me. John tried to grab my arm but he was barely strong enough to hold himself up, let alone stop me. When I finally collected all the bottles, I met Molly by the couch. The boys were all on the floor, either unconscious or getting there.

"I guess they're staying here for the night," I sighed, "Would you like to stay?"

Molly nodded. I took the bottles back to the basement and washed the cups in the sink. Molly got pillows and blankets from the upstairs cabinet and gave them to the unconscious males. When I returned, each boy was wrapped tightly in the blanket and the living room light was off.

"Can I borrow some jammies?" Molly asked.

I nodded, "They're in the top drawer, grab whatever pair you want."

She retreated into my bedroom. Paul began to talk in his sleep and startled me at first. When I looked at him, his eyes were still shut. George turned over and slapped his hand against the coffee table, though it didn't phase him. John snored while Stuart remained quiet. 

Molly was finished a few seconds later. I did the same. We both went into my bedroom and shut the door. For extra precautions, I locked it. While I trusted the boys, with all four of them being drunk, we had no idea what they would do. I would prefer not to wake up to cold water being poured over me. 

Molly and I had shared a bed before. We both casually fell into my bed, pulling the blanket to our chins. Moonlight streamed in through the window, cascading across our bodies and the floor as if tucking us in for the night. The wind whistled a sweet lullaby through the tree branches, telling us in a tender tune that everything would be alright. 

"Goodnight, Molly," I muttered.

Molly smiled, "Goodnight, Melly."


	14. The Quarrymen No More

The sixties turned out to be the greatest decade I've ever lived through. It had its ups and downs, but that's how life goes. In the beginning of 1960, we had our first leap that truly sent our career skyrocketing.

I walked along with Paul down the streets of Liverpool. It was a pale day, with white clouds and bleak surroundings. Even the people who passed looked sick.

I'm sure Paul and I looked no different. It had been snowing constantly since Christmas. There had been no sunlight, no warmth, everyone was forced to either walk around in ice are stay indoors. It was only natural that they would look like they had just crawled out of the grave. It wasn't uncommon for Liverpudlians to look like ghosts at this time of year. 

I didn't feel so well myself. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and my stomach threatened to come out of my mouth. Overall, my body just felt sick. It's like that feeling you get just before you fall ill, but you still aren't expecting it. I had that feeling every winter. As soon as the snow began to fall, I began to feel like I was stuffed like a teddy bear. 

"You alright there, Lia?" Paul asked.

I nodded, "Just a bit peckish is all."

"You look ill," Paul replied, "Like you're going to faint."

"I'm fine, Paul, honest."

He didn't seem like he believed me, but he didn't pester on. We turned a corner and were met with a blast of air. Thousands of snowflakes pierced my cheeks like tiny ice shards trying to dig a tunnel through me. For a moment, we both stumbled backward. Paul instinctively grabbed my arm as if trying to keep me from blowing over. I bowed my head and shivered violently. 

"Christ, I can't wait for spring," Paul muttered.

We pushed through the wind. I pulled my hat down and kept a tight grip on the flaps, "I'll be an icicle by then."

"Yeah," he replied, "What a pair of 'cicles we'll make."

I couldn't find the warmth to laugh. In the back of my mind, I cursed the bus company. Just because the streets hadn't been plowed today, they canceled all buses, making Paul and I walk to The Cavern Club, in the snow, with a guitar case. It was a miracle the rehearsal wasn't canceled.

Paul and I made it into the club without freezing. The warmth of the club took me into its embrace and kissed my forehead. I sighed in relief.

George and Stuart were already on stage. There was nobody but us and a janitor in the club that night. It was a routine rehearsal. Even though we knew all our sets by heart, we were still supposed to practice to keep sharp. The owner of the club was a resilient fellow who wanted to be sure we wouldn't mess up. 

I slipped my coat off and hung it on one of the chairs. It slipped off, but I caught it and rehung it. Paul did the same before going to the stage. George glanced up and grinned at us, "Glad you didn't freeze."

"Almost," Paul replied, "Fucking cold out there."

Stuart poked his head up, "Paul McCartney, there is a child present."

He gestured to me. Both Stuart and Paul snorted. I sneered at all of them, "I'm not a bloody child."

It had become a running joke since the day Paul and I joined the band. Just because I was younger than them, I was instantly the child. 

"Come off it, Melly," Stuart replied, "You're sixteen, that's a child."

"That's not what you said when you were sixteen."

"That's a different story."

"Sod off, Sutcliffe."

Stuart cackled. Paul sat on the stage and began to tune his guitar. I shot glares at all of them before placing myself on the stool and arranging the drums to my fancy. I had a particular taste when it came to my drums; nobody could set them up to my liking except for me. Paul often called me the pickiest drummer this side of The River Mersey. 

"Hey, where's John?" George asked.

Paul shrugged, "I dunno. He's coming."

"He better."

I spun the drumsticks between my fingers. At that point, they had become a part of me. I felt empty when I wasn't holding the sticks, or hitting piano keys, or holding the bow of a violin. Music had become me, and I had become music. It was unnatural for me not to be making some sort of melody. 

A cold blast of air flew through the club whenever the door was opened. It hit me, even in the farthest reaches of the building, and sent chills down my spine. I glanced up to see a snow-covered John step into the club.

He discarded his jacket and hurried to the stage. With him, he had his guitar case and a paper rolled in his hand. It looked dampened, but no less useful.

"Lads, look at this," he stepped onto the stage and unrolled the paper.

Paul, George, and Stuart all gathered around the paper. I abandoned the stool and came up behind them. It took me a second to push through the male bodies to get to the paper.

"I got us a contract to play in Germany," John explained.

It took a moment for me to realize what he had said. Liverpool had a big music scene, that much was evident in the crowds gathered at The Cavern Club. We could make it in Liverpool, but Germany would truly send us soaring up the charts. We would reach a wider audience and improve our sounds. It seemed liked the perfect opportunity. The lads began to smiled, all of them seeing the yellow brick road ahead of us. I smiled for a different reason; something was finally happening. I was going to leave Liverpool.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"He signed us to play at a club," Stuart replied, "It'll get our band more popular."

"We'll get a wider audience," John replied.

Paul took the paper from him. He began to read it, his eyes scanning each and every word. A smile began to grow across his lips, "This is bloody brilliant!."

"We'll become famous for sure," Stuart said.

"There's only one problem," John replied, "To get a visa to get into Germany, we have to be eighteen."

Paul shrugged, "I'll turn eighteen before we leave."

"You're not the problem."

John, Paul, and Stuart all turned to look at George and me. We exchanged glances, looked back at them, looked at each other again, and sighed. George and I were the youngest, both being sixteen at the time. There was no way we could age up two years in two weeks.

"We can't just leave them," Stuart said, "We need them."

Paul frowned, "We can't just replace them either."

"Alright, we'll have to smuggle them," John said.

"How are we supposed to do that?" Paul asked, "It's not like they can fit in our guitar cases!"

"I have an idea," Stuart said.

We all looked at him. At this point, George and I had faded into the background. They were all talking about us, but they had forgotten we were there. Part of me wanted to truly fade into the wallpaper and become nothing more than another rock holding up the building. 

"They have to have a visa to get into the country," Stuart explained, "I know a place that doesn't ask questions and you get the visa that day."

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "Are you suggesting they lie about their age?"

"I am, yes."

"It won't work," Paul replied, "There's papers-and stuff."

"We'll vouch for them. Macca, it's our best chance," John said.

I began to feel a bit jittery. Lying was never my strong suit. Every time I tried, I ended up laughing or crying. A lie that big would be too much to handle. There was no way I could successfully pull this off. 

Paul looked at me. For a moment, we seemed to have a silent conversation. He knew about my inability to lie, but he also knew what lengths we would all go through for this band. Just by looking at me, he could tell exactly what I was thinking.

"Amelia-" he began, but I interrupted.

"I can do it," I told him, "George and I-we'll go tomorrow and get the visas."

George nodded in agreement. John grinned brightly, "This is it, lads, the next big step!"

Deep down, I was terrified. If I couldn't lie, if I failed, the entire band could be in jeopardy. I could be arrested, and them for association. This was the first time I put the band in jeopardy, and it was far from the last. Soon enough, I would see exactly what lengths all of us would go through for this band. 

"We need a new name," Stuart suggested, "The Quarrymen doesn't really suit us anymore."

"Especially since we're not all men," George pointed out, glancing at me.

I pouted, but didn't object. The Quarrymen sounded like a name created by children. We needed something that sounded more professional. Something that would fit us for years to come.

"Macca and I were just talking about that," John said, "And we had an idea."

Paul raised his hands as if painting a rainbow, "Johnny and The Moondogs."

All of us were silent. Stuart, George, and I stared at John and Paul as they anxiously awaited our reply. They seemed genuinely proud of themselves like they had just discovered the secret to life itself. The rest of us felt differently. 

"That name is rubbish," I said.

Paul sneered at me. John crossed his arms and scoffed, "It is not rubbish. It's bloody brilliant it is!"

"John," Stuart called his attention.

"What?"

"It's rubbish."

George nodded, "I second that, mate."

"Well, then, what do you tossers suggest?" John pouted.

I furrowed my eyebrows and thought for a moment. We could be named any number of things. From the Shoes to Wings, we could be anything. We could hyphenate our names, but that would take too long to announce. John, Paul, George, and I were all drawing a blank, but Stuart, however, had a light bulb. 

"What about The Beatles?" he asked.

John cocked an eyebrow, "The beetles? Like the bugs?"

"No, The Beatles. B-E-A-T-les," Stuart shrugged, "We all like Buddy Holly's The Crickets, and they made it big. Apparently, bug names take off."

"I'm game," John clapped his hands together.

George nodded, "Sounds gear."

"Groovy," Paul added.

They all looked at me. John gave me an innocent smile, "It has to be unanimous."

I frowned. I didn't think it would do well to be named after a bug, especially a bug as annoying as a beetle. The Crickets is a fitting name, crickets make music and so does the band. Beetles do nothing but get in your shoes. Still, everybody was looking at me with pleading eyes. Paul batted his eyelashes and sent me his infamous puppy dog eyes. I stared at him for a moment before sighing in defeat. 

"Alright," I replied, "The Beatles it is."

Everybody cheered. Paul grabbed John's shoulder with one hand and mine with the other, pulling us both in for a hug. George and Stuart soon joined, so we were all in one giant group hug.

"This is it, lads," John said, "We're finally going to become something more than a Liverpudlian band."

Everybody agreed, except for me. I was the only band member who truly had doubts about us. There had been a thousand and one bands like ours that never got anywhere, but there was also that one that made it somewhere. Never did I believe we would be that one. I never thought that us, a small skiffle band from Liverpool, could be the ones who made it big.


	15. Liar, Liar, Visa on Fire

The building seemed to stand over me like an angry teacher. It was three stories tall, and no less menacing than I imagined. The windows seemed to glare at me while I stood outside of it. Dark red bricks stared at me with all of the disappointment I felt in myself. The door itself was waiting to gobble me up and fling me into nowhere land. 

George and I stood side by side, staring at the building. It was finally time for us to get our visas. We had to go into that building and successfully lie about our ages. The only problem was, neither George nor I were good liars. We could spin tales of disbelief and imagination, but, when it came to white lies, the two of us were complete failures. 

"Right, mates?" Paul placed a hand on either of our shoulders, "You can do this."

Paul had volunteered to come with us, both for support and to vouch for us. Most of all, he came to make sure we succeeded. Paul was a great liar, but George and I, we were anything but. Should we freeze up, and I completely expected to freeze, Paul was there to save the day. 

George glanced back at Paul, "I'm not sure, Paulie, I can't lie to save my life."

"Me neither, I don't think this is a good idea," I added.

"Nonsense," Paul gave us a supporting smile, "I'll help you. Come on, let's do this."

He pushed us towards the door. George opened it and we all filed in. There were three other people in the waiting room, all waiting for the same thing we were. The man behind the desk glanced up at we came up to him. He gazed at us with eyes that held no emotion whatsoever. I felt like he could see straight through me. We wouldn't get a single word out before he called the cops and we were thrown in jail. My hands began to shake as we approached the desk. 

"Can I help you?" he asked in a bored tone.

Paul smiled, "George Harrison and Amelia McCartney here to apply for visas."

"Are you over eighteen?" the man asked.

I gulped, nodding a bit over enthusiastically. George managed to clear his throat and say, "Yes sir."

"Alright, fill out these forms and bring them back when you're done."

He handed each of us two slips of paper. George and I took them gratefully, smiling as we did so. Paul led us to a row of three chairs away from everybody else. He sat closest to the desk while George and I began to fill out these papers.

The chairs were the sort that gained immense popularity in the sixties. They were made of a cheap plastic, and were supposed to be formed to the shape of a bottom to be more comfortable, but they ended up being the most uncomfortable chairs I've ever had the displeasure of sitting on. It was impossible not to slide off of them. Your legs got so much work by keeping you on the chair, you might as well have not sat down in the first place. The fact that I kept sliding off the chair only added to the tension of the moment. 

"Say you were born in the same year as me," Paul said.

I smirked, "When were you born?"

Paul simply glared at me. I snorted and returned to the paper. It had the generic questions; full name, age, height, weight, blood type, place of birth, allergies, criminal record, etc. I only had to lie on a few of the questions.

Every time I wrote a lie, I felt my heart grow heavier. I had to tell myself it was for a good reason. We were going to Germany, we were going to advance our career. This was for my future as well as the future of the rest of the band. As John would say, "We're going to the toppermost of the poppermost!"

Paul delivered our papers to the front desk when we were done. George and I sat silently. My eyes were glued to the wall, even though there was nothing interesting about it. Bland beige paint covered the smooth wall. There wasn't a single bump, crack, or dent to attract my attention, and yet, I couldn't pull my eyes away. 

"Don't look so guilty," Paul fell down next to me, "Just act casual."

I forced a smile, "I am casual."

"See? You can lie."

Paul laughed as I sneered. I leaned back more and crossed my legs in an effort to look casual. George put his arm on the back of my chair and the chair next to him. We both did our best to look as casual and innocent as possible.

"You two are bloody posers," Paul muttered.

George leaned forward to look at him, "You're not wrong, mate."

I giggled. Paul rolled his eyes, flicking George's wrist. The boy jerked back and sneered at Paul. I covered my mouth to avoid bursting out in laughter.

"Amelia McCartney," the man at the desk called.

Paul pushed my shoulder to make me go. I gulped, put on a fake smile, and went up to the desk. I glanced back at Paul and George only once, and they gave me encouraging smiles.

"That's me," I said as soon as I arrived at the desk.

The man jerked his thumb to the back door, "They'll take your picture now."

"Thank you."

He didn't reply. I went to the thick wooden door and pushed it open. The room was dark save for the camera lights aimed directly at a stool. The stool was up against a white background. A woman with bushy black hair held the camera.

"Hurry along," she snapped, "I haven't got all day."

"Yes, ma'am."

I hurried to the stool. She readied her camera as I sat on it. I crossed my legs and looked up at her, producing my most genuine smile despite the lies behind it. She quickly snapped the picture and dropped her camera, "Done."

"Thank you."

I hurried away before she could yell at me. When I opened the door, George was walking up. He winked at me, a gesture which I returned. As I exited the room, he entered it.

"Went good, then?" Paul asked when I sat down.

I nodded, "She wasn't very nice."

"Doesn't matter, we got the visas."

I nodded. Paul placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled, "It's going to be alright, Lia. It'll be brilliant!"

I knew he didn't want us to do this any more than we did, but he knew we had to. In order to get the band off the ground and into the stars, we had to make sacrifices. This was only the first.

George came out a few minutes later. He was smiling. At first, I thought he was just putting on a show, but the smile didn't go away. He sat down still grinning.

"It worked!" he exclaimed, "Didn't even slip up."

Paul clapped his shoulder, "Right-oh, Georgie!"

George laughed. Both boys were shushed by the man behind the desk. They casually leaned back in their seats, still smiling.

They may be able to muster a smile, but I couldn't. As much as I wanted to go to Germany and make this band go further, I couldn't stand lying. I felt my soul blacken because of it.

"Amelia McCartney," the man behind the desk called, "George Harrison."

Both of us jumped up. We hurried to the desk where the man was holding two yellow envelopes. He handed us each one. Our names were written on the front with a red pen.

"Thank you," George said.

The man nodded. We hurried back to Paul. He was standing by the door, waiting for us to leave. We left the building and hurried down the streets.

"Well, let's see them," Paul said.

I tore into my envelope. The visa was a thick card buried in several other papers. I pulled it out and held it between my fingers. The picture the snappy woman took smiled back at me right along with all the information I needed. 

The picture was not the greatest. My hair was sticking out of my braid, and my eyes were halfway closed. I looked like I was about to sneeze. Bad picture or not, it was good enough to get me into Germany. 

"This is the bee's knees!" I exclaimed, "We're going to Germany!"

George gave me a high five, "Germany!"


	16. McCartney Family Fallout

A good thing doesn't come without problems, problems, problems! There seemed to be more problems than solutions, and every solution came with three more problems. First, it was the visas, then it was gathering the money for airfare, and now, it was confronting the parents.

George, Paul, and I were the only ones who really needed to confront our parents. John and Stuart were both adults, they could do what they wanted. Paul was nearly there, he would turn eighteen in a few months. As for me and George, we had a long way to go. We were still kids no matter how much we denied it, and that was a road block bigger than any other we faced. 

I knew Dad's answer before we even asked. Paul did too, but we knew we had no choice. There was no way either of us would be willing to leave the house for several months without telling him a proper goodbye. We may have an odd relationship, but we still loved each other. It would break my heart to leave on bad terms with Dad. 

That's why the two of us stood on the stairs, our shoulders pressed together as we tried to find the courage to move forward. Michael had gone to bed, Paul made sure of it. The very first thing he said was that he didn't want Michael to witness the argument bound to come.

Dad sat in his favorite armchair, a cup of whiskey in hand. He hadn't had many, which was good, considering what we were about to tell him. His nose was buried in a newspaper.

Paul took a deep breath and surged forward. I followed him, my arms protectively wrapped around my middle. I felt like shrinking into myself, folding my body like origami until I was completely gone. Anything was better than facing the situation at hand. 

"Dad," Paul called his attention, "We have something to tell you."

Paul stopped at the foot of Dad's armchair. I stood just behind him, acting as a supporting force as well as backup. Paul seemed confident, but I could sense his anxiety. Of the two of us, he was the most equipped to face Dad seeing as how he was the oldest and the closest to adulthood. He stood tall while I shrunk behind him. 

"What's wrong?" Dad asked, folding his newspaper.

Paul placed his hands on his hips, "The band has signed a contract to play at a club in Hamburg for six months."

"Hamburg?" Dad asked, "Hamburg, Germany?"

Paul nodded. Dad was silent for a moment. He seemed to be soaking the news in. He glanced between Paul and me before tightening his grip around the newspaper, "You can't honestly expect me to let you go."

"Dad, it's a big step in our career," Paul began, "It's the band's only chance."

Dad rocketed up, "Paul, you're seventeen! Amelia is sixteen! You can't just go to Germany by yourselves!"

"I'll be eighteen in three months! We're not alone, John, Stuart, and George are all going," Paul argued.

"Regardless, it's dangerous," Dad argued, "Besides, the two of you are still in school."

I shook my head, "We graduate in a month. We'll be out of high school before it's time to go."

His gaze turned to me. His eyes were steely, but, deep inside, there was something else. He seemed to gaze into my very soul. To this day, I still don't know what he was thinking, it's one of the greatest mysteries of my lifetime.

"Amelia, you're a child," Dad told me, "You can't go to Germany! You need an education, a job, a life!"

"This is my life! The music, it's what I want-it's all both of us want," I told him.

Paul nodded in agreement, "This is our chance, Dad. This club-we could get spotted by a hot shot music producer. We'll get an audience larger than any we could get in Liverpool. It's our only chance."

"We'll come back at the end of every month," I explained, "It's in the contract."

"You're too young to sign a contract!" Dad shouted, "I forbid it! Neither of you will go, and that's final!"

He flung his newspaper onto the armchair. Paul sneered, "In one month, you won't be able to tell me what to do."

"As long as you live under my roof, you live by my rules," Dad replied.

"I'll move out."

Something flashed across Dad's face. For a spare second, I thought he was scared. A Father wasn't supposed to be scared, they were always supposed to be brave, at least, that's how I always saw him. Even when Mum died, he was brave for us all. He couldn't stop being brave now when we needed it the most. 

"And you can't stop me," Paul replied.

Dad curled his fists, "You're right, I can't stop you. If you want to throw your life down the trash, have at it, but I absolutely forbid Amelia from going."

"Dad!" I exclaimed.

"I won't hear it!" he replied, "You're not even seventeen yet, and you expect me to let you go to Germany? No, you will stay here and go to University."

I flung my hands up in the air, "I don't want to go to University! I want to make music, not read books. Dad, please."

"No, and that's final."

"It is not final!" I argued, "I don't want to leave on bad terms with you but, by God, if I must then I must! I'll leave tonight and you won't see me again."

Dad stopped. I had just said the ultimatum I never wanted it to come to. All I wanted was for Dad to support us, to love us, and to let us go. He was like a brick wall, and, to take down a wall, you need a hammer.

"You would, wouldn't you?" he sighed, "Run away to Germany."

His anger completely melted away. In its place, worry resided. He brought his fingers to his lips and began to chew on a cuticle.

"I would, but I wouldn't like it," I replied, "I love you, Dad, and I want you to be with me, not against me."

He glanced up at me. For the first time, we made eye contact. I felt an overwhelming sense of fear and sadness wash over me. My heart ached for a child I didn't have. I feared for the future, all while knowing what had to be done. His fear washed over me quickly, leaving only determination in its wake. He was scared, but I was not. I was ready to face the world no matter what he said. 

"I can't let you go off to Germany," Dad clenched his fists.

I frowned, "Either you let me go, or I go without you."

"No," Dad glared at me, his eyes digging into my soul, "You have a choice, you both do. Either you stay with me, or you go with your ragtag band of hooligans and turn your backs on me forever."

Paul and I gasped. He had just given us the biggest choice in our lives; our family or our future. It was either the band or him, a choice that could never be made. We had no choice but to make a decision. 

"You can't be serious!" I exclaimed.

Dad frowned, "Dead serious. Me or the band, take your pick."

Paul and I exchanged glances. Just by looking at him, I knew he had already made up his mind. Deep down, so did I, but I didn't like it. We didn't have much family left. Dad, Michael, and Paul were all I had, save for a few distant cousins and an Aunt that lived in Australia. I didn't want to ruin what little relationship I had with my father, but I didn't want to be held back either. 

"Fine," Paul placed his fists on his hips, "I choose John."

He stormed upstairs to get his stuff. I watched him go, my decision finally being made. Dad turned to glare at me, "And you? Will you follow your brother or stay with me?"

"I'm sorry, Dad," I replied, "But I can't let you hold me back. I choose the band."

Without another word, I hurried to my room. Tears were threatening to fall, but I wouldn't let them. I quickly shoved as many clothes as I could into my school bag and grabbed my instruments. When I came out, Paul was already at the door. 

"If you walk out that door, you can never come back," Dad threatened. 

Paul glared at him, "Believe me, I won't."

He stormed out. I watched him for a moment before turning to Dad, "Goodbye, Da."

"Get out of my house," he seethed.

I obeyed, hurrying out the door. Paul was waiting for me at the corner. I hurried down the steps, tears falling from my eyes and flying behind me. Paul wrapped an arm around my shoulder as we turned our back on the only home we ever knew. 

That was one of the most painful moments in my life. It wasn't the first time I had lost something, or someone, and it was far from the last. It hurt to know that our own father, the man who had raised us after Mum died, had told us never to come home. I can still feel his boiling anger even to this day. 

"Don't cry, Lia," Paul dropped his instruments onto the sidewalk, "We'll be fine."

He gently grabbed my cheeks and wiped my tears. I could tell he wanted to cry too, but he held it back. I sniffed, doing my best to calm down, "I can't help it."

"I know. It's going to be fine, I promise."

He pulled me into an embrace. We stood there for a moment in the dark of night when most people were asleep. I could feel Paul's tears fall into my hair, and mine created a wet patch on his shoulder. 

The two of us were essentially homeless. Paul could easily get a job, a house, and a steady life, but I was only sixteen. I had nowhere to go. The only thing I had left was the band, and even that stood on shaky legs. 

"We'll be alright," Paul muttered, "We'll stick together, and we'll be alright."

I squeezed his chest, "I know, we always are."

Things always seemed to work out when Paul and I were together. So long as we stuck together, even through a situation like this, we would make it out alright. I knew we would. We were stronger together than apart and the world knew it. 

"Where do we go?" I asked as soon as we separated. 

Paul shoved his hat further on his head, "We'll stay at John's tonight. I'm sure he'll let us."

I nodded. Paul began to lead me down the streets, struggling to hold up his bag and his guitar case. He, like me, had shoved as many clothes as he could into his school pack. It seemed as if it were going to explode at any second. Mine wasn't much different. 

Paul and I walked in silence. Neither of us could stop crying. Even though deep down, we had expected something like this, it still doesn't prepare you. Nothing could prepare you to hear your own father tell you to leave and never come back. 

We arrived at John's house after what seemed like millenniums. Paul hurried up the stoop with me just behind him. I waited as he knocked. 

"What the bloody-" John opened the door, but quickly stopped whenever he saw our wet faces, "Paul- what's going on?"

Paul gulped, "Our Dad kicked us out."

"What? For good?"

Paul nodded. I could feel myself trembling, the weight of the night nearly too much to bear. I felt like collapsing. 

"Come on, then, there's no use staying outside."

John stepped aside and let us in. Paul and I stepped inside, both of us doing our best to stay on our feet. John quietly shut the door behind us before saying, "You can stay here until we leave for Hamburg. There's a guest room upstairs."

"Thanks, John," Paul muttered. 

John clapped his shoulder, "Of course."

He beckoned for us to follow. We followed him upstairs and to the guest room. It was a simple room with white walls and gray carpet. The bed was king sized, just the right size for Paul and me. There was a dresser as well as a closet. 

John left us alone. It was late, and we all wanted to sleep. We barely had two days until we left for Hamburg. Paul fell onto the bed. 

"We'll be fine," he said for the hundredth time, "We'll stay here until we leave for Hamburg, and we'll be fine. We don't need Dad. We'll be fine."

I could tell he was on the verge of tears. Without saying a word, I sat next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. He held my arm, doing his best not to cry. Despite our best efforts, we both ended up with tears flowing down our faces. 

"We'll be fine," I muttered.

Neither of us believed it.


	17. To Hamburg

Humans have always wanted to fly. Something about leaving the ground we are rooted to fascinated them. They wanted to soar high above the clouds and leave the constructs of the ground. All humans want to fly.

Except for me.

As I see it, there is a reason we weren't born with wings. We are supposed to stay on the ground. Our feet are roots, and roots cannot leave the dirt. It's unnatural and terrifying all at the same time. Humans exist specifically to defy nature, the airplane is simply an example. 

The airport loomed over me like a reaper deciding my fate. People filed in and out, chatting amongst themselves. They weren't scared, most had done this before. Only I stood frozen, looking at the building with knocking knees and a jumping heart. 

We were just getting out of the cab that brought us here. While the lads got their luggage, I stared at the airport, one hand clutching my backpack and the other clutching my tiny suitcase. Every part of me shook and I could slowly feel the blood draining from my body. 

"Alright, lads," John said as soon as we were all out of the cab, "Our plane leaves in an hour. We better get in there."

He lead the group into the airport. I tailed behind, doing my best to control my fear. Paul glanced back at me and said, "Come on, Lia, we don't want to be late."

"I'm coming."

I sped up a bit. Paul, being as oblivious as he always was, couldn't see the paralyzing fear I felt. At that point, it wasn't at it's worse. We still had to get through security and all before we could actually get on the plane. As soon as the plane came in sight, however, I wasn't sure how I would react. I could already feel my muscles beginning to seize and my breathing speeding up. 

As soon as we dropped our luggage off, we all got in the security line. It was separated into four different lines for four different security officers. Paul and John went in one, Stuart went in another, and George and I were completely separated from the group. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest idea, having the two youngest members who had to lie on their visas be separated from the others.

"Are you alright, Melly?" George asked.

I shook my head, "Not really."

"What's wrong?" George knitted his eyebrows in concern, "Are you sick?"

"No-no. I'm just-I don't know-I'm not too keen on heights."

That's the best way I could think of telling him without admitting that I was so scared I felt like throwing up. George was always good with emotions, he could see it in others and identify them in himself. He was also great at comforting those around him. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and smiled, "It's not that bad. It's just like riding in a car, expect your ears pop a few times."

"A car that flies several thousand feet above ground," I replied, "We'll basically be a flying can of sardines."

"I wouldn't say sardines."

"Fine, canned peaches, those taste better."

George shrugged, "Planes aren't as claustrophobic as you think, especially if you have a window seat."

"God, no, I don't want to see the ground disappear below me."

"It only disappears when the clouds cover it," George replied, "Honestly, Melly, there's nothing to be afraid of."

There were only three people left in front of us. Stuart had already made it through and was waiting for us on the other side. A loud roar came from a nearby window, causing me to jump slightly. A plane was taking off just yards from us. I grabbed George's arm, trying to keep the tears from falling.

"I can't do it," I muttered, "We're not even in the bloody terminal yet, and I feel like I'm going to cry."

George gripped my arm, "Amelia, listen, you can do this. You're going to get on that plane, and you're going to be fine. I promise."

I shook my head. George's grip tightened, "Trust me, Amelia, it'll be alright."

I couldn't reply. It was George's turn to go up to the security desk. He squeezed my arm one last time before walking up. I kept my head down while he did so. When the security officer called for the next person, I slowly shuffled up.

"Identification and ticket please," the officer said.

I slowly handed her my visa and my ticket. She looked it over, looked at me, and then marked a red check mark onto the ticket. Handing it back to me, she said, "You're clear."

"Ta, Miss."

I hurried past the desk. George, Stuart, and Paul were all waiting for me. When Paul saw me, his eyebrows knitted in concern, "Amelia, are you alright?"

"Fine," I replied.

He could tell I wasn't. Even though he was often oblivious, sometimes he could sense things. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me off to a corner while Stuart and George waited for John.

"Lia, what's wrong?" Paul asked.

I shook my hand, "I'm terrified, Paul. It's unnatural for us to fly and in a giant tin can no less! What if we crash? What if we lose an engine? What if-"

"Amelia, calm down," Paul gently grabbed my shoulders, "We're going to be fine. This plane has made hundreds of journeys, and each time, it came back alright. We'll be alright."

"What if this is the journey where it doesn't make it back?"

"It won't be, I promise."

"You don't know that."

"I do," Paul replied, "I trust to pilot to get us to Hamburg safely. The flight isn't even that long."

"Six hours is a long time!"

Paul sighed. By then, John had made it through security and the rest of the group was waiting for us near the terminal. They waited anxiously. John tapped his foot as Stuart kept glancing at his watch. Only George waited patiently, he smiled at me encouragingly. 

"Amelia, listen to me," Paul said, "We have to get on this plane. The only way for you to get through this is to believe me when I say everything will be alright."

I took a deep breath. He was right, I had to believe him, or else I might break down on the airplane. 

"You're right-I believe you," I muttered.

In all truthfulness, I didn't believe him, but it was better than having a complete mental break down. Paul pulled me into a hug, "See, everything will be alright. If it gets too bad, you could always sleep through the flight."

"I doubt it."

Paul shrugged. The two of us went to rejoin the group. George lifted his eyebrow, silently asking if I was alright. I gave him a short nod before we all went into the terminal.

"I got seat B3," John read.

Stuart glanced at his ticket, "C1."

We had purchased the cheapest tickets possible on the cheapest airline imaginable. That meant we did not have the luxury of picking our seats. We all expected to be sitting separately.

"B2," Paul said, "Looks like you and me will be sitting together, John."

John grinned, "Better than being alone."

Stuart snorted. I had hoped to sit next to Paul, but that was obviously not going to happen. Looking down at my ticket, I learned that I had seat G2. George elbowed me and showed me his ticket, seat G1. At least we would be sitting together. It was better than sitting alone, anyways.

People were crowding the terminal. There were plenty of planes leaving that day. Several people rushed past us in an effort to make it to their flight on time. I watched as one plane boarded and another took off.

We found our gate and sat down. The plane wasn't due to load for another ten minutes. In a way, we had made it just on time. The plane could have been early, or it could have been late. We had made it so we could be on time no matter when the plane arrived.

"Now boarding flight 031 bound for Hamburg," the woman at the gate announced over the com.

We all stood and got into the line. There were places to stand depending on what seat you had. George and I stood near the back while Paul, John, and Stuart were closer to the front. Just before we separated, Paul winked at me. I simply smiled.

"Alright, Melly?" George asked.

I nodded, doing my best to ignore my trembling, "I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm better than I was."

George didn't answer. He glanced at the window where a plane was taking off. It leaped into the air like a bird gracefully spreading its wings. We watched it vanish into the sky while the line hastily moved forward.

We were on the plane quicker than I had imagined. The rest of our group had already been seated, we even passed them. John gave us a goofy smile while Paul winked. Stuart didn't even notice us.

They were all near the front of the plane, but George and I were in the middle. Our seats were right on the wing. It was loudest there, and the bumpiest. As we sat down, I felt my fear growing.

The stewardess began to go through the safety procedures should there be an accident. George and I paid close attention. She told us where the lifejackets and exits were, and how to operate both. When she was finished, she told us to have a great flight.

The engine started. I jumped a little, clutching onto my seat with white knuckles. George noticed and offered me his hand. I gratefully took it.

The plane began to rush down the runway. I felt my fear grow as we began to leave the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the momentary weightlessness as the ground became nothing more than a memory. We climbed into the air until we were above the clouds, where we finally leveled out.

"See, that wasn't so bad," George said.

I bit my lip, "Not so bad."

I released his hand. Once the plane was leveled out, it was just like riding in a car. So long as I didn't look out the window, I could ride in peace.

***

We landed in Hamburg six hours later. Paul was right, I had slept through most of the flight, and so did George. We had both fallen asleep barely an hour in. When the plane landed, I jumped in surprise.

We disembarked in a parade. Everybody was crazy, moving about and trying to grab their carry-ons. George and I were stuck in our seat until the plane was practically empty. Only then were we able to grab our packs and meet the rest of the lads in the airport.

"How was it?" Paul asked.

I smiled, "Not so bad. I slept through most of it."

"See, I told you so."

I rolled my eyes. We all fell into step with each other and went downstairs to get our luggage. It was deposited on a carousel with metal planks that went round in circles. When we all had our instruments and our clothes, we headed out into Hamburg.

It was late in the evening, around supper time. People bustled about, some going home from work and some going to work. As soon as we stepped out, all of us marveled at the town.

Hamburg was nothing like Liverpool. It was brighter with more vibrant colors. Liverpool always seemed gray, but Hamburg was colorful. Even the people smiled more, though that could just be because most of the people we saw at the airport were new to that town as well.

John hailed a cab and we all got in. It was a tight fit. John took the front seat with George, leaving Paul, Stuart, and I to squeeze into the back. Of course, being the smallest, I was forced in the middle.

"Indra Club, please," John told the cabbie driver.

He took off. We weaved through the streets of Hamburg, all of us taking in the sights. To most, it seemed to be nothing more than another simple city, but, to us, it was beautiful. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and what I saw was simply magnificent. We all gazed out on the dirtiest city in the world and saw the one thing every teenager wanted; freedom. 

We arrived at the club twenty minutes later. All of us fell out. We piled our money together to pay the cabbie before he took off. We were left on the street corner, gazing at the red brick building.

"Well, lads," Paul smiled, "Welcome to our new home for the next six months."


	18. Kirchherr

The Indra Club was like a different universe than the Cavern Club. It was bigger, smellier, and meaner than what we were used to. People sneered rather than smiled, and they looked at us as if sizing up their meal. The entire place reeked of sour milk and sweaty men. The club manager gave us long hours and shitty living conditions, but we endured. For the band, we endured.

We had only played one show there, technically half a show. The power went out halfway through and we had to leave. There was another show that night, and it was planned to be nearly eight hours long. I wasn't sure how we would survive an eight-hour long show. The most we've ever done was four hours.

I sat at the drum kit. I wasn't able to bring my drums from home because they technically belonged to The Cavern Club. That left me with new drums that seemed unfamiliar to me. This entire town was unfamiliar. I felt out of place like a match in a candle store. 

What started as a dream turned out to be a confusing nightmare. With long hours, unlivable conditions, mean people, and a loneliness brought on by being in a place unfamiliar to us, we had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

At the time, I was the only one on stage. The lads were getting ready, and they were taking forever. It gave me enough time to organize the drums to my liking.

That's when I met her. You've probably heard a million different versions of how we met Astrid Kirchherr. Some say Stuart met her first, which would have been only fitting, but the truth is, I met her first. Had they been on the stage at the time, things would have played out differently.

"Guten tag."

I glanced up from my drums. She was standing at the foot of the stage, a camera in her hands and a kind look on her face. As soon as I saw her, I had to hold back a gasp. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. Blonde hair the color of golden sunshine was cut so close to her head, it was nearly shaved. She wore all black, and her top was a turtleneck. Blue eyes stared at me with all the kindness in the world. It took me a moment to regain my ability to speak.

"Er-hello," I replied.

The woman smiled, "Are you the drummer?"

I had completely forgotten I was holding the drumsticks and sitting at the drum kit. For a moment, I was confused, but I quickly realized what she was talking about. Spinning the sticks around in my fingers, I grinned.

"Yes, that's me. Amelia McCartney, pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Astrid Kirchherr," she replied, "I heard your band was playing."

She spoke with a thick German accent, just like the rest of the town. Most people's accent was coarse and rough, like it was cutting into you. Hers was smooth. It made me smile when I would usually shrink away.

I nodded, "It's technically our first show. The power went out during the first one."

"That's too bad. Where is everybody else?"

"Getting dressed. They take forever, and then they call me slow."

She giggled. I could feel heat rise to my cheeks, but I blamed it on the humid room. Everybody was sweaty and smoking, and it didn't help the atmosphere. The summer air outside only added insult to injury, making the entire club a sauna. All of this combined and John still made us wear leather jackets. 

"I was hoping to take some photographs," Astrid held up her camera.

I smiled, "I'm sure they'd be up for that. They always enjoy anything that has to do with them."

Astrid laughed once again. That was the moment the rest of the boys decided to come up to the stage. All four of them arrived at once. Paul looked between Astrid and me and asked, "Lia, you made a friend?"

"Lads, this is Astrid Kirchherr," I gestured to the woman, "Astrid, this is my brother Paul, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Stuart Sutcliffe."

Each boy nodded once they heard their name. Stuart hadn't been looking until I said his name. He glanced up, his eyes connecting with Astrid's. For a moment, the air changed. It became electrified with something unknown to me. Their very gaze seemed to be pumped with static.

"Say, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" Stuart asked.

George elbowed him. Astrid giggled, smiling at him the entire time. She raised her camera and replied, "I was hoping to photograph you."

"You can take pictures of me whenever you like," Stuart winked.

"For God's sake, Stuart," I sighed, "Can you stop flirting for half a second?"

Stuart glared at me, "Sod off, McCartney."

"What did I do?" Paul asked.

"Not you."

The group laughed, except for me. I rolled my eyes and grabbed the drumsticks, hitting the drums a few times. Astrid took a step back and smiled, "Pose for me?"

"Gladly."

Everybody got into position. The boys pretended to play their guitars while I pretended to hit the drum. Astrid snapped a few photos before smiling, "Danke."

"Is that all?" Stuart asked.

Astrid shook her head, "I'll take more during the show."

Stuart smiled. They stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time. John eventually cleared his throat, "Show starts in five minutes, Stuart."

"Right, sorry."

He continued to tune his guitar. Astrid vanished, though we knew she wasn't far. The club began to fill. People of all shapes, sizes, colors, and emotions came to watch us play. Everybody was an adult, as nobody under the age of eighteen was allowed in that club. Jokes on them, George and I not only got in, but we were paid to do so.

"Ready, lads?" John asked.

We all nodded. I twirled the drumstick in my hand, smiling as I did so. John pursed his lips, "First show, let's bloody win it."

"Here here," Stuart and Paul replied.

They all turned to face the audience. Several tired faces gazed back at us, each one no different than the last. John glanced back at me and nodded. I started the beat.

***

Seven hours into the show, and I felt like I couldn't go anymore. My fingers had blisters, my muscles had become putty, and my lungs had faded from existence. Playing for seven hours nonstop took a large toll on the body. Sweat coated every inch of me, making my hair hang damp like a wet paper towel.

The boys were no better. All I could see were the backs of their saturated shirts. John and Paul had nearly gone hoarse. George's fingers had begun to bleed, but he ignored it. They continued to play no matter what.

It was only our first day, I told myself, we would get used to it. Eventually, eight-hour shows would be nothing for us. It would be like riding a bike. We just had to get used to it, is all.

By the time the show was over, I felt as if my hands would fall off. I dropped the drumsticks and took a deep breath. The boys bowed, and they almost couldn't get back up. We left the stage and headed towards our room in the basement. All of us nearly fell over, but we made it.

The room was a shithole. We had two sets of bunk beds and a pullout couch. There was a bathroom and a closet, both were small and not fit to accommodate five people. The only other furniture we had was a small table and two metal chairs.

Paul fell onto the couch. He had claimed it as soon as we arrived. George and I had the two top bunks while John and Stuart had the bottoms. We all climbed into our beds and promptly collapsed.

"Good show," Stuart mumbled.

Nobody had the energy to reply. Within seconds, I was surrounded by four sets of snores. I followed not too long after.


	19. Hey, Kids, Want To Buy Some Drugs?

I sat on a barstool, a cigarette hanging loosely from my lips. The sounds of the club bustled around me, but I paid no attention. The only thing I knew, the only thing I felt, was pure exhaustion. 

Our shows were long and we played every night. Sundays were our only day off, mostly because the club was closed as well. The other six days a week ran on exhaustion and hard liquor. It wasn't an ideal life if anything it was more like an ideal hell, but we were getting paid for it. Money made the world go 'round, and it made five teenagers from Liverpool work until they dropped.

"Exhaustion is one hell of a drug," I muttered to myself.

My body longed for the comforts of my own bed in my own home, not the stiff things they called beds here. Sometimes, I thought it would be more comfortable to sleep on the concrete floors rather than the musty, crusty, dusty old mattress the club supplied us with. We slept in the back of a movie theater across the street, it was less than ideal. The only comfort I had were the warm smoke puffs exiting my lungs, the bite of whiskey, and the drums. That was it. Even that sometimes didn't do the trick. 

Before this trip, I didn't drink. I made a conscious effort not to drink, but the hours were long, and liquor made it easier. It gave me a new energy. I didn't drink before, but, after these grueling hours, I was left with no choice. I'd even begun smoking more than I used to.

"'Ello, Melly!"

Someone practically collided with my back. The cigarette fell from my lips as arms wrapped around my chest. I sputtered, "John, what the hell?"

The man in question released me and fell onto the barstool next to me. He looked as chipper as ever, with rosy cheeks and a genuine smile. Even his eyes were bright. Had it not been so dark in that club, I would have seen his pupils practically took up his entire face. He looked nothing like the exhausted John Lennon I had seen that morning.

"It's a beautiful day to play, yes?" John asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What's gotten into you?"

"A wonderful thing!" he exclaimed, "A brilliant thing!"

"What thing?"

He gazed at me, his smile one step beyond unsettling, "The waitresses, they have a method."

"A method for what? John, you're beginning to worry me."

"Don't worry, Melly, be happy," John dug in his pants pocket, "The waitresses have longer hours than us, they have things to keep them going."

John pulled his hand out of his pocket and showed me a palmful of little, white, pills. A few had lint on them, but, otherwise, they seemed to have just fallen out of the bottle. They were no bigger than the tip of my finger, and each had a thin line directly through the middle. John held them like a noble would hold diamonds. 

"Drugs?" I asked, "You're doing drugs now?"

John placed a pill in my hand and rolled my fingers over it, "Not drugs, Melly, energy. These things give you the energy of seven elephants, we can play all night on these!"

I stared at him. For a moment, I thought he was joking, but he was being completely serious. He was even excited about it.

Drugs had never crossed my mind. I had finally given up and turned to the bottle, but drugs? That was insane! People die from drugs every day. Addictions are formed, people go nuts, things don't generally go well with drugs. I had to sit through an entire school day of anti-drug propaganda videos all because one bloke brought a reefer to school.

"You've got to be joking. I'm not going to do drugs, John!" I retorted.

John grinned, "You might not have a choice. You're exhausted, Melly, we all are. This is the only way we can get through this."

"There's other options," I argued, "Coffee, tea, cold water, anything but drugs."

"Those only last so long. These last all night."

I stared down at the pill in my hand. I will admit, it was tempting. If it truly would make these long hours easier, it would be worth it. I knew drugs were bad, I've gotten a million and one lectures on them from school and from Dad. These drugs could easily kill me, or worse, I could get addicted. My choices now could affect me for my entire life, but it seemed so tempting. 

"I can't," I muttered, "It's not right."

John stared me directly in the eyes, "Amelia, there's no choice. We can't keep doing this without a little help."

"Is everyone else doing it?"

"Everyone."

"Even Paul?"

"Even Paul."

Part of me hoped that Paul would be able to stop me. With every second that pill was in my hand, my temptation grew. I felt like Eve staring at an apple tree. The snake whispered in my ear, telling me exactly what had to be done.

"Alright," I sighed, "I can't believe I'm going to do this."

John clapped my shoulder, "Trust me, it's worth it."

He left after that. I held the pill for a moment longer, staring at it. It seemed to yell at me like a drill sergeant, demanding that I take it. Taking a deep sigh, I swallowed it.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. I began to wonder if John was playing a joke on me when it hit. All at once, I felt all the energy I ever had rush back. It filled me with an energy unlike anything ever. I blinked rapidly before smiling.

"Bloody hell," I whispered, "I feel brilliant!"

I wanted to run, dance, sing, and fly all at the same time. Sitting still was no longer an option. I glanced at the stage to see Paul and Stuart arriving with their guitars. We were supposed to play at any minute now, and my muscles ached to hit the drums.

I abandoned my seat and hurried to the stage. Upon arriving, I saw Paul and Stuart with the same expressions as John. They held boundless energy.

"You took it?" Paul asked.

I nodded, "I've never felt so good in my life!"

"It's fucking brilliant!"

I hurried to the drums and grabbed the sticks. John and George arrived moments later, both smiling like nut cases. We were all high, we were all feeling the energy, and we were all ready to play.

And so, we did. We played with the energy of a thousand suns. We burned with passion, we were lit with desire, and we played with the heat of all our emotions. That night, I swear, we gave our best performance yet.

It's hard to describe what those pills did to me. Later on, George would say he felt in love. We all did, in love with each other, the club, the music, and the world in general. I was in love with everything, and I wanted to make it known. The only way I knew how was to play those drums like there was no tomorrow.

The show was finished before it even began. I was so into playing the drums, I barely noticed when the rest of the group stopped. They all bowed and left the stage. Once I realized, I quickly followed, meeting them down in the basement. For the first time, the damp walls and smell of rats didn't bother me. I was too high to realize any of life's petty ploys. 

"I feel bloody amazing!" George exclaimed.

Stuart smiled, "I feel like dancing."

"Let's do something," John said, "Get out of here and go do something."

"What do we do?" Paul asked.

"I don't know."

I threw my hands up, "Let's just go, then!"

"Let's go!"

We all abandoned our instruments in our room and hurried outside. The chill air kissed our cheeks and urged us forward. We practically danced down the streets, laughing together like a band of hooligans.

There was a park a few blocks away from the club. There, oak trees grew as tall as giraffes and flowers dotted the grass. Children played on the playground as if there was nothing bad in the world. We all ran to the park.

Stuart launched himself into the tree first. He leaped up and grabbed the branch, slowly pulling himself up. We all watched him, the smiles refusing to leave our faces. He swung his legs down and sat on the branch like a fairy tale prince.

"What're you doing?" John asked.

Stuart shrugged, "Getting a better view, I guess."

John and Paul exchanged glances. They both laughed and launched themselves into the tree after Stuart. I watched them for a few seconds before a force connected with my back, I tumbled into the grass, still laughing.

"George, what the bloody hell?" I asked.

George laughed. He launched himself into the tree as well, climbing higher than any of the other boys. Paul straddled one branch and grinned at me, "Come on, Lia, there's enough tree for everyone!"

I jumped to grab the branch. The bark dug into my hands and gave me splinters, but I didn't care. In the heat of the moment, all that mattered was the energy we all felt. Paul held my arms and helped pull me up until I was on the branch as well. He began to climb higher while I straddled that branch.

"I feel like singing!" John exclaimed, standing on one of the higher branches.

He held onto the trunk and swung out over the sides of the branch. His face poked through the leaves to gaze over the rooftops of Hamburg. The smile he bore was enough to light up the entire city. 

"Let's sing, then!" Paul exclaimed.

I broke off two branches and spun them in my hands, "You can't sing without a beat."

I began to hit the trunk of the tree as the others began to sing. Four male voices combined in harmony to sing a song they made up along the way. It was a song that would largely be forgotten until years later.

"The fools in the trees!" John started, "They do as they please!"

Paul grinned, "Hidden in the leaves, they love all the bees."

"They dance and sing to the beat of a tangerine!"

"They kiss and shout to the tune of a trout."

"Here comes the fools," George sang, "They're a bunch of tools."

Stuart laughed, "A jolly bunch of lads, loved everything they had."

"The sing ballads of trees," John continued, "And compose symphonies of leaves!"

It was a song we would never sing professionally, but, at that time, it was the most beautiful song I ever heard. I kept the beat as the boys kept taking turns singing lyrics. They all laughed, sang, and had a wonderful time.

That was the best night we ever had in Hamburg.


	20. One Shilling

It became a daily routine to take those drugs. The drug, Preludin, gave me a feeling unlike any other. It made the long hours go by faster, and it made playing consistently ten times easier. The world seemed brighter every time we felt high. Even the grimy sleeping quarters we had seemed like Buckingham Palace.

Most of all, the drug made me happy. I was always happy to play, but recently, my joy had subsided. Everything seemed to pile on top of me to make happiness seem impossible. From bad playing conditions, rude customers, and the fact that my father still didn't want to see me, it seemed as if happiness was nothing more than a distant thought. The drug made everything seem better.

Each day went by in a blur. Wake up, eat, take the drug, play, and pass out, nothing else. Each day was the same and everything was in monotone, but we didn't care. The high made everything easier.

The only day we had off was Sunday. The Indra Club closed for religious reasons, giving all the staff a much-needed day off. After a month of constantly being with the group, I became sick of them. That Sunday, I left them to go off on my own.

My goal was to find a pay phone to make a call. As it turns out, the district we were in had a shortage of pay phones. I had to walk four miles before I finally found one.

The doors were hard to open. Poorly drawn graffiti covered the walls, mostly names and couples signing it. Some had 'call this number for a good time.'

I stepped inside and shut the door. Digging in my pocket for a coin, I picked up the phone and began to dial. The sound was scratchy, but not incoherent.

"Hello?" a female voice asked.

I smiled, "'Ello, Molly."

"Melly!" she exclaimed, "It's about time you bloody rang. I thought you'd forgotten about me."

I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me, "This is the first time I've actually had a free minute. They've got us working to death here."

"Is it bad?"

"Bad? It's hell on Earth," I replied, "We play eight to twelve-hour shows with barely any breaks. We have one bedroom right next to the girl's lavatories, and it's a pigsty as is! They only let us breathe on Sundays when they go to church."

"Blimey, that's terrible!"

"Yeah."

"Why do you keep going?" Molly asked, "If it's that bad, why not just quit?"

I shrugged, "We have a contract, we can't quit. Besides, it's the first real step this band has ever taken. We're not at The Cavern Club anymore, we're higher. We have a chance here."

I could almost hear Molly shake her head, "How do you do it?"

"Well, we found something that helps," I rubbed the back of my neck, "The waitresses-they told us about it."

"About what?"

"It's called Preludin. It gives us enough energy to play these ungodly hours."

Molly was silent for a full minute. I knew exactly how she would react, and it wouldn't be pretty. She had been raised in a strict, Catholic, environment. To Catholics, drugs were nothing but sin.

"Drugs?!" she exclaimed, "You're doing fucking drugs?!"

I cringed, "It's not that bad, Molly. They're not habit forming, supposedly, and they keep us going. It's the only solution."

"Drugs are never a good solution, Amelia, what possessed you to do that?"

She began to sound like my mother. Her voice was cross as she lectured me. I could vividly picture her standing with her arms tightly crossed across her chest and her foot taping, just like a disappointed mother. 

"I didn't have a bloody choice!" I replied, "The hours they have us on are impossible without it. We would collapse."

"Get less hours, do something that's not taking drugs."

I frowned, "I wanted too, but there's no other options. We're stuck with the drugs or no job."

"Is the job really worth it?"

"It is," I replied, "This is the first step in advancing our career. It comes with some risks, but, hell, we've made it this far, it's too late to turn back."

I was hoping to play to her sympathies. She knew how much I wanted this, how much we all wanted this. She knew the risks we were willing to take and the sacrifices we were willing to do. 

Molly sighed, "Alright, I just wish you didn't have to take drugs."

"Me too, Mols, me too."

We were silent for a second. The silence tore at me, grating my very skin. It was cold, I could feel her disappointed gaze even from thousands of miles away. Eventually, I cleared my throat and asked, "How's everything back in jolly ole Liverpool?"

"Bloody boring," Molly replied, "Mum sent Gina and Reggie to a boarding school in London. It's quiet without them."

"Did you start school?"

Molly had decided to go to university, unlike me. Her parents fully supported her. In fact, they were forcing her to get a degree in business. Just between the two of us, she told me she wanted to go to an art school, not a business school. They wanted her to be a CEO, she wanted to make art. 

"Yes," Molly answered, "It's no better than our old school."

I chuckled, "I find that hard to believe."

"Honest, it's boring as all hell and they teach us the same thing every bleeding day."

"Sounds like hell."

The phone began to beep, signaling that my time was up. I searched in my pockets for another shilling, but I didn't have one. Sighing, I said, "My time's up and I don't have another shilling."

"Oh," Molly sounded sad, "Promise to call again soon?"

"Promise. Bye, Molly."

"Bye, Melly."

The phone hung up after that. I released a dejected sigh. I had wanted to talk to Molly for longer than that, but I was running out of shillings. Between food, drugs, and other necessary supplies, our paycheck wore thin very quickly.

Perhaps it wasn't worth this. We barely got any money because of those drugs, but we needed those drugs to survive. The only exposure we got were drunken men and hookers. All we were left with was buckets of sweat and fingers rubbed raw. In the end, it wasn't worth it, not in my opinion anyhow.

I left the phone booth with my hands hidden in my pockets and my head hung low. A thick fog had settled over Hamburg. It was a quiet sort of fog, the kind that comes just before a rainstorm. It was a depressing fog.

It began to rain just as I entered a café. It was a French café in a German neighborhood that a Brit had just entered. There were very few people inside, and they all stared at me like I was an alien. In a way, I was. I didn't belong in Hamburg, I belonged in England, and they knew it. 

"Coffee, please," I told the barista.

She nodded and wrote it down. I paid for it and found a seat near the window. Rain pelted against the glass, tapping out a melody only nature can create. I watched the rain, sipped my coffee, and sat in a world of loneliness.

I was a lonely person, and I always would be. The one person I could ever love was miles away. My friends were with me, even my brother was there, but it wasn't the same. Even surrounded by friends, I was lonely.

Lonely people are everywhere. Tucked away in houses, businesses, churches, graveyards, clubs, and coffee houses. They are in plain sight, but nobody sees them. They sit in silence and listen to the world, though the world will never listen to them. Lonely people fill the world, yet they do not belong there.

All the lonely people.

Where do they all belong?


	21. Make Music, Not War

Just before a long show, I sat on the stage with Paul. It was just the two of us because the club didn't open for another two hours. For the first time since we arrived, everything was quiet. It was a rare moment of peace in our hectic life. We would have to start playing as soon as the doors opened. For the time being, we enjoyed a moment of relaxation. 

"I feel like I could sleep for a fortnight," Paul muttered.

His eyes kept fluttering. He rocked back and forth slightly. We had been here for a month and a half, but we still hadn't gotten used to the shows. The drugs helped, but only for so long. Eventually, we built up a tolerance to the drug and had to up the dosage. John and Stuart were already at four pills a day. George and I were lucky, we didn't have to go above two. Paul was at three. 

"I want to sleep forever," I muttered, "We should have never left Liverpool."

Paul shook his head, "Don't say that, Lia. We're playing professionally now."

"And we weren't at The Cavern?"

"This is bigger," he replied.

I sighed. As much as I agreed with him, I also disagreed. We had a bigger chance here, yes, but at what cost? Out sanity? Our morals? Our health?

"You two look exhausted."

Paul and I glanced up to see Astrid Kirchherr standing about a foot away. As usual, she held her camera in her hand and a smile on her face. Every time I saw her, she seemed to become even more beautiful. Her hair had begun to grow out, but only slightly, it barely touched the top of her ears.

"That obvious?" Paul chuckled, "We're knackered."

"Eight-hour shows will do that to you," I sighed.

Paul laughed, "Especially if some are twelve."

"That's ridiculous," Astrid scoffed, "Should be illegal."

"Illegal or not, it's happening."

Astrid sighed, "You could quit, you know."

Paul shook his head. From backstage, we all heard John call out his name. He stood and winked at Astrid, "Until later, love."

I rolled my eyes. All of the lads were flirts, Paul most of all. It seemed as if he couldn't see a girl without flirting with her, even when he had a steady girlfriend back home. Part of me wanted to tell Dot about his escapades in Hamburg. A small smirk crossed my face when I realized what I held over him.

"Auf wiedersehen."

We watched him go. Astrid moved to sit next to me, her camera dangling from her neck. I rested my chin on my knees and took a deep breath. At that moment, all I wanted was to curl up in my bed and fall into a dreamless sleep.

"Are you going to take more pictures?" I asked, doing my best to hold back a yawn.

Astrid nodded, "Yes. Tonight, I'll photograph the show, and on Sunday, a photo shoot."

"A photo shoot? A professional photo shoot?"

"Ja."

The thought of it surprised me. I didn't think we were popular enough for a professional photo shoot. Astrid did work for a local magazine, perhaps she wanted to do an article on us, or she may have just wanted to spend more time with Stuart.

Every time the two of them are together, I have to look away to avoid throwing up. They gave each other constant love eyes, it was disgusting, honestly. The only time I've ever seen that look before was when George looked at his guitar.

"Is this for the magazine?" I asked, "Or to spend more time with Stuart?"

Astrid's cheeks began to turn red. She looked away, pretending to become very interested in the amp next to her. I smirked, "That's what I thought."

Astrid didn't reply. I shook my head and buried it back in my knees. My eyes closed as I took deep breaths. For a moment, the world faded away. I got a moment of relaxation before-

"Stop bloody whining!" John shouted.

Astrid and I turned to face the voice. Paul quickly shouted back, "I'm not whining, John, you're just being a knob head."

Something fell, causing a loud crash. Instantly, I was on my feet and hurrying backstage. Astrid was just a few steps behind me. We arrived backstage to find John and Paul going head-to-head with Stuart right behind them. George was pressed against the wall, looking confused.

"What happened?" I asked.

George shrugged, "I-I don't know. I walked in and they were shouting."

"I'll tell you what happened!" John exclaimed, "This wanker won't stop his crying."

Paul stamped his foot, "I am not crying, you're crying!"

"I am not!"

"You're both gits," Stuart added, "Quit your yapping and get ready for the show."

Paul sneered, "You're not the bloody boss of me, Stuart, sod off."

"You're a twat, Paul."

"You're both twats!" John exclaimed.

All three began yelling at the same time. I was still confused over what started this argument. Nevertheless, it was an argument that had to be broken up. They were getting so heated, I was honestly afraid they would begin to throw punches.

"Lads!" I exclaimed.

They paid no attention. I glanced at George, who nodded slightly. The two of us dove into the argument. I grabbed Paul while George grabbed John. Astrid pulled Stuart away. I gripped Paul's ear just like our mother used to do.

"Amelia, bugger off!" he exclaimed, trying to push me off.

I ignored him, "You three are acting like gits! We're all tired of each other and tired in general, but that doesn't mean you should fight each other."

"You're not our mother, Amelia," Stuart spat.

I glared at him, "I'm not, but you're acting like children, so I will treat you like children. Now shut up, step up, and stop this pointless fighting."

John and Stuart glared at me. Paul pushed against my shoulder, causing me to release him. He crossed his arms and glared at me. I held eye contact, glaring right back at him.

"You forget, we're all friends," George smiled, "Friends don't fight."

I nodded, "Exactly. We're friends and we're bandmates, and that requires a certain level of understanding."

"Fine," John flung his hands into the air, "I'm getting sick of all of ye. Fucking hell."

He left the room after that. Stuart was close to follow, though he went in another direction. Astrid glanced at me before following him. Paul sat on a nearby crate and glared at us, "Well I'm not leaving."

"You are a child," I spat, spinning on my heel and going into the main room of the club.

After a bit of cool down time, they would be alright. Spending so much time together wasn't good, especially for these boys. They all had dominance issues. It seemed as if most men did. Hopefully, they would get over it, we still had five months of a contract left.

George came up behind me, "It'll all be alright. They'll get over it eventually."

"Yeah, eventually," I sighed, "We have to play together in an hour, and then sleep in the same room tonight."

"They're stressed is all."

"And sick of each other."

George snorted, "I can't very well blame 'em. I'm getting sick of them too, but I won't yell about it."

"We may be the youngest, but we're the grown up ones."


	22. Four Months Later

Four months of playing these grueling hours and none of us have gotten used to it. The best we can do is stay high on drugs and play with all the passion we could muster. Afterward, we would crash, and sleep for hours. What sleep we got wasn't good because the drugs we took caused realistic dreams. They kept us active even when we were asleep, leaving us in a constant loop of exhaustion. 

Even the drugs were beginning to stop working. I was up to four pills, the rest of the lads had all passed six. We were becoming more and more tolerant of the drug and less and less energetic each day. 

The greatest days were Sunday. On those days, we could finally take time apart from each other and have a day of rest. It was my favorite day of the week. Sundays were the only days when I could take a step back and breathe. 

That particular Sunday, I had started by calling Molly. We talked as long as two shillings would allow. When that was done, I found a comfortable bench at a nearby park and opened the book I had been dying to start.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, the sky was blue, it was beautiful, and so was the city. Summer had come and gone, and now, winter was fast approaching. Fall was still lingering for as long as it could, however, like a stubborn child at his favorite playground. All of the leaves had changed color, and most had fallen off. It gave the city hues of red, orange, and brown.

Even the air smelled sweeter here than in Liverpool. We weren't near the coast, meaning the smell of freshly caught or freshly rotting fish didn't drift through the air. There was no salt, there were no fishy smells, and there were no foul fishermen. The only stench was the occasional whiff of hard liquor or the walk of shame, but even that was scarce. Everything was peaceful.

I was enjoying my peaceful reading. All I heard was the singing birds and distant cars. For the first time in several weeks, I actually relaxed. All of my muscles released the tension I held. My body felt the pain of holding the tension for so long, it made me groan slightly. After a few seconds, that pain was replaced with relief. 

Nothing lasts forever.

"Lia!" a voice echoed through the park.

I sighed deeply, "Oh no."

Only one person ever called me that. Paul, John, George, Stuart, and Astrid were all hurrying from the front gates. They all looked happy, excited even. It was a big contrast to that morning when they all looked pissed off. Just three hours ago, John had threatened to break my drumsticks if I didn't go away. 

"What the hell do you want?" I asked, "I'm trying to get away from you gits."

John ignored my comment, "We got a gig."

"Big deal, we have a gig every night."

"This is different," Stuart put in, "It's at The Midnight Club. Their band backed out, and they said they'll pay us one hundred pounds to play there."

I stared at them for a moment. What they were asking me to do was practically illegal. It would breech our contract, and could have dangerous repercussions. Our boss was cruel as is, he would jump at the chance to punish us. 

Paul grinned, "One hundred pounds, Lia, that's more than we make in a month!"

"But that's a rival club."

"So?" John asked.

"If the boss finds out, we'll get in trouble."

John smirked, "What he don't know won't hurt him."

"This is a terrible idea."

Paul fell to sit next to me. As he does every time he wants something, he gave me the classic Paul McCartney puppy dog eyes. He flung his arm around my shoulder and squeezed, "Come on, Lia, please. We can't do this without you."

"We're going to get canned," I argued.

"We won't," John replied, "So long as we keep this under wraps, we'll get out fine."

They all looked at me hopefully. Paul laid his head on my shoulder and looked up at me, giving me the puppy dog eyes. He's been doing that since we were little.

"That doesn't work on me," I told him.

He pouted, "It works on Michael."

"Everything works on Michael."

"Get back to the point," Stuart interjected, "Will you play with us or not?"

I stared at them. Each looked hopeful, even George. I did hope he would be on my side with this. It was a terrible idea, one of the worst they've ever had. Even so, I knew they wouldn't lay off. They would badger me until I gave in, or they would force me. I could visualize Paul throwing me in a wheelbarrow and wheeling me to the club with my drums on my lap. I dragged my hand down my face and groaned. 

"Fine," I sighed, "Only because I know you won't go away until I said yes."

John grinned, "Brilliant, let's go."

"Wait, what?"

"The show starts in an hour," Paul leaped up and grabbed my wrist, "Come on, Lia."

He jerked me to my feet. I stumbled forward a bit before turning on them, "You could have said that earlier!"

"Doesn't matter, come on, or we'll be late."

Paul practically dragged me down the street. Their steps were all synchronized, even Astrid's, but mine were all over the place. Half the time, I was stumbling over my own feet. Paul kept jerking on my arm. Eventually, I shook him off.

We made it to the club with twenty minutes to spare. All of us hurried in. The instruments were already there, making me believe that they knew I would say yes. For what seemed like the thousandth time, I released a deep sigh.

"Come off it, Mel," George elbowed me, smiling, "It'll be fun."

I shook my head, "I'm about fed up with playing. I've got blisters on my blisters on my blisters."

I showed him my hands for emphasis. There were bandages wrapped around my fingers, some fingers had more than one. George wiggled his to show his bandages as well. Both of us laughed.

We went up to the stage and began to prepare. Once again, I was faced with a new drum set. It wasn't particularly new, just new to me. In fact, it seemed rather old. They were taller than I was used to. I did a quick run through to get the feel of them.

Each new drum set was met with new movements. I had to jerk a certain way to get a certain sound, and each drum set was different, meaning the movements were different. Every time I played, I found myself longing for the old drum set back at The Cavern Club. 

"Ready lads?" John asked.

We all nodded. I gripped my drumsticks while John started us off. He started, then Paul and George jumped in, then Stuart, and finally, me. We all played our hearts out, pouring every ounce of emotion we had. All of my love, my hate, my exhaustion, and my energy went into those drums.

Every so often, I would hear the shutters of Astrid's camera click. She was in the audience somewhere, but I couldn't see her. This club had lights on the ceiling shining directly at us. It was blinding to look at, so I focused on the drums. All I knew was the beat of my sticks and the blurred voices of Paul and John. 

After an hour or so of playing, I can never keep track of the time, everything became quieter. My ears began to ring, blocking off all other sounds. I lost track of where we were in the song. To remedy this, I watched John tapping his feet or Paul wiggling about in his form of dancing. Even George nodded to the beat, though only slightly.

The show was over as quickly as it began. In a way, I had gotten used to eight-hour shows, as I didn't expect it to be over so quickly. It seemed as if we had only just started playing a few seconds before, when, in reality, it had been four hours. When it was over, we all got up to bow. The lights flicked off, giving us a full view of the audience.

In the very back, an older man was glaring at us. His arms were crossed over his chest and his face was as red as the beginning of a rainbow. Had he had any hair left, it would have all fallen out in that moment. He looked like he was about to explode. If it were possible to have fumes coming out of your ears, they would have been coming out of his. His glare said death, and his sneer told me that I was right.

"Fucking hell," John whispered, "Well, lads, it's been fun."

He saw the man too. That man, the man who looked like he was going to kill us, was none other than our boss back at The Indra Club. He must have come for a drink and seen us mistakenly.

"I told you so," I sighed.

***

"You played at a rival club!" our boss exclaimed, slamming the door to the Indra Club.

He had ushered us over here as soon as our show was completely over. We still received our one hundred pounds, but we were about to lose a lot more.

"It was only for one night," John argued, "We needed the money."

The boss slammed his fists onto the bar, "It doesn't matter. You are contracted to play at my clubs and my clubs only. This is a direct violation of your contract."

"It is not. Our contract specifically states that we can do whatever the hell we bloody well please on Sundays. Last I checked, it's Sunday," Stuart argued.

"That doesn't include playing at rival clubs."

"You should have specified that, then, shouldn't you?"

Part of me was terrified that he would strike at us. He could be arrested if he did, but I didn't think that would stop him. I took a step back. As soon as he threw a punch, John wouldn't hesitate to hit right back. Paul would jump in to defend John, and Stuart would join for the hell of it, leaving George and me to tremble in the background. 

"It's not like it did anything," John spat, "We got one hundred pounds, that's it. It didn't shut down the entire bloody club."

The boss sneered, "That's not the fucking point."

"What is the point, then?" Paul asked.

"The point is that you played at a rival club," his voice had gotten so cold, I could feel ice climbing down my skin, "You violated your contract and directly went against my orders."

John glared at him, "You never told us not to play at other clubs."

"It was in the contract."

"No it wasn't, I read the damn thing."

"You read wrong."

John sneered. For a moment, I thought he was going to punch first. Paul stepped forward and grabbed John's arm, calming him down. John looked away while Paul glared at our boss, "We did nothing wrong."

"You did everything wrong."

"You can't do a bloody thing about it," Paul spat, "We're going to bed."

He gestured for us to follow. We all obeyed, with me taking up the rear. Just before we went to the basement, I heard the boss mutter, "Oh, you just wait, boy."


	23. Deportation

It was raining that day, I specifically remember hearing the claps of thunder. The whole club shook every time the thunder cracked. A part of the ceiling was dripping, making a small wet circle on the floor by the couch. We could hear the rain pelting against the roof. Ugly weather fit for an ugly day.

We had another long show that night, which wasn't surprising. For the time being, however, we all paused for a breather. All of us congregated in our bedroom. We were sick of each other, but we still loved each other. Sometimes, we pulled energy from each other. George was still fast asleep on his bed, his face shoved in the pillow. It was a miracle he wasn't smothering. John and Paul sat side by side on the couch writing music together. Paul had his guitar while John had his harmonica. Every so often, Stuart and I would add some input. Stuart was on the bed below me painting intensely. I hung over the side of the bed, watching him.

"What is it?" I asked.

Stuart smiled, "A strawberry."

"Why a strawberry?" I inquired, "There's better things to paint than a simple strawberry."

Stuart glanced up at me, "Sometimes the most beautiful things are the simplest."

I lifted an eyebrow. He returned to delicately painting the berry. I was mesmerized by his brush strokes. He was a great musician, but his true talent came out when he painted. Each stroke, each droplet of paint, were created with a delicacy very few can ever achieve. Every move he made had a hint of his love for his work in it. 

A knock on the door startled me. I was so invested in Stuart's painting, I didn't hear the world around me. Even the two guitars just feet from me had faded from existence. Paul stood and answered it.

"What the bloody hell is this?" he asked.

Three people shoved past him. Two were dressed in police uniforms, but their badges were not Hamburg police. Our boss came in just behind them, smirking, "I'm terminating your contract. You leave in a fortnight."

"Not bloody likely!" John leaped up, "We still have one month left."

"You violated the contract, I am perfectly in my rights."

One of the officers stood between the beds and gestured to George and me, "These them?"

"Yes sir," the boss replied.

One officer turned to me while the other went to George. He gazed at me with eyes like a statue. It seemed as if there were no life behind them, they were just marbles in a plaster head. He reached his arm over the railing of the bed in an effort to grab my wrist. I pressed myself against the wall, "What's going on?"

"You have illegally entered Germany on a false visa," the officer replied, "We're deporting you back to England."

"You have no proof!" Paul exclaimed.

One of the officers began grabbing at me, "We ran the papers this morning. Amelia McCartney and George Harrison are under eighteen years of age and cannot have a visa."

He tried to grab my leg, but I pulled it to me. I flung the pillow at him, but he ducked and it hit John. When he came back up, he sneered, "Come with me willingly, little girl, or I will be forced to drag you out."

"Paul!" I exclaimed.

"Get away from her!" Paul tried.

He grabbed the officer's elbow to try and pull him back. The officer simply pushed him backward, causing him to stumble into John. John helped him get right side up as George was pulled from his bed. He landed on his feet, just waking up, "What's going on?"

"You're being deported," John was glaring at our boss, "You can fire us, but reporting them is just fucking evil!"

The boss simply smirked. The officer had finally grabbed my leg and pulled me from the bed. I landed on my feet and the officer grabbed my wrists. Both officers began to lead George and me out. The two of us struggled, trying to break free. I stomped on their toes with all the strength I could muster, but they weren't even phased. Paul launched forward and grabbed my elbow, "She's my sister, and I'm over eighteen. She can stay with me."

"She still needs a visa," the officer replied, "She has been charged with falsified documents and illegal immigration. These children are being deported."

At that point, the officer was practically carrying me out of the room. George was able to walk, but only because he was still confused over what was going on. I fought with every step the officer took, but all of it was in vein. Paul, John, and Stuart could do nothing but watch as we were forcibly removed from the club and the country.

The officers, Interpol I discovered when I read their badges, took us to a black car waiting outside of the club. It was a police car, the back doors were unable to be opened from the inside. They shoved us in the back, shut the doors, and climbed into the front. A plastic divider separated us and them.

"You leave on the first plane to Liverpool tomorrow morning," one officer told us.

I sneered, "You can't do this! We have rights!"

"They can," George sighed, "We were bound to get caught, Mel."

"You can't honestly tell me you're okay with this."

George shrugged, "We don't have a choice, do we?"

I huffed. He was right, of course, who were we to go against Interpol? A couple of musicians were nothing against the entire German government. Especially when those musicians were children who lied to get into the country for a job they had to lie to achieve. 

"Fine," I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest, "But I won't be happy about it."

"Me neither."

George leaned back as well. Every so often, the officer in the passenger seat would glance at us through the rearview mirror. Every time he did, I would glare at him with all the hatred I could muster. He ignored it, of course, he was probably used to it.

"I can't believe this," I muttered, "And we were just getting good, too!"

George shook his head, "At least we had some time here."

"It didn't get any better. Though, the Pal-"

George clapped his hand over my mouth before I could say anything else. The officer glanced at us and George smiled. He whispered, "Don't, you'll get us in more trouble."

I told him to get his dirty hands off of me, but my voice was muffled. Instead, I pushed him off, "Right, sorry."

The officers drove us to the local Interpol station. They held our wrists and lead us inside. The entire time, I glared daggers at them, but they didn't care. They shoved George and me into small cells. It was no bigger than my bedroom back home and had a steel bed, a toilet, and a sink and mirror. The room was cold, and we were separated. They were cells for criminals, not children.

"You'll stay here for the night," the officer said, "You leave first thing in the morning."

They left after that. I held onto the bars and sneered, "They're detaining children!"

"Will you stop your bloody complaining?" George asked, "You'll get us in more trouble."

He laid down on the steel bed and sighed. I held onto the bars for a moment longer before my demeanor dropped. I fell onto the floor, my back pressed against the bars towards his cell, and I buried my fingers in my hair.

"This is rubbish," I muttered, "We're getting fucking deported, bloody hell."

George lifted his head to look at me, "Fucking arse of a boss. It's all his fault."

"If I see him again, I swear, I'll hit him."

"Not bloody likely," George scoffed, "Even if we did see him again, he's two feet taller and one hundred pounds heavier than you. He'll squash you like a bug."

"It'll be worth it."

George shook his head. We both sat back in silence. I stared at the ceiling with the flickering lights and rusted metal. I wondered what the rest of the lads were doing at that very moment. 

***

"I'm never getting arrested again," I muttered, "Those beds are shit!"

George nodded in agreement. The sun hadn't even come up yet, and he was still half asleep. The Interpol officers had gathered our belongings last night. They were met with arguments from the rest of the boys, but, ultimately, they got what they came for. As soon as we made it through security, they would be gone. We would be left with the airport security.

We drove up to the airport a few minutes later. George had begun to doze off, his head falling onto my shoulder. His rude awakening came as soon as the officer jerked me from the car. I fell on my knees, ripping my jeans. The officer pulled me up, leaving marks on my skin. 

"You could be a bit gentler," I scoffed, "I'm a child, not a criminal."

The officer didn't reply. We gathered our belongings before marching into the airport. The officers followed directly behind us, they were so close I could feel their breath on the back of my neck. They marched us to the security line.

George and I got in line while they waited in the back. They watched us inch our way closer, and eventually, vanish into the airport. Two airport security officers were waiting there.

"George Harrison and Amelia McCartney?" one asked.

George nodded, "That's us."

"Come, your plane is waiting."

They stayed close as we made it through the airport. I glared at them but quickly stopped as soon as George jabbed his elbow into my side. He gave me a look that told me not to do anything to get us in more trouble. 

We were ushered onto the plane immediately. We were sat in the back, the two of us squished together. The officers only left whenever the plane began to load. There was no way we could escape then. We were trapped inside the confines of a flying sardine can. 

"Amelia, calm down, your face is red as an apple," George commented.

I sneered, "I'm bloody pissed is why."

"Obviously," George replied, "There's no use in it now, we're already going home."

The plane had left the hanger. It started to speed down the runway and would soon take off into the sky. Even so, my anger didn't leave.

"I can be angry if I want to be angry," I replied.

George shrugged, "You're wasting your energy. There's nothing we can do about it."

He was right, of course, he seemed to be right an awful lot. Even so, I didn't listen to him. I stared out the window, my gaze filled with hate for the country below me.

"How are the lads going to play now?" I asked, "They lost their drummer and one of their guitarists."

George had sunk in his seat with the full intention of taking a nap. He rolled his head to look up at me, "Doesn't sound like they'll be playing at all. You heard the boss, the contract is over."

"They still have a fortnight left before they're really canned."

"I dunno, Mel," George yawned, "I'm sure they'll think of something."

George sunk down deeper and used his jacket as a blanket. His legs were going in every direction as he rested his chin on his chest. Within seconds, he was snoring.

I was much too angry to go to sleep. All I wanted was to turn the plane around and go punch that wanker right in the nose! Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to feel my knuckles break a few bones on his face. Of course, that was impossible, and I was left to fume in silence.

The sun began to rise, casting orange light across the clouds. I watched it come up and greet the sky good morning. The rays touched my cheek and told me that everything will be alright. 

Even when the day seemed terrible, and the anger was taking over, the sun rose. The sun would always rise no matter what. On the darkest days, when you feel like all hope is lost, the sun still rises. In that moment, my anger subsided.

George's head fell onto my shoulder, shocking me slightly. I glanced at him to see he was out cold. Sleep sounded nice. I settled down and closed my eyes, allowing the stresses of the day to fade away.

Everything is going to be alright.


	24. Home Again

George and I arrived home late in the afternoon. The lunch rush had come and gone and the dinner rush was fast approaching. We disembarked from the plane at the very last second, once the crowd had thinned out completely. The stewardesses bid us farewell with a fake smile as we stepped back into Liverpool.

"It's just as gray as I remember," I commented as we passed a large window.

George shrugged, "At least it's not raining. S'pose we should find a phone and call the lads, tell them we landed."

"And a cab," I replied, "Didja tell your mum you were coming home?"

George shook his head, "No, going to surprise her. Tell your Dad?"

"I'm not tellin' that wanker anything," I replied, "Might as well pretend he doesn't even exist."

George shrugged. I glanced out a window to see a plane take off. The sound shook the building, but nobody questioned it. They were used to it. I winced at the sound, my stomach churning with flashbacks to the ride. That moment, I swore, I would never ride a plane again. 

We found two pay phones tucked away in a cubby hole inside the terminal. One was in use by an elderly business man, but the other was free. George and I went up to that one. He began patting his pockets and scowling, "I haven't got any shillings."

"I have one," I replied, digging in my own pocket.

I pulled out a rusty shilling and handed it to him. He winked at me and shoved the coin into the phone. I watched as he dialed. When he finished, he held the phone horizontally by his ear. We both held our ears close to the speaker.

"Who is this?" John answered.

The phone was crackling, making his voice sound obscure. In the background, I could hear Paul ask something and Stuart reply. John shushed them both and did his best to focus on the scratchy sound coming through the phone.

"It's George and Amelia," George replied.

John sighed, "Georgie, we were wondering when you'd call."

"We just landed," I told him, "The plane was bloody slow."

George chuckled. We could hear an argument in the background of the song. John had covered the microphone so we could only hear muffled voices. Air moved across the phone. It sounded like a cyclone had touched down. Moments later, Paul's voice came over the speaker, "Lia?"

"Here, Paulie," I replied.

"You can't go home, I don't want you to have to face Da alone," Paul sounded worried.

I shook my head, "I wasn't going to, I'm not even going to tell him I'm back."

"Where are you going to go?"

"I dunno," I replied, "I was thinking of staying with Molly."

George had told me his parents wouldn't let me stay over. They weren't the sort to let their son's female friend stay the night, even if I stayed with his sister. They were a bit strict, but no where near what my Dad was. Even so, to this day, I swear George's Mum is an angel is disguise. She's a blessing and always has been. Had it been up to her, she would have let me stay with them in the blink of an eye. George's Dad was the one against it. 

"Good. Are you two alright?"

"Fine, Paulie," George answered, "We're about to call a cab and go home."

"Sadly," I muttered.

John said something in the background. Paul sighed, "Got to go. Bye lads."

"Bye, Paulie."

"Bye."

With that, we hung up. George and I looked at each other dejectedly.

"Got another shilling?" George asked.

I shook my head, "That was my last coin."

George began to search his pockets. I searched mine as well and my pack. George even looked in his socks. Eventually, he laughed, "Got one."

"Good, thought we'd have to walk home there for a second."

George put the shilling into the phone and dialed. I waited while he spoke to the cabbie. When he hung up, he smiled at me, "The cab will be here in twenty minutes."

"We better get our bags."

Once again, we made our way through the airport. People glanced at us as we passed like we were some foreign animal parading through the halls. In a way, we were. We were a teddy boy and girl walking through a sea of business suits. 

At the baggage claim, we found our suitcases and George's guitar off to the side. We claimed it and headed outside. The cold Liverpool air kissed my cheeks with a strong familiarity. It was welcoming me back to a life I didn't want. I sighed deeply.

"I miss Hamburg already," I muttered.

George nodded, "Me too. Hey, maybe we'll go back one day."

"Doubtful. We're probably banned from the entire country now."

George laughed. We both sat on the curb and waited for our cab. It came right on time. The bright yellow car stood out among the usual grays, blacks, and whites. The driver smiled at us as soon as he parked. 

George and I flung our cases in the back. We didn't have much, as we had originally tried to back light. I left a fair amount of my stuff with Molly. Once we had slid into the backseat, George gave the cabbie directions. The cab took off down the streets.

I watched the familiar buildings of Liverpool pass by. It gave me a familiar ache in my stomach, one that longed for something else. As much as I loved Liverpool, I hated it, it was so boring all the time. Nothing ever happened in Liverpool, nothing. To me, Liverpool was like a relative that I loved but hated all at the same time. The relationship was complicated. 

We went to Molly's house first. The cab stopped with a jerk on the side of the street, nearly throwing George and I into the seat in front of us. The white picket fence and dark green door waited for me. I gave George the last few pounds I had for the fare before climbing out of the cab.

"Good luck, Mel," he smiled.

I weakly smiled back, "Thanks, Georgie. See you later, then."

I watched the cab drive off with George watching me from the backseat. He waved for a moment, and I waved back. Even when all I could see was his towering hair, I waved. We waved as if we would never see each other again when we most likely would see each other the following day. When the cab turned out of sight, I took a deep breath and climbed up to the door.

Molly's mother answered. She had flour handprints on her apron and her shoes were dusted with white powder. Her hands were wet, telling me she had just washed them. Every time she saw me, she always gave me the same kind, motherly, smile. I hadn't seen that smile since I was thirteen. Every time she smiled, I felt a warmth spread through me unlike any other. 

"Amelia, I didn't expect to see you," she smiled brightly, "Molly said you would be in Hamburg for another month."

I shifted my pack higher on my shoulder, "The club we were working at fired us. George and I had to come home early."

"That's terrible. I suppose you're here to see Molly?"

"Yes and no," I gazed at my feet awkwardly, "I hate to ask this, Mrs. Mackenzie, but I don't have a choice. My Dad kicked me out before we left and I can't go home. I was wondering if I could stay here for a little while?"

Mrs. Mackenzie gasped daintily. She always had a tender heart, especially when it came to children. Having a dejected, homeless, child show up at her door was sure to tug at her heartstrings. I glanced up just in time to see her nodding, "Of course you can, no child will sleep on the streets so long as I'm aware of it."

She stepped aside and let me in. The house always had the same warmth about it, both literally and figuratively. The strong family bond the Mackenzie's had hung in the air. It welcomed all the visitors with a hug and a warm cup of tea. I found myself jealous of Molly, she had a loving family whereas I might as well have an icicle for a Dad. 

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Mackenzie," I smiled at the older woman.

She patted my shoulder, "Of course. We've known you so long, you're practically family."

"I like to think the same."

Her smile brightened at that. She gave my cheek a pat before saying, "Molly's in her room, studying, you can go up there. I'm sure she'll be overjoyed to see you."

"Thank you."

I began to head up the stairs, lugging my small suitcase and backpack right along with me. The halls were familiar to me, as was the entire house. This was the best home I had at the moment, and it felt as such. Just walking through the halls made me feel like everything would be alright. 

"Amelia!" Molly exclaimed as soon as she opened the door. 

She nearly knocked me over in a hug. I stumbled backward, chuckling slightly. I hugged her back, "'Ello, Molly."

"I didn't expect you to be back so soon," she pushed away just enough for us to look at each other, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too."

"Come on, come sit down."

She released me and allowed me to walk into her room. I dropped my stuff by the door before falling onto her bed. She fell next to me and asked, "Why are you back so soon? I thought you had another month left?"

"George and I got fucking deported!"

"What?"

I nodded, "Our boss reported us because we played at a rival club, which was John's idea, I might add. They deported us because we lied on our visas."

"Bloody hell."

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, "The rest of the group has a fortnight left to play, and they're missing their drummer as well as a guitarist. They might as well come back now."

"They're not going to, we both know that."

"Of course not, they're a bunch of stubborn arses!"

Molly laughed. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and counting to ten in an effort to calm myself down. If I spoke much more about it, I would get angry all over again. 

"Your Mum said I could stay with you for a while, since I can't go back home," I told her.

Her face brightened, "Brilliant! We'll catch up on all the time we missed."

"Lovely."

The two of us laughed. She grabbed my hand, wrapping her fingers around mine. We stared at the ceiling together. 

I realized, then, that I did miss home. I missed Liverpool with all its fishy smells and gray colors. In a way, I even missed Dad, even if he were an arse. I missed all of it, but, mostly, I missed Molly. Lying there with her, smiling even though we hadn't said anything, I felt as if the world were right once again. No more long shows, no more drugs, and no more lies. It was just Molly and me and that's all that mattered.


	25. Deportation Part Two

Being back in Liverpool was like returning to school. Nothing had changed. The sky was still gray, the fish still smelled, the people were still pale, and the clock tower downtown still chimed three minutes late. 

The only difference was when I went to sleep and woke up. The first and last thing I saw every day was Molly. We shared her room, sometimes even sleeping together on her bed. I was happier there than I had ever been at home. There was something about knowing someone was nearby that made sleeping all the better. With her by my side, I had sweet dreams and woke up more refreshed than ever before. 

"Hamburg was more colorful," I sighed, "Everything here is pale."

Molly glanced over her shoulder at me, "It's not that bad."

"Says the girl who grew up in the mountains of Scotland. I'm sure you feel like you're in a silent movie."

"I've gotten used to it."

She turned to the piano and hit a few notes. We were the only two people in her house, as her parents had gone to work. The house was unusually silent without Mr. Mackenzie's radio and Mrs. Mackenzie singing along. Molly tried to fill the silence by playing with the piano. 

"Did you miss anything?" Molly asked.

She didn't look away from the piano. Her back was to me, but I could still sense the frown on her lips. I glanced at her and said, "Of course. I missed you most of all. In a way, I guess I missed the food too, there's no fish like Liverpool fish."

Molly smiled brightly. I stood up and went to sit on the bench with her. While she faced the piano, I straddled the bench. She began to play while I rested my head on her shoulder. I could feel her muscles moving underneath my cheek. Oddly, it was comforting. I didn't realize how starved I was for touch until I saw Molly again. The lads weren't touchy-feely sort of people, it came with their sense of masculinity. Paul was the only one who was willing to give me a hug, occasionally I could coax George into it, but even that wasn't often. I was the sort of person who needed constant affection, and Molly was the sort who was happy to give it. 

"I am glad not to have long shows anymore," I sighed, "Nearly made my fingers fall off."

Molly chuckled, "Sounds like hell."

"It was, but it was a job."

"You'll get another," Molly assured me, "You can still play at The Cavern."

"It's kind of hard without the lads. It's only George and me now."

Molly shrugged, "I'll help you if you want. I know piano, and I can sing. And play guitar, sort of."

I smiled and hugged her shoulders. She laughed, rubbing my arms. I thought it was a wonderful idea, and I was sure George would think so as well. Just the idea of playing music with Molly made my heart laugh with joy. Doing anything with Molly was instantly enjoyable simply because she was with me. She even made math enjoyable, and I hated math. 

"We'll call ourselves Molly, Melly, and Georgie," I giggled, "We'll be a hit in no time."

Molly laughed, "Brilliant!"

I released her and stood, "I'll ring Georgie. I'm sure he'll say yes in a heartbeat."

George had told me before that he liked Molly. Everybody likes Molly, it's impossible not to like Molly. She was a walking ray of sunshine from her smile to her golden hair. Even complete strangers had to smile when she was around. Paul even said that Molly and I worked well together. I had no doubts in my mind that they would let her play with us, but you never know until you try. 

Just I was heading to the phone to ring George, it rang. Both Molly and I stared at it for a moment. For a moment, I wondered if he had heard us. 

"Funny if it were George," Molly commented.

I shrugged and picked it up, "'Ello."

"Melly, glad you answered," John replied, "I wasn't sure if you were with Molly."

"John?" I lifted an eyebrow, "Didn't expect your call."

"Didn't expect to call. Look, Paulie got deported."

"Bloody hell," I frowned, "What happened?"

John sighed, "The git lit a curtain on fire and got accused of arson. He's on the plane now."

"How-" I began, but hesitated, "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"You don't."

Molly came up to my side and whispered, "What's going on?"

"Paulie got deported," I replied, "The boss was being an arse again."

"He's always an arse. Say, who're you talkin' to? Is it Georgie?"

"Molly."

John chuckled, "Tell her I said hello, and I can't wait to see her."

I relayed this to Molly. For a moment, a cloud passed her face, but it could have just been a trick of the light. My eyes seem to play a lot of tricks on me when it came to Molly. Perhaps it was because of her bangs, they nearly covered her eyes, and they cast deceiving shadows on her cheeks. She quickly perked up and said, "Can't wait."

"When is he supposed to land?" I asked.

I could almost hear John shrug, "Soon, I s'pose."

"The git," I sighed, "I can't believe he lit a bloody curtain on fire!"

"Something was bound to happen, Melly, the boss is out to get us."

"I s'pose. Still, it's ridiculous."

John released a deep breath, "We still have two shows too. Have to cut it short. I'll be back in a few days."

"Alright. Bye, John."

"Bye, Melly."

I hung up the phone and sighed deeply, "Of all the rubbish moves. That tosser!"

"What happened?" Molly asked, "What did Paul do?"

"He lit a bloody curtain on fire and now he's being deported back to Liverpool!"

I stomped to the door and grabbed my coat. The coat stand shook with my abrupt jerk, slowly wobbling back into place. I angrily slammed my feet into my boots to where the backs almost capsized. Molly followed me, quickly shoving her feet in her boots, "Where are we going?"

"To tell George," I replied, "Christ, Paul is such a bloody git!"

"He probably didn't do it on purpose."

"He's always making mistakes," I replied, "He's a mistake!"

Molly suppressed a giggle. I slammed my hat on my head and left the house, my feet slapping the ground loudly. Molly was just behind me, shutting the door behind her. The two of us walked down the streets, ignoring the passersby and the cars.

Paul had done a lot of stupid things in his life, but this took the cake. When we were kids, he used to do all kinds of things that would get us in trouble. Originally, they would start as good ideas with greatly anticipated results but something went sour along the way. One little mistake and we found ourselves grounded for a month. Once he had even tried to make Mum breakfast in bed whenever she was sick, enlisting Michael and me to help. Paul ended up with syrup stuck in his hair, Mike had a large burn on his arm, and my eyebrows didn't grow back for a fortnight. Paul had tons of great ideas with sour results, but this was a whole new level. Never had the results been him getting deported from a foreign country. 

George's house was three miles away from Molly's. He lived further from our old school, and closer to the coast. It was a large white house with windows covered by lace curtains and a short set of stairs going to the door. I quickly climbed the stairs with Molly waiting at the bottom.

Mrs. Harrison answered almost instantly. Whenever she did, she smiled the same smile that made me swear up and down she was an angel sent to Earth, "Amelia, George didn't tell me you were visiting."

Mrs. Harrison was one of the kindest women I had ever met. She loved her children more than anything and would do everything it took to make them happy. Every time I saw her, she had a bright smile on her face. She would always make us cookies and hot cocoa whenever we came to visit George. 

"It's an unplanned visit," I told her, "We've got news."

"Good news?"

"Sort of."

Mrs. Harrison smiled, "It's always a pleasure to have Georgie's friends over. He's upstairs."

"Thank you, Mrs. Harrison."

She nodded, stepping back to allow me inside. As soon as I stepped in, the smell of lavender and tobacco entered my nostrils. It reminded me of my house when I was a child, with Dad's pipe smoke in the air mixed with Mum's perfume. Most people would find that comforting, but I found it agitating. The mere thought of my Dad sent me falling into a pit of anxiety, especially when Paul was in such a tight spot. Without realizing it, I began to breath through my mouth to avoid the familiar smells. 

Molly was just behind me. She walked up to Mrs. Harrison and stuck out her hand, "I'm Molly Mackenzie, another friend of George's."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well."

We both kicked off our boots to avoid tracking dirt into the house. Mrs. Harrison returned to the kitchen as we made our way upstairs. The sounds of a guitar bounced off the walls. Molly and I exchanged glances, fully knowing who was playing it.

George's room was at the very end of the hall. He shared it with his brother, but, at that time, his brother was out. I knocked on the door and waited for George to answer.

"Yes?" he asked, opening the door, "Mel, what're you doing here?"

I sighed, "Paul got himself deported."

"What?" he lifted an eyebrow, "What did he do?"

"Lit a bloody curtain on fire! He's been accused of arson, and now he's on a plane coming home."

George shook his head, "The git. How did he light a curtain on fire?"

"I don't know," I replied, "I'm not sure if I want to know."

"When's he landing?"

"Soon, I s'pose."

"I can drive us there," George suggested, "Save him from calling a cab."

I nodded, "Good idea."

"Let me get my coat, ask Da if I can borrow the car."

"We'll wait outside."

George nodded and shut the door. Molly and I returned outside, waving at Mrs. Harrison as we passed. She waved back with a kind smile on her face. We went to sit on the curb and wait for George. 

Nearby, birds sang a happy little tune. Cars honked, the wind blew, and the smell of fish blew past me. It seemed like an average day despite what was going on.

George came out a few minutes later, spinning keys on his finger. He smiled at us and said, "Da said I can borrow the car so long as I don't hurt it."

"Right, let's go."

George led us to the garage where two cars sat. One was a bug with hardly enough room to fit more than four people. The backseat was nearly non-existent. I was curious how the Harrison family of five found that car useful.

"Dibs on the front seat," I called as soon as we saw the car.

Molly pouted, "Tosser."

I smirked at her. She climbed in the back and buckled up as George and I took the front seats. Even in the front, there was barely any leg room. My knees were like mountains, and they were stretched as far as they could. George pulled the car out and started down the streets, driving as cautiously as possible.

He had only had his license for a few months before we left for Hamburg. He didn't have much time to drive in Hamburg, but he was still a great driver. Though, I didn't have room to talk, as I had yet to get my license. He was still better than Paul and John, that's for sure. John had nearly run us off the road more times than I can count, and Paul always forgot to pay attention to the road. 

"Do you think he really lit a curtain on fire?" George asked, "The boss could have just been an arse."

I shrugged, "It was John that said he did. Seems like something Paulie would do."

"Not on purpose."

"Probably a mistake."

Molly leaned forward, "Melly called him a mistake earlier."

"I stand by my statement."

George chuckled under his breath. I crossed my arms across my chest and huffed. Of all the reason to be deported, lighting a curtain on fire was not one I would think of. George and I were deported for a legitimate reason, we lied, and we expected it to come back and bite us eventually. Paul was there legally, and he had a job. Had he been cautious, there wouldn't have been a reason for him to be deported. 

All three of us fell into silence. The only sounds were the engine and the cars around us. After a few moments, I sighed, "It's too bloody quiet in here."

I reached forward to turn on the radio. Neither George nor Molly objected. I went through the stations until Chuck Berry came on. He was one of our favorite singers, and his music was the inspiration for some of the songs John and Paul wrote. I left it on that.

We arrived at the airport half an hour later. The drive was long, and traffic was terrible. It didn't help that George drove like an old woman. Every five seconds he would glance behind him, always leaning over the steering wheel as if he could barely see the road. He pulled into the parking garage and parked the car after what seemed like years on the road. We all climbed out and headed into the airport.

People from all over the world bustled about the airport. It was a busy place, Mostly for connecting flights and business men. Liverpool was a popular place for business meetings and the like, not so much for tourists. Only people who enjoyed seeing carbon copies of the same street and fishermen bringing in their haul came to Liverpool on vacation. 

George, Molly, and I went to stand at the baggage claim. We were packed together pretty tightly, as the place was crowded. Saturday's were a popular time for flights, apparently. Older men in pinstripe suits carrying briefcases pushed past us, often glaring at us and mumbling under their breath. 

"There he is," Molly pointed over my shoulder.

A defeated looking Paul was pulling his guitar case off the baggage claim. George, Molly, and I made our way over there. As soon as he saw us, he smiled a little, "Thought I was going to have to call a cab."

"You bloody git!" I exclaimed, "You lit a curtain on fire? What the hell?"

Paul sneered, "Look, Lia, I'm not in the mood for your badgering."

"You got deported for arson, Paul, I think you deserve it."

"All I did was try to light a ciggie," Paul defended himself, "The fan blew the curtain onto my light, and poof, the curtain was suddenly on fire. The boss reported me."

I sighed. He looked worse than when we had last seen each other. All the long nights must have gotten to him, plus he, John, and Stuart had to make up for George and my absence. The shows probably became even more grueling, and Paul was probably on the verge of a complete break down. Lecturing him would only make it worse.

George patted Paul's shoulder supportively, "He was bound to find something, Paulie, an accident is an accident."

"He's right," I sighed, "I'm sorry that happened, Paulie."

Paul shrugged, "It was getting bad there anyway. All I want to do now is sleep."

"We'll take you to George's house, come on."

Paul followed us to the car. He was having difficulty lifting his feet from the ground, let alone walking properly. I was scared he would fall over at any second, but he remained upright. His eyes fluttered every so often.

Molly and I took the backseat as George drove and Paul sat in the passenger seat. He fell asleep rather quickly, his head resting against the window with his mouth wide open. I sat just behind him.

"Do you want me to drop you two off at your house?" George asked, glancing at Molly in the rearview mirror.

"Thanks, George," Molly replied, "That would be lovely."

"Can you get him in alright?" I asked my friend. 

George nodded, "I'll wake him up and drag him in."

We had already decided that Paul would stay the night with George. Tomorrow, he could figure out if he wanted to continue staying with George. He was an adult, and he could get his own flat if he had the money. For the time being, however, there was no where else for him to go. 

George pulled up to the curb in front of Molly's house. He got out to allow the two of us to get out. When we did, I gave him a pat on the shoulder, "Thanks, Georgie."

"Course. See you later, Mel."

"See you."

George climbed back into the car and drove off. The last thing I saw was Paul's face shoved against the window. Molly had already gone inside and was waiting for me in the living room. I fell on the couch and released a defeated sigh, "So much for the band."

"It's not over yet," Molly smiled, "You can still play here, I'm sure The Cavern Club will take you back."

"Maybe. I dunno, I don't think we'll make it anywhere now. We've had too many obstacles. The lads'll lose their spirits, maybe."

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "Have you lost yours?"

"By golly, Miss Molly, I thought you knew me better," I cheekily grinned, "I've got enough spirits to fill up an entire liquor store."

Molly laughed, "Then, you've got enough for what the band lacks. The dream is still alive, Melly Dear."

The idea of our band growing beyond Liverpool and Hamburg seemed like exactly that, a dream. We'd been met with so many obstacles, I thought we would just give up. We would all go to school and get 'real' jobs. The Beatles would become nothing more than another local band lost to history. That's what everybody expected of us and, to be honest, that's exactly what I had expected. Thousands of bands just like ours had come and gone despite the overload of hope, why should ours be any different?


	26. John Returns

John came home a few days after Paul. His Aunt Mimi went to pick him up, meaning Paul and I got to stay home and wait for a good time to visit him. Home being the houses we were staying at. Paul decided to come and visit Molly and me for the day. During that visit, Paul was face first on Molly's bed, moping.

"You're such a sissy," I said.

I sat on the floor, a notepad open in front of me. Molly was at her desk, studying, though she kept getting distracted by Paul and me. Every so often, she would glance over her shoulder and giggle at the scene. Paul had rolled her blankets around himself to where all I saw was his head at the foot of the bed. He lifted his head to glare at me, "You're a sissy."

"Great comeback," I rolled my eyes, "What are you even doing?"

"Wallowing in self-pity."

"Do you have to do it here?"

He frowned, "Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm lonely."

He shoved his face back in the bed and released a loud groan. I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms across my chest. Paul never took things like this gently. He considered it rejection, and an insult to him, and that ripped at his spirit.

He would be like this for days unless I could figure out something to perk him up. If I didn't, not only would he mope constantly, but he wouldn't leave me alone. He would whine to me all day until this passed.

"Want to write a song?" I tried.

Molly glanced back at us, "I'd love to hear you play."

Paul shook his head, "What's the point? It's not like we're going to play it."

"Of course we are," I stood to go and sit next to him, "We still have jobs at The Cavern Club. We'll play there."

"We're posers. Just a bunch of kids with dreams that got fucking deported!"

I shook my head, "That doesn't make us posers, Paulie, it means we had an arse of a boss. We're still a band-we're still friends."

"A band of tossers," Paul grumbled, "Posers! We'll never get anywhere now, our reputation is tarnished."

"Honestly, Paul, you sound like a child."

"I do not."

"You do," Molly added. 

Paul flung his head up to glare at her. She ignored him, which didn't do much for his spirits. He shoved his face back in the bed and groaned.

"You do," I sighed, "Look, nobody knows we got deported. So long as we don't tell anybody, we'll still be seen as the same band we've always been."

Paul lifted his head to look up at me, "That's what I'm afraid of. I don't want to be the same, I want to be better."

Molly and I exchanged glances. He shoved his head back into the mattress and sighed. I patted his back comfortingly, though I knew it would do no good. His spirits could only be lifted by one man, and that man had yet to come back to him. 

The phone began to ring in the living room. Molly set her pencil down and said, "I'll get it."

She left the room, leaving the door cracked open. I rubbed Paul's back in an effort to comfort him, but it did no good. He was too busy drowning in despair to realize that things weren't really that bad. 

"Melly! It's for you and Paul!" Molly exclaimed.

"I'll get it," I told my brother, "You continue wallowing in self-pity like a sissy."

"Sod off, Lia."

I chuckled and left the room. Molly was standing by the table in the front hall, holding the black phone in her hand. She gave it to me and stepped back, allowing me to step up to the table. I placed the phone to my ear and said, "Amelia talking."

"Melly, band meeting," John replied.

I lifted an eyebrow, "When?"

"Right now."

"Where?"

"At The Cavern."

"Alright, I'll get Paul," I said.

"I'll get George."

I hung up after that. This was exactly the thing Paul needed to lift his spirits. Knowing John, he was coming up with a grand plan to keep this group together. This meeting would pull Paul out of his rut.

"Band meeting," I smiled at Molly, "We've got to go."

Molly gave me a small smile, "Maybe it'll help Paul."

"I hope."

I returned to Molly's room to see Paul hadn't changed. He didn't even move his face from being shoved in the mattress. It was a wonder he didn't smother. I had to wonder if he even cared about breathing at that point.

"Paulie, get up," I kicked the mattress, "Emergency band meeting."

Paul lifted his head, "What?"

"That was John on the phone. We're meeting at the Cavern."

"When?"

"Right now."

Paul leaped from the bed just as I expected him too. His was grinning now, "Brilliant, let's go."

The two of us hurried to the door. I waved at Molly who was standing in her bedroom door. We grabbed our shoes and coats and left as quickly as possible. We didn't even bother waiting for the bus or calling a cab. We simply flew down the streets.

Excitement filled our steps. As we got closer to The Cavern, Paul became happier. Really, it had nothing to do with The Cavern, but everything to do with who was inside. The closer Paul came to John, the happier he became.

John and George were already at The Cavern Club when we arrived. Paul saw them and began to beam, his eyes shining like stars. John beckoned us over to their table. Paul and I sat down, Paul falling next to John and me next to George. George nodded a welcome as he sipped his drink.

"Alright, lads, we've hit a bit of a rough patch, but don't let that get you down," John sounded very encouraging, "We're still gonna play here. It's not Hamburg, but it's something."

I lifted an eyebrow, "Wait a second, where's Stuart?"

Both Paul and George began to notice our missing member. We all looked at John who sighed, "In Hamburg. He and Astrid got engaged."

John's eyes became dark when he said this, but he quickly shook it off. There was still a hint of sadness in the corners of his eyes that he could never shake. It was the sort of sadness that lingered after losing a friend. 

"He quit the band?" Paul asked.

John nodded, "He's going to art school."

"Bloody hell," Paul muttered, "We're short one guitarist, how are we supposed to play?"

"We can play with three guitarists," George said.

John shrugged, "We're going to have too."

Paul fell back in his seat, looking defeated. I watched him for a moment. Stuart leaving was just another obstacle we had to hurdle, but this one was exceptionally hard. Stuart was a huge part of the band. He was a close friend to all of us, and his leaving hit close to home. In a way, Stuart was one of the pillars that kept this band standing. With him gone, we were unstable. 

"We can get through this," John said, "We'll keep playing like usual."

George nodded, "It's not that bad. We still have three guitarists and a drummer."

"It'll be fine," I added.

Paul nodded in agreement, though he didn't fully believe it. All of us sat there for a moment contemplating the future of this band. We all knew there would be sacrifices that had to be made, we knew that going in. Even when times were grim, John always seemed to come up with a way to keep our spirits high.

"Times are tough, but we're tougher," John grinned, "Where we going, fellas?"

"To the top, John," Paul, George, and I said simultaneously.

"And where's that?"

"To the toppermost of the poppermost!"


	27. A Breakup and A Performance

As it turns out, our reputation was anything but tarnished. It had grown exponentially when we were in Hamburg. Our shows were bigger now than ever before, and people knew our names. We were no longer a small band nobody knew about, we had become something Liverpudlians knew and enjoyed.

With success comes turmoil. It seems as if life is one issue after another, especially when you're in a band such as ours. Life constantly tosses problem after problem at us without breaks. Sometimes, the problems can only be solved through sacrifice.

"I was thinking of learning to play the guitar," Molly said, "Perhaps I could start my own music career."

The two of us were walking towards The Cavern Club for a show. The sun had yet to set, casting a golden light across the street. It made Molly's hair look truly golden as if Rumplestilkstien himself had spun it. 

"You can't go wrong with guitar. Did you ask John about joining the band?" I asked.

Molly rubbed the back of her neck, "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"John and I broke up last night," Molly sighed.

I felt my heart leap. Their relationship had always caused me pain, though I don't know why. I buried my satisfaction and comfortingly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "Aw, I'm sorry, Molly."

"It's alright, honestly," Molly replied, "I was planning on breaking up with him once he got back. When he came to my house while you were still sleeping, he brought it up first, and we kinda mutually agreed that we weren't right for each other."

This was the greatest news for me. A relationship I hated had disbanded on good terms, meaning two of my dearest friends would remain friends, hopefully without any awkwardness. It thrilled me. I did my best to hide my joy and replace it for sympathy.

"That's good, then," I said, "You're still friends?"

"Yeah, we're still friends."

It became difficult to hide my joy. I cleared my throat and wrapped my fingers around my jacket, directing my gaze to the street in front of us. The Cavern Club came into view a few seconds later. There was a long line waiting to get in, waiting to see us. A sign hung above the door announcing our performance. It was the first time we had our own sign, let alone a line of people that came for the pure purpose of seeing us. 

"Fancy that," I muttered, "A line of people waiting to see us."

Molly grinned, "You're bloody famous, you are."

"Nah, not yet."

Truth be told, I was beginning to change my view on this band. I could see why Paul and John were sure we really would make it to the top. We had something special. I don't know what it is, I just know the feeling. We brought an amazing feeling- a beautiful feeling- every time we played. It was a sense of freedom, love, happiness, hope, and an overwhelming sense of pure mania. We were fun, free, and happy, there was no better combination.

Molly and I went in through the back. She had to go out into the club while I met the rest of the band. We went our separate ways in the hall. I headed down the familiar damp halls with stone walls and wooden floors. It felt like home.

John, Paul, and George were waiting for me in the back room. They all looked panicked. When Paul saw me, he threw up his hands and exclaimed, "Bloody hell, Lia, we thought you weren't coming."

"Cool your jets, Paul, I'm only two minutes late."

"We go on in a minute," John replied, "You don't even have time to get ready."

"I don't have to get ready, all I have to do is grab my drumsticks."

George shook his head, "These buggers thought we'd have to play without a drummer."

"There's no way in hell I would miss this. Come on, lads, let's play."

Paul glared at me but obliged. They grabbed their guitars and headed on to the stage. They were met with clapping and whistling, to which they bowed. I came out just after them and the clapping instantly died down.

Only a few people clapped, Molly being the most enthusiastic. Most of the crowd simply stared at me, some looked confused and others looked annoyed. They quickly shifted their gazes to the boys until only Molly and a few other girls looked at me. I could feel the absence of their gazes, though I could have been making it up. It felt sort of like going out on a cold day and realizing you forgot your jacket.

Paul and John exchanged glances as George looked at me. They must have also sensed the change, meaning it wasn't just in my head. I shrugged and sat at the drum stand.

"We'd like to sing a song we wrote," John said into the microphone, "It's called Till There Was You."

I began the drumbeat just as they started playing. The clapping returned, but I had a feeling it was directed at everyone but me. I shrugged it off. There had been times when I had been ignored for being female, it didn't bother me anymore. At least, not when it was only a little bit of misogyny.

There was a chance it was because of something else. The lads were more entertaining than me to begin with, and they were all in the front. All I did was keep the beat, there wasn't much luster in that. The crowd would much rather watch George rock out on his guitar, or John and Paul sing themselves hoarse. 

The show went according to plan. People danced, clapped, and laughed along to our beat. I grinned a grin that was impossible to get rid of. Every note made them dance, and every lyric made them laugh. When we finished the show, we all bowed and left the stage.

People clapped and whistled as we left. We had been applauded before, but never to that degree. It seemed as if the crowds had gotten ten times more enthusiastic since we left Liverpool. We returned to the back room where John and Paul promptly cheered.

"We're bloody brilliant!" John exclaimed.

Paul grinned, "They loved us, John, they actually loved us."

The two embraced, laughing the entire time. I smiled. We truly were making it somewhere. Despite all the odds, we were actually becoming something big. 

"While you lads are celebrating," I smiled, "I'm going to find Molly."

George nodded, "I'll join you."

He dropped his guitar in its case and followed me into the hall. Molly and I had arranged to meet by the bar after the show for a drink. I was always thirsty and tired after a show, liquor would make that better in a second.

George and I pushed through the crowd. They were still excited and didn't realize we were walking through. Most were absorbed in their own conversations or dancing to the beat in their heads. We passed two men having a conversation close to the stage.

"It's a boy band, innit?" one asked, "What's with the lass?"

The other shook his head, "I dunno. Fancy a girl playing drums."

"Girls can't play drums."

"She's a real eye sore. The band would do well gettin' rid of her."

George and I stopped. He glanced at me, obviously he heard it too. Their cold words bounced through my cranium with jagged edges and painful thuds. I rounded on the men and sneered, "Why I ought to-"

"Mel, no," George grabbed my arms, "You'll get yourself arrested."

"Didja hear them? Can't play drums cause I'm a girl?! I'll show them, I can play drums on their skulls!"

George forcefully pulled me away from the men. I fought back, but he was able to keep a grip on me. He practically dragged me across the floor. They never noticed us, or else they may have apologized.

"Let me go, George," I fought him, "I'll show them a real eye sore!"

George shook his head, "Mel, you're going to make things worse. Not everybody can be happy, you just have to deal with the posers."

"I'll deal with them with my fist!"

"Amelia, calm down."

George never used my real name. It flipped a switch inside of me that made me see past the anger. For a moment, I thought logically. Those men could knock me out in a second, and then have me arrested. I sighed, jerking from his grip, "Fine, I'll let the bastards go."

"Good."

He kept a grip on my shoulder as we continued to push through the crowd. Their words still bounced around in my skull, rattling my confidence. Deep down, I knew they were right.

This isn't the first time I've been hated on because of my gender. We almost didn't get the Hamburg contract because I was a girl. Image was everything for a band, and the image of a girl with four boys didn't fit well. The crowds often cheered for John, Paul, George, and Stuart, but they would fall into a silence for me. Though they never said why, I knew.

I loved the band as much as I possibly could, but I also loved my brother and my friends. This band meant more to them than the entire world, and they would do anything to get it to the big time. That included making sacrifices that we didn't want to make. 

"I'll show them," I muttered, "I'll show them."


	28. McCartney Sibling Reunion

t was difficult to keep up with Paul when he had his mind set on a destination. He would walk as fast as possible, with steps larger than usual. His eyes were always set forward and his arms swung at his sides. I had to struggle to keep up with him, nearly running several times.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked my brother, "He could hate us just as much as Da does."

Paul had shown up at Molly's door that morning and told me we were going to see Michael today. As much as I missed my baby brother, I was terrified to see him. The last thing I wanted was for him to tell us he never wanted to see us again. He had been subjected to listening to Dad's rants about us for nearly a full year, it would only be right for him to hate us.

"He doesn't hate us, Lia, and neither does Da," Paul replied.

"Really? Cause it sure sounded like-"

"He doesn't hate us," Paul spat, "Neither does Michael. We're just at a bit of a rough patch."

I frowned, "Rough is an understatement."

If kicking your kids out of the house and telling them never to return wasn't hate, I don't know what was. It sure as hell wasn't love. Paul was blinded by his hope. Dad was the last parent we had left, he and Michael were the last family we had left. Paul desperately wanted them to love us, even when Dad had told us to leave and never come back.

I could understand that feeling. The very last thing I wanted was to go through the rest of my life knowing my father was alive but I could never see him. Having to live while knowing that two of the most important people in my life hated me would be absolute hell. I wasn't sure if either of us could make it through that.

"Michael sees it as us having vanished one morning," Paul explained, "He only knows Dad's side of the story."

"Dad could have manipulated him."

"We won't know until we see him. You can't honestly tell me you don't hope Michael will still accept us," Paul glanced at me.

I sighed, "I do, I miss them both, but if word gets back to Dad-"

"What Dad does doesn't matter anymore. We're adults, and we can do whatever the hell we please."

I fell quiet after that. Paul was beginning to sound aggressive. Every other time he was like this, he fought whoever was closest. This time, that was me. Paul noticed as I shrunk away. He ran a hand down his face and sighed deeply. 

"I'm sorry, Lia," Paul apologized, "It's just a bloody fucked up situation. I don't want Michael to hate us just because Dad said so."

I nodded, "You don't want Dad to hate us either."

"I don't think he does, he just doesn't like us at the moment."

"That's better than hate," I admitted, "At least there's a chance to fix it."

Paul nodded, "It'll be a while with Dad, but we can make up with Michael right now."

"We can try."

Making up with Dad would be difficult, more difficult, perhaps, than making up with Michael. Dad was a stubborn man, a trait which he passed down to all of his children. When he made his mind up on something, it was highly unlikely that he would change. Luckily for us, that trait was genetic. Us against Dad was like an unstoppable object met with an unmovable force. 

The two of us rounded the corner to see our old school rise into view. It was exactly how we left it, complete with the tattered British flag hanging on the pole in the front. Children were already filing out, some going towards the bus. Others began to walk down the streets.

"Do you think he took the bus?" I asked.

"Let's hope not. Come on."

Paul gestured for me to follow him. I obeyed, trailing behind him as he crossed the street. A car nearly hit us, but it stopped on time. The driver hit his horn constantly until we were on the pavement. I almost flipped him off but stopped when I noticed a group of kids watching us intently. 

Children pushed past us, all talking amongst themselves and paying no attention to us. A few recognized us and waved. Some recognized us from our school days, while other recognized us from the band. None stopped to talk.

"Look, there he is," Paul pointed out.

Michael was standing in line for the bus. He was absorbed in a conversation with his friend, a girl I didn't know and didn't see us. Paul and I exchanged glances before hurrying up to him. Michael didn't notice us until Paul tapped his shoulder.

"Paulie?" Michael asked, "Lia? What're you doing here?"

His tone was neither cold nor warm. It was a sort of neutral, the kind you have when you're not entirely sure what to feel. He gazed at us with blank eyes.

"Our contract ended, so we came back to Liverpool," Paul smiled, "It's good to see you, Mikey."

I nodded, "We missed you."

"You left."

His tone had changed to accusatory. A wave of several emotions, each of them bad, crossed his face. He glared at us with a frozen stare. Paul gulped nervously, "Not exactly. We got into a fight with Da and-"

"And you left," Michael replied, "You left us, you bloody gits."

Paul frowned, "Come on, Mikey, it's not like that."

"Really? I wake up one morning to Da telling me my brother and my sister abandoned us to go to Germany and would never come back. Seems rubbish to me."

"Dad kicked us out. He wouldn't listen to us and he kicked us out," Paul explained.

Michael crossed his arms, "Or you wouldn't listen to him."

Both boys were becoming angry. The rest of the kids had all left on the buses, leaving only the three of us and a few stragglers. Paul and Michael were glaring at each other with such an intensity, they could have burst into flames at any second.

Paul was a usually happy person, Michael was too. They both felt emotions strongly, a McCartney family trait. They felt joy and it's fullest, but they also felt anger. When two anger filled brothers clashed heads, things were bound to go South. 

"You don't understand," Paul grumbled, "It was Dad that abandoned us, not the other way around."

"Really? That's not how I see it."

"Lookie here you-" Paul began, but I interrupted.

"Alright you two, calm down," I placed a hand on each of their chests, "Paul, step back, take a breath."

"But-"

"Paul."

He glared at me. I managed to stare him down, eventually making him take a step back and cross his arms. I turned to my younger brother and sighed, "What did Da tell you?"

"That you left for Germany and would never come back," Michael replied, "He said you abandoned us without even letting him know."

"That's not how it happened, you know how Dad doesn't tell the full story," I explained, "Paul and I asked him about Germany the night we left. He got angry at us and told us to choose him or the band. In a way, he asked us to choose between him and our future."

Michael's guard was immediately dropped. He let his hands hang loose as he knitted his eyebrows, "Really? He made you do that?"

"Yes. We choose the band," I replied, "But we were in no way abandoning you, Mikey. It was tough for us not to come and see you the second we got home. We were waiting for the right time."

Really, we were procrastinating. I had dreaded this moment for these exact reasons. Had I not stepped in, Paul and Michael would have ended up hitting each other, and then all our chances of making things right would have vanished.

Michael stared at the ground for a moment. I could see him going over the situation in his head. It was difficult to see past the manipulation of our father to see the truth. Manipulation clouded one's judgment, and that was often the hardest obstacle to overcome. Luckily, Michael wasn't alone.

Instead of replying, he surged forward and hugged me. I returned the embrace. It was wonderful to hug my little brother once again. That hug told me that he could never, and would never, hate us.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Michael shook his head, "I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have known you wouldn't leave me."

"We never would, we'll always come back," Paul added.

Michael and I glanced up. We grabbed his jacket and pulled him into the hug, making it a three-way embrace. Paul's grimace had turned into a smile brighter than the sun. Michael's wasn't much different.

"I'm glad you're back," Michael commented, "It was boring without having you two to take me places."

Paul laughed, wrapping an arm around Michael's shoulders, "Missed you too, Mikey."

"Come on, let's go get some dinner. We can catch up there," I suggested.

The three of us walked down the streets as friends. Once again, The McCartney siblings laughed together. Paul was right, Michael didn't hate us, and he never would. For the moment, everything was alright.


	29. Epstien

I'm not sure if I only began to notice it now, or if the sexism in this city had truly soared skywards, especially with our shows. It seems, now, that I can't get through one show without getting demeaning glares or objective comments. Perhaps the conversation I overheard made me more hyper-aware, or, perhaps, it woke me up.

When I think back, I can't tell whether or not this has always been. I've always been so infatuated with the music, I didn't notice much else. I could have always been getting resentful glares or comments and just not realized.

I tried to ask Paul, but he danced around the subject. He kept changing it to new songs or new ideas. He tried to make me believe he didn't realize, but I knew he did. The look in his eyes told me that he knew. He just didn't want to tell me because he was afraid of what I would do.

George and John were the same. I tried to ask them, but they wouldn't give me straightforward answers. George told me not to let what other people think get to me, and John told me not to 'bloody care what those shits say'.

As much as I wanted to ignore it, now that I knew it was there, I couldn't. It was like staring an elephant in the face and claiming it wasn't there. These people were obviously against me, but only me. They would clap, cheer, and whistle for Paul, John, and George, but when it came to the only girl of the group, nothing but silence. Even during my drum solos, I only had two, there was complete silence. The entire crowd simply stared at me, a few whispered amongst themselves and snickered. Most stood with placid expressions and waited for my solo to be over and the lads to play once again. 

It hurt to know they didn't like me because of what's between my legs. Just because I was born female, they don't think I can properly play the drums. As if being male or female affects your ability to hit a drum with a stick.

The fact that our audience was against me didn't only hurt me, it also hurt the band. There were only four of us, four pieces of a whole. You can't love three, hate the other, and still expect to get somewhere. It's like having three wheels on your car and the fourth being a square rock.

I didn't want to admit it, but I knew, I was weighing the band down. All because society believes women are less than men because they're missing a few parts, I became a problem for our group. It was a huge problem, one that only had two answers, neither of which were good. This time, we couldn't solve our problems with music.

There was a chance, small as it may be, that I was making all of this up. Overhearing that conversation between those two men could have put an idea in my head that wouldn't go away. This could all be in my head and everything is really fine, but something told me that wasn't true. The look in Paul's eyes when I asked him spoke volumes. 

I sloshed the golden brown liquid around in my cup. The whiskey splashed against the sides. I watched it, studying it as if it held the answers to all my problems. In a way, it did. It offered an escape. With just a few sips, I could blur my senses just enough to where all I knew was the music, not the people I was playing for. 

We had just finished another show, and, yet again, I was met with the same demeaning glares and degrading whispers. My drum solos were met with the usual silence, save for derogatory whispers. At that very moment, I was doing my best to ignore a group of boys just a few seats from me talking about how much they loved the band, except for the drummer. 'She's out of place' 'An eyesore' 'Women shouldn't play with men.' All of these words, these insults, bounced around in my cranium. Had I listened any longer, I might actually have believed them.

"Hello."

A man sat down on the stool next to me. He placed himself directly between me and the boys I was about to pummel. He was older than me, but not by much, nine or ten years at the max. His hair was almost identical in color to mine but much shorter. He had a face that reminded me of the dolls Mum gave me. His skin was like porcelain, and his features were perfectly aligned. His eyes looked tired like he hadn't slept for a day or two, but they sparkled with life. In the wrinkles beneath his eyes as well as his rosy cheeks and perky ears, I saw kindness.

"'Ello," I replied.

He stuck his hand out, "The name's Brian Epstein, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Amelia McCartney," I shook his hands, "The pleasure is mine."

His smile was so bright, it overtook the sun. I could sense an aura of excitement around him, though I wasn't sure what for. It was so strong, it was a bit unsettling. While he looked kind, looks can often be deceiving. I found myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat while, at the same time, I leaned closer to this man. 

"I saw your group tonight, and, I must say, you are all incredible," he said.

I smiled, "Thanks, that means a lot."

"Do you have a manager?"

I lifted an eyebrow. I expected some questions, but not that. Usually, I get asked what other instruments I play or if I can sing, and those are the nice questions. Most of them aren't that nice.

"Um, no?" I replied, "I mean-we don't really need one- I don't think we do. We're just a small skiffle band, not much of anything, really."

Brian shook his head, "I've seen plenty of bands that 'aren't much of anything' and you are not one of them. This band has something else, something that sets you apart from the rest of them."

His face sang a song of amusement, but I read something else. I knew exactly what was coming, and it was never good. He was just about to prove that my paranoia was correct. 

"Right, I've heard that one before. We're not like the rest because of me, right? Three boys one girl, doesn't really fit well, does it?"

"No- I didn't-"

"Save it," I sighed deeply, "I've heard it all already."

"No, honestly, I didn't mean that. You're a remarkable drum player," Brian interrupted, "I mean your group has something special in the way you play. You play like you're in a love affair with the music, and I've never seen that before."

I lifted my head up to look at him, "You mean that?"

"Of course I do."

There was something about Brian. Perhaps it was the fact that he was the first person in a long time to genuinely compliment the entire band, including me. Really, it was because he and I shared one common trait, something we had hidden deep inside. We clicked the second we met, I just didn't realize it until many years later.

"That's the first I've heard of that," I smiled a genuine smile.

Brian returned the gesture, "It's the truth."

"Oi! Melly!"

I glanced over my shoulder to see John beckoning to me from the stage. Paul was just behind him with George sitting at my drum stand. They seemed to be fiddling with something at the bottom.

"Will you introduce me?" Brian asked.

I nodded, "Come on, then, meet the lads."

He followed me as I abandoned my stool. We pushed through the crowd, ignoring the snickers that always followed me around the club. When we arrived at the stage, I pushed myself to sit on the edge next to John, "What is it?"

"The stand broke," George answered.

I glanced at the bottom of the drum stand, "What did you do?"

"Nothing! I swear!"

One of the feet had popped off. Due to it being an old drum set, things like that happened more often than not. All it took was a bit of elbow grease and the thing was back in place. I waved John off and took over the job.

"Who's your friend?" John asked, leaning on a nearby amp.

"Lads, meet Brian Epstein," I waved between them, "Brian, meet John Lennon, George Harrison, and Paul McCartney."

"Pleasure," I heard Brian say.

I wiggled the foot back into place as they began a conversation. The Cavern was loud, and I did my best to listen to what they were talking about. It was difficult to focus on one conversation with the room was filled with the voices of hundreds. 

"You played beautifully," Brian complimented, "One of the best shows I've ever seen."

John grinned, "Thanks, chap."

"It means a lot," Paul piped up.

"And I mean it," Brian clapped his hands together, "Do you boys have a manager?"

Paul and John exchanged glances. They had the exact same reaction as I did. George glanced at me, to which I shrugged. The idea of a manager had never truly crossed our minds. 

"Manager? I didn't think we needed a manager," Paul muttered.

Brian smiled, "If you want to get any bigger, you're going to need one."

"Bigger? What do you mean bigger?" John asked.

John knew better than anyone what bigger meant. He and Paul were always dreaming about it. Record labels, world tours, fans across the world, etc. They wanted to get to the toppermost of the poppermost, and only one person could get them there. Little did they know he was standing right in front of them.

"LPs, tours, live shows across the world," Brian explained, "I mean bigger as in bigger than this club."

Paul shrugged, "We've been to Hamburg."

"Even bigger than that. Even bigger than Europe. With a manager, you could spread your band to America, Australia, Asia, everywhere."

"That sounds like a bloody good idea," Paul said.

"Maybe we should get a manager," George piped up, "Sounds like we could use one."

Brian grinned, "I'm glad you think that. I would be glad to take that role."

"Hold on," John lifted a hand, "You mean, you're a manager?"

"Well- I would like to be, but I haven't exactly signed anyone yet."

John laughed, "You've never signed a band and you fancy yourself a manager?"

"I have to start somewhere, don't I?"

"Yeah, but you ain't starting with us," John replied, "If we're going to sign, we're going to sign with someone we know can get us somewhere."

Brian frowned, "I can do that."

"Sure, and I can be the Queen of England."

Both John and Paul belted out laughing. George smiled slightly but didn't laugh after I glared at him. I gave Brian a sympathetic look, but he didn't notice. He was too busy watching the cackling boys. While they did their best to turn him off, he only became more ambitious. His eyes sparkled brighter with every laugh they uttered and head shake they produced. Their negativity only sparked his positivity. 

"If you'll just trust me," Brian began.

John shook his head, "We've got a show in a few minutes, if you'll kindly exit stage left."

He and Paul pointed towards the exit of the club. They got up and went to their guitars, laughing to themselves. I watched them for a moment before glancing back at Brian.

Brian didn't look dismayed at all, he didn't even look offended. If anything, his interest had only peaked. Paul and John fighting back had only given him the incentive he needed. As he turned to leave, I realized we would not see the last of him anytime soon.

"Lia, come on, time to play," Paul called my attention.

I stood and went to the drum stool, "Ready, Paulie."


	30. Advice From Eppy

"Are you sure it's not all in your head?" Molly asked.

"Of course I'm sure. I can't make stuff like this up."

The two of us were walking side by side down the streets of jolly old Liverpool. We had heard of a record store on the south side, and we intended to visit it. The only problem was the long walk, nearly an hour and a half. We could easily have taken a bus, but Molly's mother thought walking would be good for us.

I told her about the apprehension I had been met with at the shows. She was the first one I've talked to who didn't dance around the subject, she actually indulged me. Even if she argued, insisting what I thought I knew couldn't be true, she didn't change the subject. 

"I've been to many of your shows," Molly rubbed her chin, "I've never noticed any mean glares or sexist conversations."

I shrugged, "I didn't notice it either until I overheard one conversation the other day. Now I have to question whether it's always been there, or if I'm just being paranoid."

"Why don't you ask Paul? Or John? Or George?"

"I tried," I replied, "Paul avoids the subject, John tells me to ignore them, and George says I shouldn't care what other people think. I've tried not caring, but I just can't help it."

Molly placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled, "I know, things like this are hard to ignore."

"It's not just hurting me either," I explained, "I can handle a few wankers, but too many of them can begin to hurt the band too."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if all of the men, and some of the women, who come to our shows are against me and begin to dislike the band because of me, that's over half our audience. Because I'm the drummer, I'll hold the entire band back."

"That's not true, the band wouldn't be complete without you."

I shook my head, "I dunno, Mols, I think they might be better off without me."

"Don't talk like that."

I've been thinking about this whole situation for a few weeks by then. It began to become clearer to me what I had to do. There were two paths ahead of me, one was staying with the band and holding them back and the other was quitting.

This band meant the world to me, it's one of the only things I look forward to, quitting would be devastating. Yet, there was something deep down in my heart that told me The Beatles were going to become something. They were going to be great, but you can't be great without some sacrifices. Call it a premonition, call it a teenage dream, but I felt those lads were meant to be something special and they couldn't do it with me.

We came upon the record store just as the sun reached the middle of the sky. The store was small, but it was the nicest record store I've seen to date. The windows were spotless, the records were neatly arranged, and the employees all smiled at us as we walked in. Even the carpet had ornamental designs one would usually find in a prestigious concert hall. 

It was mostly filled with teenagers just like us. A few middle-aged people went through the older records. The entire building was filled with soft music and loud voices. When we walked in, a perky lady greeted us. Her ginger hair bounced in neat Shirley Temple curls around her head and her smile seemed to be painted on, but her eyes held more life than that store could contain. Molly and I waved at her before wandering deeper into the store. 

"This place is nice," Molly commented, "I can't believe we didn't know about this."

"Been to every record shop in Liverpool, except this one. Madness."

"Oh!" Molly exclaimed, "Melly, look, Elvis!"

She grabbed my arm and dragged me to a display. Elvis Presley's new album was sitting on the highest shelf on the wall. On the cover, The King himself smiled back at us. It was as if he looked me dead in the eye and said hello.

"I thought it didn't come out for another month," I muttered.

Molly shrugged, "So did I. I'm going to get it."

She grabbed one of the records and hugged it close to her chest. All of us, the lads included, had a deep obsession with Elvis Presley. He was an American singer, one of the few that made it in England. Paul and John were the first to become obsessed with Elvis, and soon, they spread it to the rest of us.

"I bet Paul doesn't know it's out yet," I said, "I'll get it for him for his birthday."

Molly giggled, "He'll be so surprised."

I grabbed one of the records off the shelf and looked on the back. In a collection of fifteen songs, I had only ever heard one of them before. The rest sounded amazing.

Molly and I began to look through other records. I flipped through a stack while the new Elvis record was tucked underneath my arm. Every so often, Molly would point out a record to me. We would decide whether or not to add it to our collection.

"Amelia?" a voice asked.

It took me a second to realize the person was talking to me. I've known several other Amelia's in my life, in my last year of high school there were three in my class. Sometimes, I still thought they were talking to other Amelia's.

It didn't take me long to recognize the posh voice. Brian Epstein always spoke like he was a British Royal. He never used slang, and his words were perfectly pronounced. In all the time I knew him, I never once heard him say anything grammatically incorrect.

"Brian," I spun around and smiled at him, "Lovely to see you again."

He was exactly the same as he was that night at the Cavern. The same kind smile, the same enthused eyes, and the same perfect suit. He walked up to us and shook my hand. Before then, I had never noticed how strong his handshake was. With hands as smooth as a baby, you wouldn't expect him to have such a firm handshake. It threw me off for a moment before I righted myself. 

"It's a pleasure. I must say, I never expected to see you on this side of town," Brian admitted.

I shrugged, "Sometimes I like to get away."

The record store was close to The Cavern Club, but it felt like the opposite side of town. The fishy smell was less here and we didn't see so many drunken sailors. This was what I considered to be the posh part of town, which explained why I ran into Brian there of all places. 

"Uh, Melly?" Molly muttered, tugging my shirt sleeve.

"Right, sorry," I smiled, "Brian, this is my friend Molly Mackenzie. Molly, this is Brian Epstein, we met at the last Cavern performance."

Molly shook his hand, "Pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

He glanced between the two of us. A look of knowing crossed his face, but quickly vanished. He smiled widely, "Well, I'd like to welcome you to my parent's record shop."

"Your parents own this?" I asked.

Brian nodded, "Yes, and a few others. I usually help out with this one."

"You must know a lot about show business, then," Molly commented.

"I like to think so."

I furrowed my eyebrows. He glanced at me, waiting for me to catch on. Eventually, it clicked, "That's why you say you could be our manager."

"Yes," Brian replied, "I have a love for show business, and managing a band, specifically yours, would be a dream."

Molly gasped, "Melly, you didn't tell me you got a manager."

"We didn't. The lads didn't want to sign."

"Unfortunately. I truly believe I could help you," Brian explained.

For a moment, I simply stared at him. He had never managed before, but that doesn't mean anything. All of the greats had to start somewhere. Van Gogh had to scribble to get to Starry Night. Elvis had to warble before he could sing. Everyone has to start somewhere, but that doesn't mean what they do isn't good.

Brian easily could be a great manager. He already says he knows a lot about show business. The lads thought he couldn't do it because he had never done it, but I had my doubts. The odds were even, either he would be good or bad, there was only one way to know. 

"John and Paul are as stubborn as mules anyway," I replied, "You say you know a lot about show business, yes?"

"Yes, I like to think so."

"Then, you would be able to advise a band on what would be better for them, right?"

"Correct. What are you getting at?"

Molly glanced at me. She knew exactly where I was going with this. Her eyebrows knitted in concern, "Melly-"

"The lads might not take your advice, but I will," I told him.

Brian beamed, "Lovely. Is there anything specific?"

"Actually, yes," I took a deep breath, "I think I'm holding the band back because I'm a girl. The audience hates me, I can feel it. John, Paul, and George refuse to acknowledge it, Molly says it's all in my head, but I don't think so. What do you think?"

Brian shifted his weight from foot to foot. He tried to smile, it seemed genuine, but I could tell there was a bit of uncomfortableness behind it. I was beginning to learn a lot about Brian Epstein, including the fact that he had a remarkable poker face. 

"You're an outstanding drummer, and you play so well with the band. I don't think-" he began but I interrupted.

"Brian, I want your honest to God opinion. Whatever you say will not offend me."

In truth, I knew exactly what he was going to say, and it terrified me. I didn't want to hear him say it, that would only make it seem all the more real. Even if I didn't want to hear it, I had to, for the sake of the band.

"Yes, I have noticed the opposition to you as well," Brian finally admitted, "For a band, image is everything. From the hair, the clothes, the instruments, and even the selection of band members. The image of a boy band is what the crowds want. The image of a boy band with one girl doesn't take off quite so well."

I felt my heart fall to my feet. He had just confirmed everything I was scared of. My entire demeanor dropped in that second.

Music meant everything to me. I had left my father behind for it. Without music, I was nothing. Without the band, I was just another Liverpudlian drifting through life. Music was my life, without it, I might as well not even exist. The thought of quitting the band made my heart scream.

"I didn't mean to offend you," Brian tried, "You are an amazing musician, you work so well with the band, but, to the audience, image is everything."

I nodded, "I know. Thank you, Brian, you actually helped a lot."

"It's always a pleasure to help."

Molly placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, "Amelia-"

"I'm fine, honestly. Let's get these records and go home, I'm starved."

I tried to put on a smile, but I knew Molly could see straight through it. She didn't question me. Brian rang up our records and we bought them before leaving.

Molly and I walked in silence for a moment. I felt her cautious glares, looking at me every so often to make sure I was alright. I tried to smile, but, inside, I was crying.

I think, deep down, I had expected this. The thrill of playing had blinded me to the truth. As Brian had said, image is everything. In the 1960's, women were seen as nothing more than objects. They couldn't do things men could do, one of which was being in a band with boys. Later, that would change, but when I needed it most, the sexism prevailed.

I didn't want to give into the misogyny, but I knew what had to be done. This band was going to go places, great places, but it had to go without me. I was holding it back all because of my gender. The Beatles are a boy band, not three boys and one girl.

It wasn't the lads' fault at all, it wasn't even Brian's fault, it was the people's fault. They held prejudice against me all because I'm female. Women are supposed to be in the kitchen and pregnant, that's it. They're not supposed to be playing drums in a boy band. Because of their hatred, I was holding the band back. Nobody would let The Beatles grow while I was still with them.

Maybe if there were more girls, it would be different. If the girls and boys in the group balanced each other out, maybe it would workout in the end. Only one girl spoiled everything. There was only one way this group could ever grow beyond what they were, and that required me to make the ultimate sacrifice.

I had to quit the band.


	31. Goodbye, Amelia

Autumn was upon us. Leaves were changing colors, the wind was blowing, and the trees were beginning to shed. The world was dyed hues of orange, red, and brown in celebration of a beautiful time of year. Autumn used to be my favorite time of year, until the autumn of 1961. It marked the last show I played as a Beatle.

I knew it was coming. I talked to Brian and Molly about it. Brian agreed with me, but Molly did her best to change my mind. She didn't want me to quit something I loved because of sexism. What she didn't understand is that I wasn't quitting because of the sexism, I was quitting because of the lads.

They had come so far already, from Liverpool to Hamburg and back to Liverpool again. They've already done so much, they can't stop now. They're going to the top, I can feel it, as can they. John, Paul, and George are going to the toppermost of the poppermost, but they couldn't do it with me. This was their dream, their lives, and I wasn't about to make them sacrifice everything they've worked for just so I could play drums.

Even though I've already come to that conclusion, I procrastinated for as long as possible. It was two months after my talk with Brian when I finally bit the bullet. I wasn't going to at first, I was planning to keep procrastinating for as long as I could, but fate had different plans.

One of the larger churches in Liverpool held an annual Autumn Carnival. It wasn't large, the only rides were a pony ride and some swings. People had booths where they sold various forms of art, food, jewelry, etc. There was a wooden stage built against the church for the band to play. That band was none other than The Liverpool Loved Beatles.

I had to lug the drum set on to the stage. John gave me a hand while Paul and George got dressed inside the church. When we had every piece on the stage, John went back to get dressed, leaving me alone to set up the drums. I crouched next to the set, which I had borrowed from The Cavern, and began to work the legs into position. They were constantly coming off due to the age of the drums. I was sure that, one day, I would hit the drum and the stick would go right through. 

"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" a male voice asked.

I glanced over my drums to see three boys standing at the front of the stage. They seemed to be about my age. Each dressed in the classic teddy boy style, just like John, Paul, and George.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I replied, "I'm setting up the drums."

The boy grinned, "Ah, you're the roadie, aren't ya?"

"No, I'm the drummer."

The three boys looked at each other before bursting out in laughter. I gave them my best death glare and tried to pretend I wasn't phased by their laughter. It only served to chip away another piece of my shrinking confidence.

"Girls don't play drums," the first boy laughed, "Sing, maybe, but not in a band like this. Quit playing around."

I glared at him, "I'm not playing around."

"You're not the drummer."

"How about I do a demonstration on your skull?"

The boy sneered, "How dare you talk to me like that."

"I'm just giving you the same respect you gave me," I spat, "Now, bugger off before I show you just how well I play the drums."

They glared at me for a few more seconds before leaving. They mumbled under their breath, probably something against me, but I didn't care. I went back to fixing the drums. A nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach told me those boys would be trouble.

That wasn't the first nor the last time I had dealt with people like that. Many people, mainly men, spoke like that all the time. It was beginning to chip away at what little confidence I had left.

Still, I pressed on. I had the drums ready by the time John, Paul, and George came on stage. John and Paul went to set up their microphones while George leaned against an amp near me. Being ever the empathetic type of lad, he instantly sensed something was wrong. 

"What's wrong, Mel? You look like you ate a bad lemon," George asked.

I sighed, "Nothin', Georgie, just a couple of tossers."

"Alright."

He didn't seem convinced, but he didn't pressure on. John glanced back at me and silently asked if I was ready. I nodded. He turned on the microphone and the show began.

It started out normally. People clapped, danced, and laughed along with the music. All four of us had a great time. For a while, I forgot that most of the audience disliked me, I even thought they were beginning to get over their hate. That, however, would never happen.

Nearing the end of the show, I became so invested in the drums, I was unaware of anything else. All I knew were the drums and the music of the lads, otherwise, the world had ceased to exist. I didn't see who threw the eggs, but I strongly suspect the boys from earlier.

"Fucking hell!"

Five eggs hit me directly in the face. They cracked on impact, spreading egg yolk all over my face and hair. For a moment, I was blinded. I stopped playing completely to wipe the eggs from my eyes. They stung badly, like my weights worth in bees had just flown into my eyes. I shoved my fists into my eyes in an attempt to stop the burning sensation.

"Bloody hell," Paul said, "Who did that?"

Nobody replied. Eggs still covered my face and burned my eyes. I felt two familiar hands push back my hair and help wipe the egg from my face. Paul had come to help me. I could barely see him through the still dripping yolk. He tried to wipe more yolk off my face, "Are you alright, Lia?"

"I'm fine, I just-ah! The eggs are getting into my eyes."

I felt him wipe my forehead once again, "Alright, keep your eyes shut, I'll guide you to the bathroom."

He held my arms gently and began to lead me across the stage. I took slow steps to avoid tripping over anything, even though I trusted Paul. Just as we made it to the stairs, I heard George come up behind Paul.

"Who threw the eggs?" John demanded into the microphone, "Come on, you bastards."

There was no answer. Paul helped me down the stairs of the stage. I felt the grass beneath my shoes as he led me into the church. Sunshine pierced my closed eyelids, making me see the shadows of the egg yolks dripping down my face.

I heard a heavy door open and close, and I was hit with a rush of cold air. We were inside the church. Every footstep echoed along with the buzzing of electric lights. Another door opened and closed.

"Stand right here," Paul said.

I nodded. I heard a sink turn on. Something splashed inside of it before it turned off. Paul brought a wet cloth to my face and began to wipe my eyes. He managed to clear my eyes and my forehead enough for me to see again. It was still difficult to see for a while, as the yolks had gotten into my eyes. Everything was a blur of shapes and distorted figures, and I suddenly understood John's confusion without his glasses.

I opened my eyes to try and see the concerned looks on Paul, George, and John's faces. We were all standing in the girl's bathroom, though there was nobody else here. Paul handed me the cloth and I continued to try and clean the egg off me.

"I can't bloody believe some bastards hit you with eggs!" John exclaimed.

Paul sneered, "When I find them, I'll cripple them."

"You won't find them," George replied, leaning against the wall, "They're probably long gone."

"Fucking bastards," Paul muttered.

John frowned, "I'm sorry, Melly."

I didn't reply. I gazed into the mirror to try and wipe the egg from my face. My eyes were bloodshot, and my face was glistening with yolk. It would take several showers to get it all off, even then I would smell rotten for weeks. It matted in my hair like gum, clumping together in strands that were next to impossible to break loose. 

Paul, John, and George all gazed at me through the mirror. I could see the looks of confusion combined with anger on their faces. George was mostly confused, the other two were mostly angry. Paul looked especially angry, like he was ready to give those boys a taste of their own medicine.

"Why on Earth would they do that?" Paul asked, "Why you and not us? We're in the front, we were the easy targets."

I glanced at him in the mirror, "Simple, it's because I'm a girl."

"Oh, come off it, Lia, it's not because-"

"It is and you know it," I spun around to face him, "You can't tell me you haven't noticed it too. The reproachful glares, the cruel comments, the snickering."

Paul and John exchanged glances. In that look alone, I knew they had noticed it before. Even if they wouldn't tell me, I still knew.

George gazed at me, "Is this because of those men at The Cavern?"

"It's not just them," I explained, "It's everybody. They don't think I can play because I'm a girl."

"That's not true!" Paul exclaimed.

John nodded, "You play just as good as the rest of us."

"That's not what they think," I replied, "There's a stigma against me because I'm a girl. And, because I'm a part of this band, that stigma goes against all of you as well. If this goes on much longer, we can all kiss our dreams goodbye."

John and Paul had yet to catch onto what I was getting at. George, however, understood immediately. His hands dropped as he stared at me. I gave him a half-hearted smile. I did my best to convey to him that everything would workout in the end, but it was hard when I didn't even believe it.

"We'll get past it, Lia. We'll show them that we can make it to the top with you as the drummer," Paul said.

I shook my head, "While I'm always ready to fight the patriarchy, sometimes, it's better to surrender before you fight a war you can't win. If we fight the audience, we lose the audience, and you lose any chance you had at reaching the top. The people will get you there, and you can't fight them while they do it."

John began to catch on at that point. His eyes widened as he stared at me. My confidence was slowly deflating, leaving my body through the egg stuck in my hair. Had it not been for the burning pain still left in my eyes from the eggs, I might have cried. All of my procrastinating had only made things worse. Because of that, I had to quit while covered in egg.

"You're quitting the band, aren't you?" John asked.

I nodded. I wanted to say that it was for the good of the band, or it was for their best interest, but I couldn't. My lips seemed to be sealed shut. Paul flung up his hands, "You can't quit!"

"I have to," I replied, "You lads are going to make history, but you're going to me it without me."

Paul shook his head, "We can't go on without you."

"What Paulie means is, we don't want to go on without you," George said.

My heart swelled. These lads were my best friends. I was doing something that was in their best interest, but they still fought to try and keep me there. It made me happy to know that I had such good friends.

"Yeah!" Paul exclaimed, "We're four pieces of a puzzle, Lia, you can't get the full picture when you're missing a piece."

I smiled, "I'm not going to leave, I'll still be here, just, I won't be a Beatle."

"What?" George asked.

I had been thinking about this a long time. Molly and Brian both helped me decide what to do. They knew I didn't want to completely leave the band, I'm not sure if I would be able to handle that. It was Brian who originally said I didn't have to be on stage to be a part of the group, even if being a part of the group didn't necessarily mean being a part of the band. 

"She's right, lads," John sighed, "We're going to the top, but she can't go with us. As much as I want Melly to stay, there's a thing about image."

I nodded, "John's right. The image of a boy band with one girl won't fly."

Paul stared at me. I could see a thousand and one different thoughts flying through his mind. His eyes flickered as he looked at me, and his hands twitched, "But, you're not leaving completely, are you?"

"No, you lads wouldn't know what to do without me," I sprouted a cheeky grin, "I'll still be here, just, not on stage. I'll be the one in the crowd cheering the loudest, or the one is the back waiting to congratulate you on another show well done."

It was Brian who suggested I do that. He knew how deeply I loved this band, and how much I loved these boys. He knew I wouldn't leave without a fight, but both of us realized that I had to leave. As a solution, Brian had explained how I could be just as much of a part of this band off the stage as I could on. Originally, he suggested roadie, but I turned that down. Something told me that wouldn't work out in the long run. Both Brian and I agreed that the lads would need all the support they could get to reach where they were going, and who better than someone who's been there every step of the way? I am neither help nor band member, I am simply the friend that's with them every step of the way.

Many people claim to be The Beatles' biggest fan, but I was the first and always will be the number one fan. I was a fan before they were even together and I will always be a fan long after they've grown apart. 

John leaped up and flung an arm around my shoulders. He ignored the yolk that stuck to his sleeve as he did so, a grin sprouting across his face, "Melly won't leave, we won't let her. She's as much a part of this as we are."

"I'll be your number one groupie," I laughed.

The lads all laughed along with me. Despite the pain of leaving the band, I smiled. I had expected my heart to cry, but it laughed. It laughed for the love this group had. Through all the hate, the fear, and the pain this world inflicted, we still stuck together no matter what. It made everything seem alright.

"You're going to the toppermost of the poppermost, lads, you just wait and see," I smiled.


	32. Misogyny Bores Me

I sat in the bathtub, my knees pulled to my chest and my back to the faucet. Water fell on my head and dripped down my back. The entire thing seemed to be straight out of a dramatic movie. The main protagonist sits in the shower and contemplates life while water dramatically falls around them. It was the indoor alternative to taking a depressive walk in the rain.

The scene reflected my mood. Water vanished into the drain like my hopes had vanished into nothingness. Everything I dreamed was as pointless as the water falling on me. Part of me wanted to go down the drain with the water, at least then I wouldn't have to face a world where I didn't play in a band. 

"I think I almost have the egg out," Molly said, "At least your hair will be extra healthy after this."

Her fingers were buried deep in my hair. The eggs had crusted and matted into my hair, almost becoming a part of my head. I tried to get it out, but I couldn't see it, so Molly volunteered to help. She's been picking shells and yolk out of my hair for the past hour and a half. My scalp was becoming tender from her constant jerks and scratches, but I said nothing. 

"My hair could fall out for all I care," I muttered.

Molly sighed, "Come on, Melly, don't you have a single happy thought?"

"No."

Molly shook her head. She continued to pick through my hair, occasionally finding a shell or a gummy yolk. I kept my eyes on the wall, flinching every time she caught a hair wrong. 

Smiling seemed impossible after I quit the thing I loved so dearly. Quitting the band hurt just as much as Dad kicking us out. I expected it to hurt, but not this much. I felt internally crippled like my heart needed a wheelchair. Everything felt pointless and the world had lost several beautiful colors. I saw no point in waking up, getting dressed, or even going outside if I couldn't do what I loved. 

"How about," Molly smiled, "After we get this egg out of your hair, we'll go down to the record store. Maybe there's a new Buddy Holly or Chuck Berry out."

I sighed, "I guess."

"Honestly, Amelia, we have to do something to get you out of this slump. I've never seen you so upset."

"I think I have a right."

Molly stared at me for a moment. Eventually, she dropped her arms and sighed, "Eleanor Amelia McCartney, pull yourself together."

I turned to look at her. She was a stern mother, staring holes into me. Just as I was about to say something, she cut in.

"Sitting here wallowing in depression will do you no good," Molly said, "You have to stand up and fight it."

I frowned, "How am I supposed to do that? I already quit the band."

Molly had originally fought me on my decision, but, eventually, she came to terms. She agreed with me when I did it, her turning on me now wasn't going to do any good. If anything, it just made me feel worse.

"You've lost the battle, but you haven't lost the war," Molly explained.

I shook my head, "Seems like I lost the war to me."

"Maybe you did," Molly replied, "But, what do you do when you lose a war?"

"Wallow in self-pity and hope I don't get killed."

"Wrong, you lead a revolution."

I glanced up at her. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, the sort that came to someone when they were planning something diabolically mischievous. Her very muscles trembled in excitement.

"What are you getting at?" I asked.

"You, Amelia McCartney, are fighting a war," Molly explained, "Whether you know it or not, you are. It's you against the patriarchy. You started this war by joining an all-male band."

"And I lost it by quitting," I replied.

Molly snapped her fingers, "Ah, but you will win in the end. You've already lost the fight requiring you to stay in The Beatles, but you haven't lost the fight as a whole. You can still show the world that women are just as good as men, especially when it comes to music."

"How?"

"As I said, a revolution," Molly replied, "You've made your sacrifice, you let them win the battle so you can win the war. You have to create a new army, a new band."

For a moment, I stared at her. Everything clicked into place. She was right, I was at war with society. The boundaries for male and female were outrageous, and they were bound to be challenged. I had begun to challenge them by joining The Beatles. No war comes without sacrifice, and I had made mine by giving into the other side and quitting the Beatles. Now, it was time for a Revolution.

"Of course!" I exclaimed, "By golly, Miss Molly, you're right!"

I leaped up, splashing water all over the floor. Molly followed suit, smiling the entire way.

"I may have lost the battle, but the war is far from over. It's time for a revolution! It's time to take down the patriarchy!" I shouted.

Molly clapped, "There's the Amelia I love."

"We must start immediately," I said, "We'll form a band, you and me, an all girls band. We'll make it to the top quicker than any boy band could, and we'll do it in all our feminine glory!"

Molly cheered. I jumped out of the bath and grabbed a towel, "We need a name, a brand, and a place to play. I can pull a few strings for us to play at The Cavern."

I was just about to storm out into the house, but Molly grabbed my arm, "Perhaps you should put on some clothes first."

"Right."

Once I was dressed, Molly and I met back up in her room. She sat on the bed and watched me as I paced. Under my breath, I was mumbling so quickly it could be considered a foreign language. So many things ran through my mind at once, I could fill up the entirety of Buckingham Palace. I thought of names, songs, places to play, people to work with, things to do, etc. Everything that could possibly come to mind did, and then, I even thought of pointless things. 

"We need a name," I said, "A good one, nothing dumb like Girls or whatever. Something that says 'I'm going to kick society in the arse.'"

"We could name it Society's A Dirty Bastard," Molly suggested.

I shook my head, "Too vulgar. If we want to make it somewhere, we need to plan it accordingly."

I paced a bit more. My eyes darted around the room for ideas. The Desk? The Doors? Curtains? Teddy Bear? Everything I thought of was stupid and would never get us anywhere. We needed something good, something that screamed revolution.

"I've got it!" I exclaimed, "Revolution."

Molly grinned, "Brilliant!"

I grabbed her arm and pulled her off the bed. We spun around the room, laughing the entire time. All the sadness I felt earlier seemed to have melted away. In its place, all I felt was blazing determination. 

Every muscle in my body ached to hit something. I wanted to show the world what they were missing, and I wanted to do it right then and there. No planning, no waiting, I wanted to go out with my guns blazing and a battle cry piercing my lips. Wars are not won on sporadic behavior, they're won with planning. I couldn't march out onto the battlefield without some sort of plan.

"We'll lead a revolution!" I exclaimed, "You and me against the patriarchy. We'll show them, women and men are equals, no matter what."

Molly squeezed my hands, "We're the revolution."

That wasn't necessarily true. The revolution of females against males in the music industry had been going for decades. Molly and I weren't the revolution, we didn't even lead the revolution, we were simply two soldiers among hundreds more. We fought alongside people like Ella Fitzgerald, Marilyn Monroe, Aretha Franklin, Patsy Cline, and so many others. Not one of us fought in the war, we all did, together. Even if we never met face to face, our music reached every corner of the world, and that was all that mattered.

Music was the revolution, and it always had been. When we are angry about something, we make art in protest, that's just what humans do. Music happens to be the universal solution to every problem. Music broke all sorts of boundaries. It surpassed languages, genders, races, ages, sexualities, everything. Every person on the planet understood music, and they felt it deep in their soul. It inspires us.

"We'll win this war yet," I said, "It's time to join The Revolution."


	33. An Audition

Molly had a class that day, as university had started back up. She was not enjoying it and was highly considering dropping out, but she knew her parents wanted her to have a degree. I tried to urge her to do what her heart told her, but she wouldn't listen. That left me alone in the house in the early afternoon.

I sat at the piano in the drawing room. It was much smaller and much older than the one I had back at Dad's house. This one seemed to have been built during the time of The American Civil War, it was even American made. Nearly faded paintings of flowers adorned the stool and the key cover. One of the keys no longer worked, and a few others had cracked. It was old but still beautiful.

A notepad sat on the stool next to me. I would tap out a few notes, mutter a few lines, and write down what I liked. After writing songs with Paul for eleven odd years, I've gotten pretty good, but I was still nowhere near the talent of Paul and John.

"Maybe Paul would teach me guitar," I muttered, "I can't play piano and drums for everything."

Dad has always been in love with music. He taught Paul, Michael, and me many different instruments. Because of him, I learned the piano, violin, and flute. I learned the drums from watching the telly, and the trumpet from watching Paul, though I wasn't good at that. All were good instruments, and all could be used in songs, but they could only go so far.

Not every song needed a violin, flute, or piano, especially not rock songs. Molly and I had decided to do a combination of several genres, as we liked things other than rock and roll. In a way, we were taking skiffle to the next level and making our own genre of the existing genres. Most every song needed drums and guitars. If I knew both, I would be prepared for anything.

I scribbled a few words down. The house was abnormally quiet. It reminded me of an art museum, where any loud noises might damage the paintings. The only sounds came from my pencil or the piano. I never expected to long for the sound of a buzzing radio, but I did. Usually, I found it annoying when Mr. Mackenzie insisted on having the radio going the entire time he was home, and the static overpowered the music. 

The phone startled me when it began to ring. I jumped slightly, taking a deep breath when I realized what it was. I closed the piano and hurried into the hall.

"Mackenzie residence, Amelia speaking," I said into the phone.

"I was hoping you'd answer, Lia," Paul replied, "Can you meet me and the lads at The Cavern in twenty minutes?"

I lifted an eyebrow, "I suppose, I'm not really doing anything."

"Good, see you there."

He hung up first. I pulled the phone from my ear and shrugged. My first thought was that he wanted me there on official band business, but that couldn't be true. I wasn't a formal part of the band anymore. In fact, I wasn't a part of the band at all. I had gone from being on stage to being in the audience. Perhaps they just wanted to get a drink or something.

I slipped my feet into my boots and slapped my hat on my head. The autumn winds had started up, making the world seem colder than it actually was. Even in a turtleneck sweater, I felt the chill.

The Cavern was closed for most people, but not for employees. While I technically wasn't an employee anymore, they still let me in through the back door. I nodded at the bartender who smiled at me. He and I had grown to be good friends during my time in The Beatles. Whenever we had a particularly long show, he would always give me a drink under the table, seeing as how I was underage. 

Paul, John, and George were all sitting in a row. Two tables had been pushed together to make room for four chairs. There was an empty chair at the end, right next to Paul. When he saw me, he gestured for me to come and sit next to him.

"What's this all about?" I asked, sitting next to my brother.

John leaned around to smile at me, "We're auditioning for a new drummer."

"We thought you could give some input, you know, since you used to be the drummer," Paul explained.

"Love to, but isn't that technically against band laws or whatever?" I asked, "Band members make the decisions, and I'm no longer a band member."

Paul flung an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, "Come off it, Melly, you were once."

"Who better to help us decide than the one that came before?" John asked, "Anyways, even if you weren't, we still want your advice."

Paul and George nodded. I smiled, "Always happy to have an opinion."

Paul laughed. I picked up one of the papers on the table and read through the list. There weren't many people, only about fifteen. Each was listed to be between eighteen and twenty-five. Most had background experience with drums, whether it be with a different band or in a school program. There were only a few that had never played outside of their house. 

"Williams told us to be picky when choosing a new drummer," Paul grinned at me.

"Williams? Who's that?"

"Allan Williams, we signed with him until June of next year," Paul explained, "We'll play backup for a few of his bands and the like."

John shrugged, "He approached us the day after you quit."

Nobody commented on that. I sighed deeply, doing my best to ignore the fact that they made their first big leap in a long time the very day after I quit. I had hoped I would be proven wrong, and they wouldn't do any better without me, maybe even allowing me to join once again. That hope had been flushed down the drain in a matter of seconds.

"That's lovely," I finally said, "Say, maybe Molly and I can play with you lads sometime. As an opener or something."

"You and Molly started a band?" George asked.

I nodded. Paul grinned, "Brilliant. Show society who's boss, you know?"

"Ole Macca, always supportive," John muttered.

I laughed. George cleared his throat, "Here comes the first drummer."

A lad about my age walked on stage. His body shape reminded me of a stick figure. He had a large head and tiny limbs with eyes that looked like glass beads. Despite his odd proportions, he smiled brighter than the sun, though I suspected he had never seen it. The boy was paler than a crisp sheet of paper. 

"'Ello, I'm Rowan Greber," he said.

John nodded, "Pleasure. Go ahead and play."

He sat down at the drum set that had once been mine. When he lifted the drumsticks, I had to suppress the urge to wince. He held them with his fists tightly wrapped around the sticks, the first deadly sin for a drummer. When he began to play, he played like a child hitting buckets with shovels. He was no good at all, but he had a great rhythm. I could see him becoming a musician, just not a drummer. Perhaps a guitarist or a pianist.

The lads noticed it too. George kept cringing and trying to hide it, though he failed miserably. John watched on with a poker face. Paul glanced at me, silently asking what I thought. I shook my head ever so slightly, just enough for him to notice. He wrinkled his nose as Rowan finished drumming.

"How was that?" the boy asked.

John frowned, "I'd rather listen to me Aunt talk about politics."

"What John means is," Paul said, glaring at his friend, "You're good, just, not what we're looking for."

The boy instantly deflated. All the previous enthusiasm he held had flown out the window, replaced with utter disappointment. He dropped the drumsticks carelessly and left as quickly as possible. Paul glared at John, "You don't have to be a bloody critic about it, John."

"That's the point of this, Macca," John replied, "We're the judges."

"We can be nice judges, you know."

"He sounded like a bull in a ballet," I said, "He didn't even hold the drumsticks right."

Paul turned to me, "Not you too."

"It's true."

"Let's just call in the next lad."

We went through many more want-to-be drummers. Some were actually pretty good, but they didn't fit the band. They either were posh posers or hippie druggies. One was even an American with a thick Texan accent, it was difficult to understand him.

Each was good in their own sense, but they didn't fit. We waved them on, Paul doing his best to cover-up John's mean comments. George would cross the name off the list as they left. Finally, we came upon the final contestant.

He fit the teddy boy style of the lads quite nicely. The lad walked on with a leather jacket, slicked back hair, and jeans that were too tight. His smile was genuine and relaxed, like he had full confidence in himself but not enough to be egotistical. He sat down at the drums and said, "The names Pete Best."

"Well, Pete, you're a good drummer?" Paul asked.

Pete shrugged, "I'd like to think so. Can't really judge my own drumming skills, can I?"

"I suppose not."

George whispered, "At least he's honest."

"Let's hear it then," John said.

"Right oh."

Pete began to drum. I watched him carefully. He was the first who held the drumsticks as if they were the thread of life. He didn't abuse the drums, but he didn't cherish them either, he hit them just hard enough to make the sound he wanted. As he played, he was relaxed. No tense muscles, no mess ups, everything was perfect.

"He's the best yet," I muttered as soon as Pete had finished.

John stood, "If you'll excuse us, Pete."

"Course."

All of us stood and followed John to the front door. We put enough distance between us and Pete that he couldn't hear our whispers. John pulled us closer to where we were all shoulder to shoulder.

"I've got to admit, the lad's got promise," John commented, "He's at least better than the other buggers."

Paul nodded, "I think he's good. He plays nicely."

"What do you think, Melly?"

"He's the best you're going to get at this point," I said.

John clapped his hands, "All settled then?"

Everybody nodded. We returned to our chairs and gazed at Pete. Pete gazed back. Not a single part of him showed any sense of anxiety. He was as relaxed as a beach bum. A sour smell reached my nose, almost like he was wearing too much cologne. This lad seemed so relaxed, something was off. He was faced with a moment so important, it would give anyone anxiety, but he sat there as if he were relaxing on the beach. It was unnatural for someone to be so calm in such a situation. 

"Well, Pete, we've come to a decision," John said, "How'd you like to join The Beatles?"

Pete grinned, "Love too."

"Welcome to the band."

He stood and came to our table. We all shook hands and introduced ourselves. He smiled at everyone, nodding politely. When he came to me, he winked, "Pleasure to meet a pretty bird like yourself."

"This is my sister, Amelia," Paul interjected, "She used to be the drummer."

Pete grinned, "Even bigger pleasure."

I smiled politely. Paul shot a warning glare at Pete, but the other boy couldn't have cared less. Pete retracted his hand and shoved both in his jacket pockets, "So, when's the next show?"

"Tomorrow night, eight p.m.," John replied.

Pete nodded, "See you then."

He left after that. We all watched him for a moment. It was George who spoke first, "He's a nice chap, isn't he?"

"Very relaxed," I commented, "An odd trait for a drummer."

Paul shrugged, "Better than being uptight, I s'pose."

"Come on, lads, round of drinks, on me," John grinned.

We all excitedly went up to the bar. I glanced back at the drum set longingly. Soon, I would be back on stage. Playing music was like taking drugs, it gave you a high you become addicted too, and any withdrawal made you get sick. The only cure was to play with every ounce of emotion you could muster. Soon, I would once again taste the high of music.


	34. Phone Call From Germany

Molly and I laid on her bed, the record player sitting directly between us. Elvis' new album rang symphonies for our ears, causing our very hearts to swell with joy. Music always managed to make people feel something stronger than they would normally. Whether that be happiness, sadness, hate, love, fear, anger, or compassion, music could make you feel strongly and passionately. That is why it was the perfect weapon in a war against the world.

"I hope I get to meet Elvis one day," I sighed, "I would love to see him play in person."

Molly grinned, "Me too. Though, given the choice, I would rather meet Aretha Franklin."

"Really? I thought you loved Elvis."

"I do, I just love Aretha more."

I shrugged, "I can't argue, she's bloody brilliant."

Molly nodded. I closed my eyes, allowing the music to wrap around me like a warm hug. If I focused, I could picture myself sitting in the front row of his concert. I could even see him smiling directly at me.

My daydream was interrupted by the phone ringing. Molly didn't take a notice to it, she kept her eyes shut and hummed along. I blinked rapidly.

"Amelia, sweetie, it's for you!" Mrs. Mackenzie called out.

I smiled, "I bet it's Paul. Be back, Molly."

"I'll be here."

I jumped from the bed and hurried down the hall. My bare feet felt the soft texture of the carpet and the chill of the wooden stairs. I spat out a few strands of hair as they flew into my mouth. When I rounded the corner, Mrs. Mackenzie handed me the phone.

"Paul?" I asked.

"One and only," my brother replied, "We landed alright, just over an hour ago."

I smiled. The Beatles had been contracted once again to play in Hamburg. Stuart had gotten them the gig, and they leaped at the chance to return to the city they adored. This time, there was no reason for any of them to be deported, so long as Paul didn't light another curtain on fire.

"Good. Have you seen Stu and Astrid?" I asked.

"They met us at the airport," Paul said, "Those two bat their eyelashes at each other so much, I swear, I'm gonna be sick."

I shook my head, "Come off it, Paulie, you're just jealous."

"What gave that ridiculous idea?"

"Oh, just the fact that your last girlfriend dumped you for an accountant," I replied.

I could almost hear Paul's frown, "Tosser."

"Wanker."

A few voices came in the background. I heard Paul cover the microphone with his hand as he spoke to them. For a moment, I patiently waited.

"The lads say hello," Paul said, "How's it back at home?"

I shrugged, "It hasn't changed since you were here a day ago."

"Still. Did you get a gig yet?"

"Molly and I are filling in at The Cavern while you're gone," I replied, "Who knows, maybe they'll like us enough to keep us."

"Just don't steal our jobs."

"No promises."

The two of us laughed. We fell into a silence for a few moments. This was the first time we would be apart for more than a week, as he and the lads would be in Hamburg for a month. Paul was there when I was born, and we've been together ever since. While we knew we would one day move away from each other and spend long periods of time apart, it was still painful to be unable to go and talk to him whenever I liked.

"I've got to admit, I didn't think I'd miss you this much," I said.

Paul chuckled, "Me neither. I suppose this is the longest we've ever been away from each other."

"I thought I'd be relieved," I said, "But I'm just lonely."

"Me too. We'll see each other soon."

"One month. Unless you burn another curtain."

I could hear Paul's eyes rolling, "Ha ha, very funny. I've got to go, rehearsals."

"Good luck and don't commit arson."

"Bugger off, Lia."

He hung up after that. I put the phone back on the receiver, laughing the entire time. Mrs. Mackenzie poked her head out of the kitchen and asked, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Mrs. Mackenzie," I replied, "Just a bit of brotherly humor."

"Alright then."

I went back upstairs to Molly. She had not changed positions from when I left. The window positioned just above her bed allowed soft light to fall over her body. It illuminated her features, making her look like a slumbering princess. I thought she had fallen asleep, but she proved me wrong by opening her eyes, "They land alright then?"

"Yes, they're going to rehearsals," I replied, "Say, don't we have to leave soon?"

Molly glanced up to look at the clock, "I suppose we should. Long walk to The Cavern."

"We could take the bus."

"We would still have to walk four blocks."

I shrugged. That night was the first night Revolution would play at The Cavern Club. We had practiced earlier that morning when The Cavern was closed.

Molly and I quickly changed into something more fitting than our pajamas. I threw on my old Quarrymen outfit, a leather jacket, white shirt, and jeans. Molly took a more formal approach with a pretty blue dress. We looked like a greaser and a mod. 

"Goodbye, Mum!" Molly called as we went to the door.

"Goodbye, loves. Be careful!"

"We will. Goodbye Mrs. Mackenzie!"

The two of us left. The sun was just beginning to set, casting orange light across the rooftops. It made the houses look like they were on fire, but it provided no warmth. Our breath made tiny clouds in front of our lips every time we exhaled. It went away quickly, but, for a moment, we had created clouds. 

In the end, we did take the bus to save time. We walked into The Cavern Club ten minutes before we were supposed to be there. The owner, an older man by the name of Carl, greeted us, "Amelia, didn't think you would make it on time."

"I'm the punctual one," I smiled, "The lads were always the late ones."

Carl smiled, "You're here, that's what matters. The show starts in twenty minutes, will you be ready?"

"Of course."

Molly nodded at Carl and followed me to the stage. The Cavern Club drum set waited for me, and a guitar waited for Molly. She had yet to purchase her own, but I knew she was thinking about it.

I sat down at the drum set and took a deep breath. Running my finger along the metal rims, I smiled, it felt like returning home once again. The familiarty of it gave me a comfort that nothing else could. 

"You focus on guitar and singing," I said, "I'll handle the percussion."

Molly nodded, "Are you sure we can do this with one guitar and one drum?"

"It's worth a shot. If it doesn't work out, we'll find someone else to join."

Molly shrugged. She went to the guitar and began to tune while I positioned the drums. The last to play these drums was Pete, and he had them situated for his long arms. Mine were a few inches shorter than his, so I had to bring them in. Just as I began to adjust one of the stands, Molly called, "Oi, Melly, Brian's here."

I glanced over the drums. Brian Epstein was standing at the front of the stage, smiling at both of us. I walked on my knees to him, ignoring the wires jamming into my skin. 

"Good to see you, Bri," I grinned, sticking my hand out.

He shook it, "When I heard you and Molly were playing, I knew I couldn't miss it. You're called Revolution, correct?"

"Right on the nose."

"It's just the two of you?" Brian asked, glancing behind me.

I nodded, "Yeah. We're not sure if it'll work out just the two of us, but we'll figure it out."

"I can't wait to hear you," Brian smiled, "Maybe we'll talk about a manager arrangement."

I lifted an eyebrow, "A what?"

"I haven't heard you and Molly together, but I've heard you, and you're good. I would like to be your manager if you'll have me."

"Haven't even heard us and you're standing with us. That's why I like you, Brian," I smiled.

Brian returned the gesture, "Anything for a friend. Besides, you play wonderfully, and I'm always willing to support a cause like yours."

"A cause?"

I had yet to tell him why we were called Revolution, but he could have easily guessed. He simply smiled, "Of course. You're singers with a cause, and that cause is to help people like us."

"Like us? Brian, what do you-"

I was interrupted by Molly shouting, "Melly, come on, it's time to play."

"Right, talk to you later, Brian."

"Until then."

He vanished into the crowd as I went to the drums. Molly was up front, the guitar across her middle and the microphone by her lips. She looked nervous. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead and she tapped her foot on the ground. I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and smiled, "First show jitters, everybody gets them. You'll be alright."

"What if I mess up?"

"Then, we laugh and move on," I replied, "It's not a mess up if you have a laugh about it."

Molly smiled, "Thanks, Melly."

"Anytime."

I went back to the drums. She glanced back at me. I nodded, and she turned to the microphone, "Hello all, welcome to The Cavern. I'm Molly and this is Amelia and we are Revolution."

A few people clapped. They were confused. They had expected a band of four lads, not two girls. The Beatles were what they expected, but, instead, they saw the first show of Revolution.

Molly and I played for five hours. She sang consistently, her fingers dancing over the guitar strings like ballerinas spinning around the floor. Everything she did had a sense of grace around it. Perhaps she had been a princess in a past life.

I had heard her sing before. She sung whenever she made breakfast, she sung in the shower, she was always singing in some fashion. Seeing her sing on stage was something else entirely. She sang with a passion one can only have if they really and truly were in love with the music. Watching her gave me an excited feeling I had never felt before. My body buzzed, and my heart thumped loudly. Every time she belted out a note, I felt my pulse quicken. 

I was beyond happy to be back at the drums. Once again, I was back doing what I loved. I felt revitalized, like a piece of me I didn't realize died had been shocked back to life. With each beat, I felt myself becoming more energized.

The crowd cheered when we finished. It was a weak cheer, but a cheer was a cheer nonetheless. Perhaps the loudest cheers came from Brian himself.

"Thank you!" Molly said into the microphone, "It's been a pleasure."

She set the guitar down and turned to me. I smiled brightly, a gesture which she returned. She went towards the bathroom while I went to sit on the front of the stage. Brian had pushed through the crowd and was smiling at me.

"Well, music man, what did you think?" I asked.

Brian nodded, "You are both very good. Though, I think it might benefit you to get another person."

"And become a trio?" I asked, "I was thinking that myself."

"Duo acts don't make it quite as far as trios. If you're going to the top, you need help," Brian explained.

I lifted an eyebrow, "You think we can do that?"

"I think you can. You're both brilliant musicians," Brian replied, "You'll make it there out of sheer spite if nothing else."

I smiled, "Thanks, Brian, you always know what to say."

Brian nodded. He bid me farewell before leaving the cavern. I watched him go, a smile playing across my lips.

Looking back on it, our success had nothing to do with any of us. The Beatles wouldn't have become what they did without Brian Epstein. He was a musical genius, and he had a knack for business management. He recognized The Beatles before anyone else did, and he recognized Revolution when no one else would. It was Brian Epstein that created the greatest band this world has ever seen. He was the one that lit a fire for the revolution.


	35. Meet Miss Janice

Molly and I celebrated New Year's quietly, at her house. We rang in 1962 without anyone to share that special New Year's kiss with. That was nothing new for me, I've never been in a relationship, let alone kissed anyone. Molly, however, was a bit bummed she didn't have anyone.

Even so, New Year's was lovely. It came and went in a flash and, the very next day, Molly and I were holding auditions. We had taken Brian's advice to heart and decided to add another member to our band. It was difficult to create all the needed sounds when we only had one person on guitar and one person doing percussion. At the last show, I had to play drums with one hand and tambourine with the other. What we needed was an extra set of hands, lungs, and a fresh face to join our revolution.

Revolution was as small of a band as you could possibly get, it was like starting over with The Quarrymen once again. Our name meant nothing to anybody outside of our circle of friends. Our goal was to be bigger than Elvis, that way we could reach as many ears as we possibly could. Molly was sure we would be able to do it, but I had my doubts. One Liverpudlian band had already gotten lucky enough to hit it big by suburban standards, there was very little luck left. Without anybody knowing the name of Revolution, our auditions were small. 

The only advertising we had was a few posters put up around town. We had originally intended to hold the auditions in The Cavern, but it was closed for cleaning. We tried to hold it in the school gymnasium, but they denied us. The last place we could hold it was the old gazebo in the park by the bay.

"This place is rubbish," I muttered, "It smells like fish. I'm going to have to boil myself to get the fish smell out!"

Even the wood of the gazebo smelled like fish. Not many people ever went to that park, unless their noses didn't work. It was fermented with the smell of the nearby pier, where fishermen unloaded their catch of the day. If it weren't for the overpowering fish smell, it was reek of the booze the sailors guzzled like a car guzzles gasoline.

"It's the best we could do. At least the place isn't falling apart," Molly replied.

As if on cue, one of the boards in the roof cracked. A large bird flew off of it, obviously aware of how terrible this gazebo was. I rolled my head to glare at Molly who simply smiled sheepishly.

"The gazebo doesn't matter," Molly cleared her throat, "What matters is the people who show up."

"Right, if anyone shows up."

"Stop being such a downer."

"I only speak the truth."

Molly shook her head. We both settled down on the bench, the only one left standing, and waited. I doodled on the notepad that was supposed to be for writing down my thoughts on the participants. Molly looked around, doing her best to smile despite the absence of people. I glanced up at her every so often. After twenty minutes, it seemed as if that would be nobody.

"We should have made more flyers," I muttered, "Hung them up in record stores and such."

Molly sighed, "We made as many as we could."

Between the two of us, we only had so much money to stretch. The only job we had was working at The Cavern, and that didn't pay much. While I thought Revolution could generate a steady income, I was seriously beginning to consider getting a job in the meantime. 

"Melly, look," Molly whispered.

She pointed over my lap and towards the road. I followed her finger. A girl was walking up to us. She looked to be a year or two younger than Molly and me, though looks can be deceiving. She walked like a child would when they've done something wrong. Her eyes were glued to the ground, and her feet barely separated. Even by Liverpool standards, she was pale. What she lacked in skin pigment, she made up for in freckles, they almost completely covered her body. The only way she could get a tan was for her freckles to merge together, and they were coming close. Her hair was cut shorter than the usual style, but it had waves like the ocean on a windy day. Had it been straightened, it may have reached her shoulder blades.

It took me a moment to notice the acoustic guitar slung across her back. The strap went across her chest, pinning a part of her white dress to her body. The guitar was decorated with intricate paintings of flowers, sunshine, and starlight. She glanced up at us before climbing the gazebo.

"Is this the audition for the band?" she meekly asked, holding up one of our flyers.

My first impression of her was a shy child. She didn't make eye contact, and she kept shifting her weight. That kind of behavior never made it far on stage. I began to have my doubts, but I remained quiet. As I have learned time and time again, looks can be deceiving. 

Molly nodded, "Yes, we're Revolution. I'm Molly Mackenzie and this is Amelia McCartney."

"I'm Janice, Janice Hallieford," the girl replied.

"How old are you, Janice?" I asked.

The more I looked at her, the younger I thought she was. She seemed more like a thirteen-year-old to me. While I had been only fourteen when I joined The Quarrymen, now that I was older, I was becoming a bit more strict on ages.

"I'm seventeen," Janice replied, "I'll be eighteen in a month."

I smiled in relief. It wouldn't have been good if the only girl who showed up to our audition was too young to join. Molly grinned as well, "Lovely. What kind of instruments can you play?"

"Guitar," Janice pulled her guitar around to show us, "I can also sing, and I can play the clarinet, the piano, and the trumpet, but I'm always up to learn more."

"That's a lot of instruments," I said.

Janice shrugged, "Mum's a professional singer, I grew up with music."

"Why don't you play some for us?" Molly suggested.

Janice nodded. I watched her position herself on the guitar. While I did not know how to play the guitar, I had seen Molly and the lads play it enough to know what was right and what was wrong. Janice held the guitar like a mother would hold her baby. Her fingers lightly plucked at the strings. She plucked hard enough to make a sound but soft enough to be gentle.

When she began to sing, a whole new person appeared. The previous shy girl had vanished and was replaced with a confident woman. She belted out the lyrics with such beauty, I was at a loss for words. Both Molly and I stared at her, unblinking.

"What do you think?" Janice asked when she had finished.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, "That was beautiful!"

Molly clapped, "You're brilliant, you are."

Janice began to blush. The blush took over her entire face until she was as red as a cherry. She pushed her guitar behind her back and laced her hands together, "Thank you. I don't usually perform live."

"You did a bloody good job," I said.

Molly nodded, "Remarkable, really."

Janice began to blush harder. Molly glanced at me, lifting an eyebrow in silent questioning. I nodded enthusiastically. Janice may have been the only applicant, but we didn't need anyone else. She was the perfect fit for our trio.

"Your performance was stunning," Molly said, "We'd love it if you would join Revolution."

Janice clapped her hands together, "Really?"

"Really, we'd love to have you," I said.

She giggled, "Oh, brilliant! I was so scared you would turn me away."

"Welcome to Revolution, Janice."

"All my friends call me Jan," Janice replied, "You can too if you like."

I got up and shook her hand, "In that case, you can call me Melly."

"It's going to be a pleasure playing with you," Molly also shook her head.

Janice squealed a bit. Molly and I exchanged glances, both of us proud of our new member. She was the perfect fit for us. She played beautifully, and she could play a variety of instruments just like Molly and me. With all of our talents combined, we would form the perfect trio.

Good things come in threes. The Three Musketeers, the three fates, the big three Olympic Gods, and many others. The power of three is strong, and the three of us together was an unstoppable combination. Molly, Janice, and I were just another trio that became something worth remembering.

The Revolution became something worth remembering.

***

"Only one gal showed up to the audition, but that's alright, she's all we needed," I twirled the phone chord around my finger.

It was late at night, nearly midnight. The house was dark, and I was the only one awake in the house. Though I was tired, I stayed up to wait and talk to Paul. Their gig lasted almost all night, meaning I had to stay up in order to talk to him.

"Is she good?" Paul asked.

The connection was weak. His voice was clouded with static, but I still understood him enough to respond, "She's bloody amazing, she is. She sings like an angel, and her guitar playing can put you, Johnny, and Georgie to shame."

"I find that hard to believe. Have you seen Georgie play Raunchy?"

"You should see her play Summertime."

"I'll have to go to one of your shows," Paul replied, "Whenever we get back, that is."

I smiled, "How's Hamburg?"

"Cold. We've got shows every night, I'm fucking tired," Paul sighed.

"At least you're playing."

Paul sighed, "Yeah. Hey, we're going to release a single."

"Really? That's brilliant!"

"Yeah!" Paul exclaimed, "We recorded it yesterday, it'll be out in a fortnight."

"I can't wait to hear it."

"You'll hear it a thousand times," I could hear Paul's smile, "We're really getting somewhere, Lia."

I smiled, "I knew you would."

"And that's why you're the number one groupie."

I laughed. For a moment, the connection gave out. When it returned, Paul sighed, "I better go, the lads are getting right angry at me. We're all exhausted."

"Alright. Sleep well, Paulie."

"You too, Lia."

With that, we hung up. I placed the phone back on the receiver and sighed. It's been nearly a full month since I've seen the lads, and I didn't expect to miss them so much. I grew up with seeing Paul every bloody day, I expected to be relieved at a break from him, but I actually missed him terribly. I missed all of them, and I couldn't wait for them to get back.

Just one more week.


	36. Revolution In Spotlight

I had worried that Janice would have problems on stage, but that turned out to be her element. The shy girl I knew vanished and was replaced with a confident musician. She played with passion and smiled through the entire thing. It was as if the stage was her home, and, the rest of the time, she was out of place.

After the very first performance at The Cavern, I knew we had found the golden trio. The audience clapped louder than they did when Molly and I originally played. They were more enthusiastic than I had ever seen them before. Janice seemed to become even more energized whenever the crowd cheered.

Our second performance ended up being a surprise for all of us. We were playing late that night, only getting off at around midnight. Molly's parents had been against it when we first told them, mostly because they were worried about us being out so late, but they didn't stop us.

"Who's the new bird?" Michael asked.

This was the first performance of Revolution he had come to see. Previously, he had been unable to get into The Cavern. Now that he was of age, he was able to waltz in no problem. It was odd for me to see my baby brother waltz into an eighteen and over club without any difficulty. Though I was only one year older than him, I felt like an old lady. 

Michael wasn't usually one for the teddy boy style, but he had adopted it to fit into the cavern. I found it odd to look on my little brother in a leather shirt and tight blue jeans. Usually, he preferred sweaters and denim jackets. Gel had never touched his hair before that night, and it would be a long time until he used it again. He looked slightly out of place, but happy all the same.

"Janice Hallieford," I replied, "She's a brilliant singer and guitarist, among other things."

Mike smirked. I was kneeling on the stage talking him, and he was standing on The Cavern floor. With me bending over slightly, our faces were even with each other. He glanced over my shoulder at Janice. I've seen that look a thousand times, but never in Michael's eyes. Usually, I caught John or Paul looking at someone like that. Stuart looked as Astrid like that the first time he ever met her. 

"Sod off, Mikey," I pushed his shoulder playfully.

Michael laughed, "You can't tell me what to do, Lia."

"She's not into chaps like you."

"What makes you say that?"

I smirked, "Because she has class."

Michael rolled his eyes. I laughed loudly, causing a few people at the bar to glance at us. Even Janice glanced over in our direction, lifting her eyebrow in confusion, but not saying anything. Michael winked at her, causing her to look away and blush. She busied herself with her guitar in an effort to hide the red spreading across her face. 

"Even so, could you introduce me to her?" Michael asked, "I'd like to try my chances."

I sighed, "I'll introduce you after the show. We go on in a few minutes."

"Alright. I'm going to get a drink."

"Don't get plastered," I said, "I don't want to have to drag you home to Da, all off your rocker."

"Just one drink, Lia."

I shook my head as my kid brother went to the bar. This was his first true experience in a bar, and I knew he would go overboard, especially without anyone to stop him. Part of me wished I could be down there with him, watching him take his first taste of whiskey, but I had a job to do.

My hands felt natural when I held the drum sticks. It was more natural for me to hold the sticks than nothing at all. I felt naked without them.

"Ready?" Molly asked, glancing back at me.

She and Janice stood near the front of the stage, just a few feet away from me. Both had microphones adjusted to their heights, and both had guitars. Janice had her acoustic, decorated in psychedelic designs, and Molly had a guitar a lot like John's.

"Born ready," I replied, spinning a drum stick in my fingers.

Janice nodded, "I'm ready."

"Let's do it, then."

I started the beat off. Molly and Janice quickly joined in. Eventually, they began to sing, and the music was in full motion.

Some of my fondest memories are of playing at The Cavern Club. It was always wet there, and the room was claustrophobic, but there was a sort of intimacy to it. The audience was so close, you could touch them. The audience and the band were one in that club, it was a feeling you couldn't quite achieve anywhere else.

Halfway through the show, we were all sweating. My hair had become damp and hung in loose threads in front of my face. Large wet spots formed on the back of Molly and Janice's shirts. The very air seemed to become humid, but that didn't stop us from playing, and it didn't stop the audience from enjoying it.

Among the clapping, a shrill whistle caught my attention. I whipped my head up to look for the source of the whistle. It was difficult to see, due to the lights shining on us, the best I could make out were dark shadows. In the very back of the club, near the door, I saw three sets of waving hands. One, in particular, waved stronger than ever before.

Molly glanced back at me, grinning the whole time. She saw them, and she recognized them. I blinked once again and tried to focus. That's when I caught a glance of the familiar leather jackets.

Paul was the one waving the most enthusiastically. John and George were on either side of him, waving as well. John kept whistling. There was a woman next to him, I didn't know her, and Pete stood just behind them.

That gave me even more energy before. After they had arrived, I swear, we played our best show yet. There was something about knowing people you love are watching you that gives you the strength to press on. They clapped and whistled louder than anyone ever had. It gave all of us, Janice and Molly included, a rush of adrenaline unlike any other. 

When we finished, I was out of breath. The three of us stood and bowed in perfect unison. The crowd cheered, a few whistled, and we exited the stage.

"Paulie!" I exclaimed.

I ran to embrace him. He, George, John, Pete, Michael, and the woman with John all met us in the back room. Paul laughed as I hugged him, "Missed you too, Lia."

"I didn't expect you to be back for another week," I said, pulling away from my brother and moving to hug George.

George gladly accepted the hug, "Got off a month early. Paul wanted to surprise you."

"It worked."

I hugged John last. He ruffled my hair playfully, laughing as he did so. I gave him a glare, but my smile betrayed me. Once all the pleasantries had been exchanged, Paul flung his arm across my shoulders and said, "That was a bloody good show."

"You birds are brilliant," George commented.

I smiled, "Thanks."

"We couldn't do it without Jan," Molly placed a hand on the girl's' shoulder.

Janice meekly smiled. In my excitement to see my brother, I had completely forgotten Janice didn't know anybody. Luckily, Molly introduced her.

"Jan here is a brilliant singer and guitarist, as you saw," I said, "She could even give you lads a run for your money."

Janice began to blush harder than ever. She crossed her legs at the ankles and laced her fingers in front of her. Her hair made a nice curtain to cover her red face. Mikey stepped up next to her and seductively smiled, "I bet you can."

"Mikey, sod off."

"Oh, come off it, Lia."

"You're all well and fine, but don't go taking our jobs," John cheekily said.

I rolled my eyes, "Just for that, you're not getting The Cavern back."

All of us laughed. It felt right to have us all together again, even with two new friends added to the mix. Pete and Janice both seemed to feel a bit out of place, but they would warm up eventually.

I had forgotten the blonde woman standing next to John. She lightly tugged at his sleeve, giving him a knowing glare. He cleared his throat, "Right, sorry. Lads, lasses, I'd like you to meet my girl, Cynthia."

The woman nodded, "It's a pleasure, I've heard a lot about all of you."

"That's surprising," I commented, "Never know John to talk about anyone other than himself."

Everyone but John laughed at that. He gave me a cheeky smile, one that said he would get me back for that later. I simply grinned back at him.

"He talks about you a lot," Cynthia said, "And your band. I've heard a lot."

Paul grinned, "All good things, I hope."

"Yes."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cynthia," Molly extended her hand to shake.

I did the same. Eventually, everyone shook Cynthia's hand, even Janice. John threw an arm around her shoulders and said, "How about a round of drinks?"

We all cheered. I was in the middle of the mob of musicians moving through The Cavern Club. It was nice, having us all together again. Everything felt right.

Once we all had our drinks, John raised his glass. We all remained seated as he stood, "A toast, to Revolution's success and a new manager for The Beatles."

"Here here!"

We all tapped glasses. After sipping my drink, I asked, "You lads got a manager?"

"We finally caved and signed with Epstein," George answered, "He seems well enough, gave you some good advice."

I smiled, "He's a brilliant man, he is."

"Let's hope he's a brilliant manager."

I knew the lads would eventually sign with him. Brian was persistent, even more so than John and Paul were stubborn. He had this sort of magic about him, making even the most stubborn mules do what he wanted.


	37. Beatles on The Telly

John and Paul were the main songwriters on The Beatles. The two of them together were an unstoppable team, they were bound to compose hit music. George and I had written a few as well, but they weren't quite as good as John and Paul. That's why, when it came to songwriting, George was kicked out of the room.

"I've written songs before," George sighed.

He and I walked side by side in the park. For the first time that year, it wasn't snowing. There was still snow on the ground, but it had been shoveled off the sidewalks. For the time, we could walk without tiny ice crystals embedding into our skin.

"And they're right good," I said, "It's got nothing to do with you, John and Paul are just a bit particular on how they write. It's not that you can't, it's just that they want to."

George shrugged, "I'll write one day, I know I will. I've got a few back home."

"I'd like to hear them."

"I'll show you tonight."

I nodded. A little girl came barreling towards us with her mother in tow. George and I had to stand on either side of the path as they flew past. When they were gone, we continued our trek.

"What about you? You write alone?" George asked.

I shook my head, "It's a group thing, really. Molly, Janice, and I all get together and work it out. Molly and Janice do it well enough, they don't really need me."

"Come off it, they need you. You're as good a songwriter as they come," George replied.

"So are you," I smiled, "We've got a few of our own stuff written. Mostly we do covers and the like."

Paul told us we could cover a couple of their songs, but I refused. While our bands were associated, and most likely always would be so long as people remembered I was the first Beatles drummer, I didn't want people to begin seeing us as one band. Revolution and The Beatles were two different things entirely, the only connection came about socially, not musically. At least, those were my intentions. 

"Thought of writing one called Society's A Dirty Bastard," I said.

George laughed, "Bloody brilliant. I'd love to see you play that in The Cavern."

I smiled. While The Beatles were back in town, they had returned to The Cavern, putting us out of a job. It was Janice who suggested we apply to several other clubs. So far, six clubs in this section of Liverpool have our applications. All we have to do is wait for word back.

George and I rounded on a statue of Cupid in a frozen fountain. We stopped and stared at it for a moment. The way the ice crystals had formed on the statue's face, it made Cupid seem like he was crying. The symbol of love shed tears whenever winter came along, sounds almost poetic.

"Georgie!" a voice called.

George spun around to meet the caller. I glanced over my shoulder. John and Paul were running up to us, John throwing a paper around ecstatically. George lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What's wrong, lads?"

John replied by grabbing George's hands and spinning him around. Paul grabbed me and did the same. I slid on the ice and would have fallen over if Paul didn't have a good grip on my wrists. He released me and let me spin to the fountain, where I fell to sit on the ledge.

"What the bloody hell?" I asked.

John held up the paper, "We're going to be on the telly!"

"What?"

George snatched the paper from John. He and Paul began to do the waltz across the frozen sidewalk as George read over the paper. Slowly, his eyes brightened, "The Beatles have been invited to act as the background band for a singer in a televised performance in Blackpool."

George was smiling just as brightly as Paul and John. The three cheered, dancing around and laughing. I watched them with a small smile across my lips. Despite the cold morning, their excitement radiated warmth. Any chill that previously ran over my skin had completely vanished, replaced with tingling warmth. 

"It airs tomorrow evening," John said, "We'll take the train, get there in the afternoon."

Paul flung up his hands, "It'll be a brilliant time!"

"I'm so happy for you lads, this is bloody amazing!" I exclaimed.

Paul turned around and smiled, "You get to come too."

"Wait, what?"

"Of course you're coming," John sat down next to me and playfully flung his arm around my shoulders, "We couldn't play without our number one groupie there. Besides, what if one of us gets sick, we'll need a stand in."

My smile grew wider, "I'd love to come. Moral support."

"Moral support!"

They all cheered once again. I watched them dance around, my smile growing wider with every second. I may have quit the band, but by no means did I leave them. It meant a lot to me that the lads wanted me to be there. Even if I was just the stand in, the roadie, or even just there for moral support, the fact that they wanted me there, despite me not being a member of the band, made my heart swell with joy. Sometimes, I feel as if I never truly quit.

***

"Come on, hurry up, we don't want to be late," Paul whined.

We were all stepping off of the train into Blackpool. Despite what you may think, Blackpool was not a darker version of Liverpool. The name gave you the picture of a city where it was always dark and danger lurked around every corner. Blackpool was exactly like Liverpool, save for a few more smiling faces and less of a fishy smell.

John rolled his eyes, "Calm down, Macca, we don't have to be there for another hour."

"What if there's traffic?"

"The studio is ten minutes away, we'll walk."

George and I exchanged glances. John, Paul, and George each carried a guitar case. The studio had informed the band that they had drums for them to use, so we didn't have to lug up Pete's drums. Pete, Brian, and I were the only ones who strolled along without a single thing to carry. 

As The Beatles manager, Brian had to come with us. In fact, it was Brian that secured them the spot on the television show. So far, he had proven his worth as a manager. He knew it too, I could see it in the broad grin across his lips. His pride shone in every wrinkle, crease, and freckle decorating his face. 

"Take a breath, Paul," Pete said around his cigarette, "We've got plenty of time."

Paul sighed, "Still, I'd like to get there to be sure we have plenty of time."

"Don't worry, Paul, we'll be early," Brian smiled.

"Early to being early," I mumbled, earning an elbow from George.

I rolled my eyes as we stepped out of the train station. Blackpool seemed even colder than Liverpool if that were possible. All of Britain was just one, giant, meat locker, and we were the butcher's victims. It was so cold all of the time, I often forgot what heat felt like.

We walked down the streets, passing almost frozen people. In the back of my mind, I wished I would have taken the thick coat Mrs. Mackenzie had offered. She was sure I was going to get sick on this trip, and she wanted to prevent that, but I had argued that I was fine. Now, I regretted it immensely.

"It's practically the same bloody town," I muttered, "How is it colder here than back home?"

George shrugged, "The more North you go, the colder it is, I s'pose."

"I want to go South."

"Stop your bloody complaining, it's getting on me nerves," Pete said.

I frowned, "Stop your bloody complaining, I'll complain all I want."

Pete scowled at me. We made it to the studio a few minutes later. All of us entered through the front and were gladly welcomed by a blast of hot air. I sucked in a deep breath in an effort to defrost my lungs.

"Wait here, I'll check us in," Brian said.

He left to go to the secretary's desk. I moved to the side, inspecting a photo hanging from the wall. It was a portrait of the original founder of this place from fifty odd years ago. I furrowed my eyebrows, I didn't think cameras were even invented back then.

"Mighty fancy, this place is," I commented.

John shrugged, "Different than what we're used to."

"It's nice," Paul said, "The furniture looks like the sort Mum used to tell us not to sit on."

I snorted. Imitating my Mother's voice, I said, "Now, Paulie, stop running about before you break something."

Paul rolled his eyes as John and George cackled. From the front desk, Brian gestured to us. We all followed him backstage to the television studio.

The backstage area was not as pretty as the lobby. The walls and floor were both gray, the only decorations being the occasional boxes of props or hangers of clothes. People both in and out of costume pushed past us. Some had their noses buried in scripts, others were rehearsing their dialogue.

We were put into a room smaller than my old bedroom. It could barely fit one vanity and a small loveseat. There were two stools in front of the vanity, though the mirror was only large enough for one bed. It was obvious this dressing room was for the least important cast members.

"Reminds me of The Indra Club," I muttered, gazing at the damp walls.

Paul shook his head, "Smaller, this is."

"A dressing room is a dressing room no matter the size," Brian smiled, "This is it, lads, you're all about to be on television."

Pete lifted an eyebrow, "I thought we were the backup band. They don't appear on the telly."

"They don't?" John asked, "I thought we would be just behind the singer, on camera."

Brian sighed, "You'll be on camera for a little bit. The main focus will be on the singer, but you will be there, that's all that matters."

"It won't matter if they can't bloody see us," John argued.

Paul crossed his arms, "Here I thought we were going to be on the telly."

"Oh, come off it, lads," I said, "You're going to be on the telly, you just won't be in the spotlight. At least you get seen."

"Exactly. We're doing this for exposure," Brian explained.

John sighed, "I s'pose."

He sat on one of the stools and huffed. Pete took the other stool, pulling another cigarette from his shirt pocket. He offered John one. In the end, everyone in the room had a cigarette except for Brian. George and Paul sat on the couch, and I took the armrest next to my brother. Brian was left to stand.

"Alright, I'm going to go out and see when you go on. Stay here," Brian said before leaving.

We were all silent for a bit. I gazed at the floor, tracing the cracks with my eyes. We could hear the sounds of rehearsal going on just above us. A few seconds into the silence, a woman poked her head in, "Um, Beatles?"

"That's us," John and Paul both stood.

"You're needed for rehearsals."

All boys grabbed their instruments. They began to follow the woman out. I waved to them, "Good luck!"

"Thanks, Melly!"

When the door shut, I was left all alone. It wasn't for long, however, as Brian returned a few moments later. He found me flat on my back on the couch, my legs in the air and a cigarette between my lips.

"I've got seats in the audience if you want to watch them with me, Amelia," Brian said.

"Love to," I rolled off the couch, "And, don't call me Amelia, people only do that when I'm in trouble. Call me Melly or Mel, your choice."

Brian nodded. I followed him out of the dressing room and back through the halls. He led me to the small theater in the studio. There, a few friends of the performers and executives sat. Brian and I took seats in the very back.

The seats were not comfortable at all. They reminded me of the school desk chairs I had to spend twelve years in. The backrest was too short, and curved at such an angle that it only supported half of my back and left the other half to suffer. The black cushions were so thin, they might as well have not even been there. I did my best to ignore the significant lack of armrests. 

From there, we could see the lads setting up their instruments. They were tuning guitars and positioning drums. Their band set was far in the back, leaving enough room up front for the singer and the dancers. A few ladies in swinger outfits walked around. I guessed they were the dancers. The singer, a man who looked similar to Brian, stood up front getting his microphone fitted. He wore a luxurious tux.

"Are you sure they'll be on the telly?" I asked, "They're pretty far back there, you know."

Brian sighed, "I didn't expect them to be so far back. They should get at least some screen time."

I could see he was worried, but not terribly worried. That gave me enough confidence in the whole situation not to worry about it. I leaned back in my seat and watched the lads rehearse.

***

When it finally was show time, the seats had become full. This show prided itself in being filmed in front of a live studio audience. That meant, any mess up would be recorded and projected on televisions across England. Hopefully, the lads didn't realize that. 

The lads were the second to last act. Brian and I sat in our seats for two hours waiting for them. Ten minutes in, I fell asleep. I didn't realize until I felt Brian gently shaking my shoulder, "Amelia, wake up, they're about to play."

I had folded myself into the chair as much as I could. My muscles were rigid when I tried to unfold, it took me a few more seconds than it should have. When I was finally sitting up straight, I watched the lads hurry out on stage.

Brian and I watched them begin to play. I had seen them play twice before, but the experience hadn't changed. After years of playing with them, seeing them play without me seemed off, as if I should be hurt but I wasn't. Instead, I was excited for them.

They played with just as much enthusiasm as they would have at The Cavern. Each boy had a smile on his lips as he played. Every so often, John and Paul would provide back up vocals.

When the show was over, the entire studio clapped. A few whistled. For a moment, I thought they were clapping for the singer, until Brian said, "They're clapping for the band."

"They are?"

They were. All eyes were on The Beatles. People were cheering, clapping, and whistling all for a hometown Liverpudlian band.

That was the first experience The Beatles had with fame. It was a tiny taste, barely more than a morsel. It was the first time they were on television, but it would not be the last. That was only the beginning for The Beatles.


	38. Starr Time

"While Pete is out on vacation," Brian smiled, "I thought you might like to try a new drummer."

John lifted his eyebrow. We all sat around The Cavern Club, waiting for the rehearsal. Technically, the lads were waiting to start rehearsal, I was just there for the fun of it all. Molly had gone to pick up Reggie and Gina from boarding school with her Mum, leaving me all alone.

"We don't need no new drummer, we have Melly, she can be a stand in for us," John replied.

Brian shook his head, "I'll be straight with you lads," Paul snorted causing Brian to glare at him, "You've got to experiment with different sounds. Now is as good a time as ever to see if a different drummer might be better than Pete."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or not," I muttered.

"You shouldn't be. You're a great drummer, Amelia, but we're trying to find the sound that fits this group," Brian replied.

"I still take a little offense."

Brian gave me a sympathetic smile that told me he didn't mean anything against me. Still, I felt a pang in my heart. As if quitting the band wasn't bad enough, now Brian was practically telling me I wasn't good enough to be a stand in. I crossed my arms and moved my body to where all Brian saw was my shoulder. 

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "Are you trying to replace Pete?"

"Not exactly. Let's just call this an experiment."

"Alright," John smirked a little, "We'll go along with your little experiment. Who'd you get to play with us?"

"His name is Richard. He's the drummer for Rory Storm and The Hurricanes, but he agreed to come and act as stand in for this show. He's a brilliant drummer, really."

John smirked, "Better be."

He and Paul exchanged knowing glances. George looked at them for a moment before looking at me. He lifted an eyebrow, but I didn't pay attention. I shook my head, standing up and saying, "I'm going out for a ciggie."

"Don't be offended, Amelia," Brian tried, "I'm not saying you can't play stand-in, I'm just trying to experiment with different assets."

I frowned, "Assets now, are we?"

"Amelia-"

I didn't let him finish. I left The Cavern through the front door, stopping on the curb and pulling a cigarette from my inside coat pocket. At first, my lighter wouldn't light, causing my frustration to grow.

Brian was a good guy and all, I actually liked him a lot, but he was beginning to get on my nerves. He was always so extreme when it came to managing. Maybe he felt as if he couldn't do it, so he had to overcompensate. The lads were getting a bit frustrated too, I could see it in their demeanor, but they held their tongues. He was their manager, after all, they had to listen to him.

It upset me that Brian went out of his way to find a stand in drummer when I was right there. I would have no problem playing with the lads once again, in fact, I might enjoy it. While I was happy to have branched out and started my own thing, it would be nice to play with my friends again. The fact that Brian purposefully replaced me with someone none of us had ever met was hurtful. I felt like he was telling me I couldn't do it. 

Perhaps he wasn't telling me that I couldn't do it, rather, that I shouldn't. He could easily be giving into society's demands, just like I did when I quit the band. Brian was the first to advise me to quit. At the time, I didn't hold that against him, and I still don't think I did. It was good to get out from an all boy band and start my own, especially when Revolution was fighting for a cause. It shouldn't make me angry that Brian did what he did, but it did, and I couldn't help it.

"Society's a dirty bastard," I said, "Gonna write a song about it."

You write about what you know, and I have seen time and time again that society is nothing but a dirty bastard. I know it, I'll write it, and millions of people will agree with me.

At that moment, I was angry, but it wouldn't last long. I didn't know it at that time, but that was the day I would meet someone who would become a very important part of my life. It all started on that curb on a dreary day in Liverpool.

The first time I met Richard Starkey, he tripped and nearly choked on his cigarette. I remember watching him, his foot folding in on itself like a collapsed cardboard box, and him falling face first into the concrete. His face contorted into a look of confusion. Not fear, just confusion. When he landed, he was still for a moment before he belted out laughing. I remember looking at him and thinking this man is going to be my best friend.

I walked up to where he was lying and crouched down, "You alright, mate?"

"I'm fine, my body cushioned the fall."

"Quite a tumble you took," I smiled around the cigarette balancing in my lips.

He glanced up at me and grinned, unaware of the blood beginning to trickle out of his nose, "Somethin' to laugh at later."

I shook my head, standing up and offering him my hand. He gratefully took it, and I lugged him to a standing position. Whenever he was upright, I noticed that he was eye-level with me. Most people I met were taller than me, the exceptions being Janice and Molly. Never have I met a man who was exactly my height.

The most distinguishing part of him was his nose. It looked as if someone had taken his nose and pulled it halfway around the world to stretch it out. His nose was large, but his smile was larger. His teeth were a bit crooked, but that added to the endearment of it all. Bright red scratches crossed his chin from where he had slammed into the pavement. A bit of blue was developing under his eye and blood was trickling from his nose. He had a few more cuts and scraps across his face, but they were all old. 

"Heading to The Cavern?" I asked, gesturing towards the building behind me.

He nodded, "I'm playing stand in for a band there. Drummer, I am."

"What a coincidence, so am I."

"Always a pleasure to meet another drummer," he extended his hand, "I'm Richard Starkey, but my friends call me Ringo."

I shook his hand, my fingers looping around several different rings, "Odd nickname, where'd it come from."

"All me rings," he wiggled his fingers, a playful grin across his lips.

I couldn't help but laugh. My anger from a few moments ago slowly washed away. Ringo was such a happy soul, his very presence made things seem better.

"Are you going to tell me your name, or do I get to call you the girl from the curb forever?" Ringo winked.

I smiled, "The name's Amelia McCartney, but my friends all call me Melly."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"And you."

Both of us had gotten wrapped up in introductions, we had forgotten his nose was bleeding. It dripped onto his jacket, making a dark red mark on his otherwise brown coat. I noticed it and said, "You're bleeding."

"I am?" he looked down at his gloveless hands, "Where?"

"Your hooter."

He placed a finger beneath his nose and pulled it out to see it was covered in blood. His mouth had become surrounded, and it threatened to leak in between his lips. He quickly pinched his nostrils and tilted his head back, "Mind showing me where the loo is?"

"Come on."

He followed me into The Cavern. The world went from gray to black in a matter of seconds. The Cavern was famous for making the atmosphere feel like an actual underground cavern, including the claustrophobia and the darkness. There was more light than there usually would be when the crowds had arrived, but it was still dark compared to other places.

I took him around the front of the building, avoiding Brian and the lads. Ringo should get cleaned up before formal introductions were made. I led him to the bathroom hall, with men on one side and women on the other.

"Thanks, Melly," Ringo grinned, stepping into the bathroom.

I nodded, "My pleasure."

He shut the door and I heard the faucet begin running. Leaving him to it, I returned to the main room of The Cavern. The lads were sitting around the stage while Brian sat in a chair. They all seemed bored, except Brian, he seemed a tad bit nervous.

"Didn't think you were comin' back, Melly," George commented when I pushed myself to sit on the stage next to him

I shrugged, "Course I'd come back, just had to step out for a smoke."

"You never stepped out before," Paul sat down on my other side.

"Wanted some air too, I guess."

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Amelia," Brian frowned, "I didn't mean anything against you."

I shook my head, "Don't worry about it, Bri, I understand."

Brian didn't press on. Paul looked at his wristwatch and asked, "When's that drummer supposed to get here?"

"He's already here," I said, "Nice fellow, took a tumble on the pavement, made his nose start bleeding'."

John cackled, "Sounds like a right laugh."

Ringo came around the corner then. His eyes darted between each of the lads, finally landing on me. For a moment, he looked confused, but it quickly turned to a smile. I had only known him a few minutes but I already knew he was always smiling. In Ringo's world, frowns didn't exist and everything was as bright as the smile he showed. 

"Richard Starkey, lads," Brian stood up and shook Ringo's hand, "He's the stand in drummer."

Ringo smiled, "Call me Ringo."

"Well, Ringo, pleasure," Paul stood and shook the man's hand, "I'm Paul, and these are the lads, John and George, and my sister, Amelia."

"I've met her before," Ringo said, "Pleasure to meet you all."

John leaned on his guitar, "You can play?"

"Of course I can play, I'm not a drummer for nothing."

George and Paul exchanged looks. I glancing between them sensing the momentary intimidation. It baffled me that these two lads, who were both taller than the man before them, were intimidated by Richard Starkey. He didn't look intimidating to me, perhaps that's because I didn't face the prospect of playing with him. They saw an intimidating teddy boy, but I saw a happy teddy bear. Ringo wasn't anyone to be scared of.

"We'll see about that," John smiled, "We've got a real drummer here to judge."

John jerked his thumb at me. I glared at him, "Come off it, John, he's good."

"Have you seen him?"

"I'll show you, then," Ringo climbed onto the stage and sat at the drum set, "Yeah?"

John grinned. Ringo picked up the drumsticks and spun them in his fingers. I watched carefully as he began to play. I've seen many people play the drums, but nobody played with the creativity and love that Ringo Starr did. He played differently than most people, he rolled his sticks oddly. The whole time he played, there was a smile on his face. Every so often, he would fling his head around. He had a raw joy that I had never seen in anyone else, especially not a drummer. 

I watched in complete awe, though I tried to hide it. Even John, Paul, and George were impressed. Ringo was an amazing drummer, the best I had ever seen. When he finished, he smiled at us.

"That was bloody brilliant," I commented.

John smiled, "Pretty good, I'd say."

"You know you did good when he says that," Paul replied.

Ringo was beaming at this point. All of my pent up anger from being 'replaced' was forgotten. Instead, it was replaced by enjoyment. Ringo was a kind man and an excellent drummer, I could already tell he and I would become great friends, even if he didn't stay with the band.

"I'm glad you all like each other," Brian clasped his hands together, "Would you play with the band, here, tonight?"

Ringo nodded, "Love to."

"It's settled, we'll see you tonight, Mister Starkey."

"Call me Ringo."

Brian smiled. I had already learned he was not one for nicknames. Besides my father, he was the only person who called me Amelia. At first, it was annoying, but I had gradually become used to it.

"It'll be a great show," Paul clapped Ringo on the back.

The man smiled meekly. Brian called for another song rehearsal. All four began to play together. I watched as they molded together, forming a perfect harmony. That kind of harmony could only be achieved through many sessions playing together, but these lads achieved it instantly. When they played together, the air was electrified with a sort of magic I couldn't quite explain.

"I've got to admit," I muttered to the man sitting next to me, "This was a pretty good idea."

Brian smiled, "Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you."

We watched the lads play four more songs. Each one was better than the last. Throughout the entire set, the Cavern was filled with smiles. Perhaps the brightest smile of them all came from the drummer himself.


	39. A Tour, A Tear, and A Terrific LP

I've learned time and time again that life isn't a walk through the tulip path. You may cross a few flowers along the way, but really, life was like walking through the thick of traffic. You have to dance your way around the danger while conveniently ignoring the fact that your feet are burning on the pavement. Some people find the flowers breaking through the cracks in the pavement, but others aren't so lucky. For me, those flowers were few and far between.

"We should write more original stuff," Molly suggested, "We've only got three original songs, the rest are covers."

Janice furrowed her brow, "I don't know how to write music."

"That's why we have Melly."

I glanced up at them. My eyes had previously been glued to the pavement beneath our feet, watching every single crack and every single bug cross the hard surface. We were on our way to the record store, Brian's to be specific, even if he wasn't there. They had some amazing records there, some you couldn't find in other stores.

"I've written a few, I s'pose," I shrugged, "Molly helps."

Molly smiled, "I add chords, you write the lyrics."

"Together, that makes a song," Janice smiled, "I can help add chords."

"After the record store, we can go back to Molly's place and see if we can write a few lines," I suggested.

Janice nodded, "I'll stop at home and get my guitar."

We all waltzed into the record store, still tied up in a conversation about music. The store was oddly empty for the evening. There were only three other people in the store. Two were searching through the 45s and the other was preparing to leave. Most people were just getting off work, making it the perfect time to browse for records, but that didn't seem to be the case that night. 

Molly, Janice, and I separated. I went to the rock and roll music while Janice went to classical and Molly went to the singles. We began to search, carefully going through each record as if a single wrong move would shatter the vinyl.

My mind was set on finding a specific album by Buddy Holly. It had recently come out, and I was dying to listen to it. Even though he had been dead since 1959, he still had albums coming out each year. That man was prolific in the studio and left behind enough to pull his music through the decade. Buddy Holly was one of my favorite singers, Paul's too. He was the one that told me that there was a new record out. Usually, new records would be on a shelf in the very front, but his was absent. 

"Melly!" Molly suddenly called out.

I glanced up to see her furiously beckoning to me. Lifting an eyebrow, I placed the records down and went over to her. She held a small single in her hand. It was the sort of record that was only a little bigger than my hand and held only one song.

"Look," she shoved it in my hands.

I lifted it up and read the title, "My Bonnie/The Saints by Tony Sheridan. Never heard of him."

"No, look at the backing band."

She pointed to the bottom of the sleeve. My eyes trailed down the figure of a smiling Tony Sheridan to the small letters at the bottom. It was mostly credits for the backing band, the producer, and Sheridan himself. As I read, my eyes widened.

"Bloody hell, that's the lads," I said, "Tony Sheridan with backing band The Beatles."

Molly grinned, "That's the lads!"

"They didn't tell us about this. Why didn't they tell us?" I muttered.

"Maybe they did and we just forgot."

"I don't think I'd forget a thing like this," I grinned, "They're on an LP, Molly, and actual LP."

"It's bloody amazing, it is."

I nodded. My eyes kept scanning over the letters on the bottom. The Beatles were actually listed on a record, a real life record. This wasn't a game, they had actually gotten themselves out there.

"What did you find?" Janice asked, coming up behind Molly with her arms laden with records.

I waved the single around, "Tony Sheridan with The Beatles."

"Our Beatles?"

"Our Beatles!" I exclaimed, "Paul, John, George, and Pete, all backing Tony Sheridan, and they didn't bloody tell us!"

Janice lifted an eyebrow, "Maybe they just forgot."

"Course they didn't forget. John would never miss a chance to brag," I replied.

I held the single in my hands and grinned. Any other record I wanted had suddenly been forgotten, all of my attention was focused on that single. I felt a swell of pride rise into my chest. They had always said they were going to have their songs on the shelf. While this wasn't necessarily their song, they were on it, and that was close enough. The Beatles, those four lads from The Cavern Club in Liverpool, actually had their names on a record. I couldn't be more proud.

"These lads are brilliant," I said, "They've got something special."

Molly smiled, "Don't tell them that, you'll only inflate their already huge egos."

"They've got their names on a record, I don't think their egos can inflate anymore."

"Unless they get a movie or something," Janice answered.

I shook my head, "They're musicians, not actors."

"Tell that to Elvis."

We all laughed. I grabbed four more of their singles and headed up to the cash register. A bored looking employee rang me up, looking at the records with mock curiosity. He bagged them up and handed them back to me.

After Janice and Molly had purchased what they wanted, we all left. The sun was steadily going down, hurling us into a world of darkness. It would be completely dark by the time we made it home, even with taking the bus.

Janice got off on the stop before Molly and me. Her house was just a block away. She would grab her guitar and meet us back at Molly's so we could write some music. First, before a single chord was written, we would listen to the single tucked neatly under my arm. 

Molly and I arrived home in total darkness. The only light came from the dim streetlights that kept flickering to give the street and eerie glow about it. I could see out into the bay, and the lights of boats twinkling on the water. It looked as if stars had finally touched the Earth.

We went inside of the house. It was brighter inside than outside, and warmer as well. The sweet smell of cinnamon biscuits reached my nose. Molly inhaled deeply, "I love her cookies."

Regina was sitting on the couch, her nose stuck in a book. I couldn't help but remember the little girl I had met. She no longer had crooked teeth and a high voice. She was maturing faster than I could realize. Her hair was straightening, her smile was brightening, and her IQ was rising.

She and Reginald were nearly sixteen. They were both maturing faster than I could ever imagine. I was only three years older than them, but seeing the little children I knew quickly grow into adults made me feel old. Before I knew it, I would be in a wheelchair.

"Good, you're back," Mr. Mackenzie stopped at the bottom of the stairs, "The phone has been ringing off the hook for you, Amelia."

I lifted an eyebrow, "It has?"

"Bloody annoying, it is," Regina peered over her book to look at me.

"Regina, language," Mr. Mackenzie sighed, "But, yes, that lad has been calling every half hour."

"Or less," Regina added.

"Which lad?" I asked, "Paul?"

Mr. Mackenzie nodded, "Yes, that brother of yours. He sounded quite distressed. Insisted he needed to talk to you, but we didn't know how to reach you."

My heart sped up as soon as he said Paul sounded distressed. They had just arrived in Hamburg yesterday. Anything could have happened. My mind ran through a thousand things from being deported again to someone getting murdered.

"Thank you, Mr. Mackenzie," I mumbled, "I better go call him."

I hurried to the front hall. The phone was waiting for me, the slick black exterior covered with finger prints. There was a pad with a number written on it. Paul's name was hastily written beneath it, leading me to believe that was the number I needed to call. I quickly dialed and prayed he would answer.

"'Ello?"

"Paul, what's wrong?" I asked, "Is everyone alright?"

I could hear several people talking in the background. Paul's voice was uncharacteristically shaky. Had I been standing in front of him, I was sure I would see his hands shaking and his eyes glossing over. The last time he was like this, Mum had died.

"Lia, I-we," he became choked up.

I began to panic then. Paul was the one who always knew what to say. Out of the two of us, and even out of the band, he was the one who would be able to talk without letting his emotions get in the way.

"Paul, spit it out already, you're scaring me," I said.

He hesitated, "Astrid met us at the airport last night. She said-she told us- Stuart died."

Instantly, every organ I had stopped functioning. The world itself seemed to stop spinning for a moment. I stared at the wall, unblinking, unsure of what to do. Shock entered my veins like a debilitating drug. It took several moments for me to be able to form a coherent sentence.

"I-what?" I stuttered, "How-Stuart died? What?"

Paul sniffed, "Astrid said he was having a lot of bad headaches. He passed out a couple of times. Brain hemorrhage, the doctors said. He was gone before he even reached the hospital."

Stuart was so young, so filled with life and ambitions. He shouldn't have to worry about his brain killing him. He was set to be a famous artist, perhaps even a famous musician. This wasn't right, it couldn't be right. Stuart was practically a child, he wasn't that much older than me.

I should have been crying, but I couldn't find the ability. The shock was enough to turn off every sense I had. All I could hear was the static coming out of the phone and my own heartbeat.

"I-are you alright?" I asked the only thing that could come to mind.

"Alright as we can be," Paul replied, "We're all grieving. The funeral's in a few days."

"In Hamburg?"

"England."

I couldn't bring myself to ask where. I could hear Paul's tears over the phone, going along with multiple sniffles and hiccups. My shock began to wear off and a few tears fell onto the receiver.

"We'll be back in a few days," Paul said, his words beginning to slur.

All I wanted was to hug him. Both of us were grieving, and both of us understood why and how to help each other. Family was sometimes the greatest thing you could have to keep you up when times are down. The separation only made things worse.

I nodded, "I-I'll see you then."

"Bye, Lia."

"Bye."

I slowly hung up. For a moment, I simply stared at the phone. I couldn't quite comprehend the full reality of what had happened. It still felt as if Stuart was alive and breathing halfway across the world. I still felt as if my friend was alive and well.

I knew it wasn't true. Stuart was gone, I had to accept that. The shock was wearing off, and, slowly, I was truly absorbing what Paul had just told me. Stuart, the young lad with a passion for art and a love for Astrid Kirchherr, was dead.

"Melly?" Molly came around the corner, "Is everything alright?"

She got her answer when I turned to look at her. Tears were beginning to fall down my face as my muscles started to tremble. Everything came crashing down all at once.

"Stuart's dead," I muttered.

That was all I could manage to say. I plunged my fists into my eyes. Molly quickly rushed forward and wrapped her arms around me, allowing me to bury my face in her shoulder. She held me up as I began to sob.

"Stuart's dead," I repeated, "He had a brain hemorrhage, and he's gone. He's bloody gone!"

Molly rubbed my back, "I'm so sorry, Amelia."

"He's gone, Molly. He's gone."

I didn't know what else to say. I heard footsteps at the front of the hall, but I didn't bother to look up and see who it was. All I could do was sob and try not to collapse.

I'd seen death before. When I was little, I went to my Grandmother's funeral. After that, my Mum died, and that hit harder than anything else. Death was not a stranger to me, but I had never witnessed it hit someone as young as Stuart. He was only three years older than me. Three. He shouldn't have to worry about his own brain killing him, and yet, that's exactly what happened.

That day proved that youth was not a shield. Just because we're young doesn't mean we can't die. It doesn't mean that we are protected from the horrors of the world, it just meant that we were too ignorant to realize until something terrible happened.

"It's going to be alright," Molly muttered.

I shook my head, "It won't, Molly, Stuart's gone! He was so young, he was going to be a famous artist, but no, he had to fucking die instead!"

"And the world will be all the less vibrant because of it," Molly stroked my hair, "God has a plan. He's in heaven now, with all the angels. He'll paint pictures of the clouds, and have everything he's ever wanted. He'll be happier than he ever could be on Earth."

"But he left behind so many people, so many things he had to do," I muttered.

Molly sighed, "He did, but he also left behind memories. Hold on to those, not the sadness. Remember all the happy times you had with him rather than what lies ahead."

She rubbed my back some more. Her words were comforting. I stopped sobbing, simply leaning into her shoulder and allowing a few tears to seep into her shirt.

It took me a moment to register that she began to lead me towards her room. I shuffled up the stairs slowly, with Molly making sure I didn't trip. She silently shut the door behind us and allowed me to lay on the bed.

I didn't stop crying for about an hour. Molly sat down, allowing me to lay my head in her lap as I cried. She stroked my hair in an attempt to comfort me and hummed a tune under her breath.

When I finally did stop crying, I fell asleep, fully aware that I would wake up in a world where Stuart Sutcliffe no longer existed.


	40. Nose To The Pavement

Stuart's funeral was held the day Paul, John, George, and Pete returned from Germany. Paul, George, and John went straight from the airport to the graveyard. Molly and I met them there. Pete was nowhere to be seen.

The funeral itself was short and sweet. It was a closed casket, and only Stuart's closest friends and family arrived. We all followed the hearse out to the graveyard, watched the dirt fall onto the casket, and that was the end. I felt like I had barely been there, yet, I spent a lifetime at that graveside. Grief is one of the few things that can bend time. 

The day after the funeral, I found myself not wanting to talk to anyone. I had never dealt with grief well, it was a family trait we all had. To cope, I left Molly's house without telling anyone and began to trudge down the streets of Liverpool.

I didn't have a destination in mind, all I wanted to do was walk. I kept my eyes on the ground as I did so to avoid making eye contact and being socially obliged to make light conversation. All I wanted was to trudge on and frown. People around me may have thought I was a troublemaker, a heathen, per say, but I didn't care. All I cared about was my little bubble and the sadness I was dwelling in. 

The last time I saw Stuart, I was being forcefully pulled from the bedroom we all shared back in Hamburg. The last memory I have is him looking at me with a confused expression. He wasn't smiling, he wasn't even happy, he was confused as to why two cops were dragging his youngest friends away, and why nobody could do anything about it.

I did remember the moments leading up to that. He was painting, as he often was, a beautiful portrait of a strawberry. I remember leaning over the side of the bed, mesmerized by his precise brush strokes. 

He was such an amazing artist who was meant to go on and do brilliant things. Stuart Sutcliffe was supposed to grow and be the greatest artist this world ever knew. He was going to be remembered for all time, but fate had other plans. He was gone before he even had a chance, leaving nothing but grief in his wake. 

When someone you love dies, you are left with two things; memories and regrets. The first thing I thought of was my regrets. I regret not going back to Hamburg to visit him, I regret not calling him as much as I should have, and I regret the fact that I will never see him again. I should have gone to see him and Astrid. They were dear friends of mine, I should have visited them, but I didn't. Now, I would be left with that regret for the rest of my life.

With regrets came memories. I remembered all the times we played together. I remembered watching him gently strum his guitar, tapping his foot along to the beat. I could still hear him singing from the tree we climbed back in Hamburg. If I closed my eyes, I could still remember him laughing at John's lame jokes.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I didn't notice the large branch blocking my path. It caught my toe, causing me to fall face first into the pavement. My forehead slammed onto the hard ground, causing me to momentarily black out. When I came back around, stars danced in front of my vision.

"Glad I'm not the only one," a familiar voice said.

I raised my head, ignoring the momentary blindness, "What?"

"We ought to stop meeting like this," he crouched in front of me, "It's Ringo, Amelia."

I sighed, "'Ello, mate."

My vision was slowly returning. I could make out his black coat and the cloud of smoke leaving his lips. I could also make out the hand he offered to help me up.

"That hurt," I muttered.

He pulled me up, "I bet. You've got a bit of red on your noggin'."

"How much is a bit?"

Ringo hesitated. He slowly brought up his hands and placed his fingertips together to show a large circle. I groaned, "Lovely."

"It's not that bad, lass, honestly," he tried.

"I can smell you're lyin'."

Ringo shook his head. I gently touched the tip of my finger to the knot forming on my forehead. Just barely touching it, and flares of pain ran down my nerves. I flinched and quickly pulled my hand away.

"You fall often?" Ringo asked.

"Do you?"

Ringo laughed, "Touche."

"I seem to meet a lot of good friends falling," I replied, "Met me best mate by falling down some stairs."

"I've met quite a few good people the same way."

Ringo pulled his handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to me, "Your nose is bleeding."

"Well, now we're even," I took the cloth and pressed it against my nose.

Crimson had begun to stain the pristine white cloth. It leaked onto my fingers and dripped down my hand. Had I looked down, I would have seen the blood stain on the pavement from when I had landed. 

"What?"

"I saw your nose bleed," I said, "Now you've seen mine. Quite a sight, ain't it?"

He laughed, "Come on, Amelia, I'll get you somewhere to clean you up."

He gently placed his hands on my elbows and began to guide me down the street. I had to tilt my head back in order to keep the blood inside of my nose. It was Ringo who kept me going straight without tripping over anything. Even then, I stumbled a few times, nearly sending us both tumbling. 

"Only my Da calls me Amelia. You can call me Melly or Mel," I said.

Ringo nodded, "Nobody calls me Richard either. Ringo or Ritchie, usually."

"Ritchie sounds like bitchy, doesn't suit you."

"Thanks, Mel."

He guided me down a curb and through an intersection. A small cafe stood on that corner. Not many people went inside, most chose to pass it by. I vaguely realized we were at the same cafe John took Molly and me to on my fifteenth birthday.

The hostess showed us to the bathroom. Ringo left me at the door, allowing me to go into the girl's bathroom alone. I quickly went to the sink and took care of my nose, as well as wiping down the knot on my forehead.

It looked like I was growing another head. The knot grew from my eyebrow all the way to my hairline. It was beginning to push my eyebrow down into my eye, obscuring my vision. My eyes caught onto the purple hues gradually developing, and I sighed deeply.

The knot wouldn't affect my playing, but it wouldn't look too nice under the stage lights. I contemplated wearing a hat, but it would fall off in an instant. When I drummed, I flung my head around, which would send the hat flying. All I could do was go on stage and hope nobody noticed the baseball growing on my head. 

Ringo was sitting on a bench in the hall when I came out. He glanced up at me and smiled, "At least you're not bleedin' anymore."

"But I've got another head growing on mine," I grumped, "I can't go on stage with this."

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "You go on stage? I thought they said you quit The Beatles."

I had nearly forgotten about the time he played drums with the lads. John had told him I was the old drummer, and Paul had explained why I quit. I could see he felt guilty for 'taking my place', even though he wasn't a permanent drummer.

"I did, on my own accord," I said, "Got another band though, called Revolution."

Ringo snapped his fingers, causing one of his many rings to spin around, "I heard you played at the Juno Club."

"A week or so ago, yeah."

"I live near there," he said, "Heard one of me mates talkin' about it, said you play nicely. They liked your drumming a lot."

I smiled, "That's nice. Most people don't comment on the drummer."

"Actually," Ringo blushed a little, "He didn't, I asked him."

"I take that as a bigger compliment."

Ringo blushed harder. We sat in silence for a moment, staring at the wall. A few old photographs hung off the green wallpaper. I recognized The Empire State Building from one of my textbooks. There was also a photo of The Eiffel Tower and The Pyramid of Giza. I had never seen any of those places in person, but one day, I hoped I would. 

"Want to get some food while we're here? I'll buy." Ringo said.

I shrugged, "Might as well. I've got nowhere to be."

"Me neither."

The two of us stood and traveled towards the front. Ringo got us a table near the window. I admired the newspaper tablecloth, it gave the table a sort of city feel. The newspaper was from London, dating back to The Queen's coronation. I remember when that happened; Dad, Paul, Michael, and I all watched it on the telly. It was like a storybook to me, watching such a young woman be crowned queen of an entire country. 

"This place has bloody good sandwiches," I said.

Ringo smiled, "I do like a good sandwich."

After we had ordered, the two of us fell into silence. I gingerly sipped my tea, gazing out onto the street. Part of me expected someone to come searching for me. After vanishing without telling anyone, Molly and her parents were surely worrying. It made me feel bad to make them worry, I made a mental note to call them as soon as I finished eating.

"So, you play in a band?" I asked.

Ringo nodded, "Rory Storm and The Hurricanes. Won a competition, we did."

"Lovely. You enjoy it?"

"I s'pose," Ringo replied, "I like playing drums and all, that's all I've ever wanted to do."

"But?"

"But, I don't know, I don't think I fit the band. Rory's nice and all, they all are, but, I don't know, it just doesn't feel right."

I raised my glass, "I completely understand."

Ringo smiled. The way he smiled was different than anyone I had ever met before. He smiled with his entire face, from the bottom of his chin to the top of his head. Every feature lifted whenever he smiled. Even his hair seemed to stand up slightly as if his joy couldn't be contained in a single facial feature. 

"What about you?" Ringo asked, "Why'd you quit?"

I shook my head, "Ringo, my friend, that is a long story."

"Can I have a summary?"

"Society is a dirty bastard," I replied, "I had to quit because I got hit with eggs."

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "You quit because of eggs?"

"It was more than that. The band couldn't get where they're goin' with a girl, it simply wasn't going to fly. Image is everything, and three boys and a girl don't fit."

"What a load of rubbish," Ringo replied.

I shrugged, "It's true. They've already gotten two different contracts, a short tour, and a spot on the telly since I quit. It's not a coincidence."

"It's a load of rubbish is what it is," Ringo replied, "Can't play because you're a girl, rubbish. It's not true."

I smiled, "It might not be true, but the audience says it is. I had to quit so the lads could keep going."

"I s'pose that was pretty noble. Rubbish though."

"Thanks."

I smiled slightly, trying to hide it with my cup. It meant a lot to hear him say that he didn't agree with the bias, especially when he never heard me play. Ringo didn't think I couldn't drum because I was a girl. That in itself was enough for me to know that this man was going to be my friend for life. 

Only two other people had truly gotten upset at the premise of the thing. Molly and Paul were the only ones whose anger was directed at the hate against me. They were angry that I had to quit in general, but especially under those circumstances. John was willing to let me quit, he didn't even get angry, save for being angry that I got hit with eggs. He didn't argue at all, neither did George. I know they didn't want me to leave completely, that was evident in John calling me the 'number one groupie'.

John was never one for sentimental things. Seeing me quit was just another day for him. If it meant getting to the top, he was willing to let me go. It hurt a little, how willing he was, but I tried to understand. The band was everything to him. He knew I'd still be his mate even when I wasn't a member of the band, and I liked to think that was why he was so willing to let me go. 

George was a little upset. He wasn't as willing to let me go, but he wasn't willing to say anything against it either. Only Paul, Ringo, and Molly said anything against it, and that still didn't do any good.

"Are you playing at the Juno Club still?" Ringo asked, sipping his drink.

I nodded, "We've got twenty shows there, filling in for the usual band for a while."

"I'll have to come watch," Ringo said, "Saturday?"

"We'll be there all night."

Ringo smiled. Our sandwiches arrived just after that, and we both dug in. I had nearly forgotten how sinfully delicious their sandwiches were.

"You were right," Ringo smiled, a piece of lettuce hanging from his teeth, "Bloody good sandwiches."

"I told you so."

We ate in silence for a few moments. When Ringo finished his sandwich, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and smiled, "Got to come back here. I love a good sandy witch."

I lifted an eyebrow but didn't comment on his odd saying. I've only seen him twice, but I've noticed he has a tendency to forget the rules of grammar, and the rules of English as a whole. He would say these odd things, like sandy witch, but think they were completely normal. Oddly, I found that endearing.

"I haven't been here in a few years," I admitted, "Forgot it existed for a while."

Ringo grinned, "I won't forget. Best sandwiches in Liddypool."

"I can second that."

The bell rang, signaling another customer arriving. I didn't think much of it until a familiar voice called out, "Oi, Melly, what did you do to your head?"

I turned around. John and George both walked past the confused hostess. John had a cocky grin splayed across his lips while George looked neutral.

"I fell. What're you lads doing here?" I asked.

"Molly called us in a panic," George replied, "Said you vanished without a trace. When Paul heard, he got right angry."

"Never thought I'd see his eyes nearly jump out of his head," John laughed.

I sighed, "Course, should've expected that."

This wasn't the first time I had left without telling anyone. I used to do it a lot, back when I was in school. I'd leave out my bedroom window and wander around until someone came to drag me back home. Every time I did, I came home to two angry relatives. I was never sure who was angrier, Dad or Paul.

"Paul and Molly went to look at the record stores and such," George said, "We were sent to the park."

John grinned, "We happened to pass by and see you in the window. Lucky, too."

Ringo awkwardly began to fiddle with his napkin. For a moment, I had forgotten he was there. John finally noticed him. He grinned and clapped Ringo's shoulder, "Aye, Ringo, didn't expect to see you here."

"I could say the same," Ringo replied.

I smiled slightly, "He found me when I fell. Seems like we're always meeting each other on the ground."

Ringo and I laughed, but George and John looked confused. I simply waved them off. John shrugged and said, "Maybe you can explain to Paul why he shouldn't kill his sister."

"You said it yourself," Ringo replied, "She's his sister, ain't she?"

I snorted, "Won't stop him. Last time I did this, he wouldn't talk to me for a week."

"Sounds like Paul," George muttered.

I had to hold back a laugh. Ringo looked genuinely worried for a moment. I simply shook my head, "He won't do nothing bad, Ringo, just give me the cold shoulder for a bit."

"That's better than killing you."

"I s'pose."

John shrugged, "I doubt Macca would last a single day without talking to you."

"He's done it for a week before."

"He's too talkative for that," John replied, "He'll take any opportunity to talk. Any opportunity."

I laughed loudly. Even George joined in, chuckling a bit under his breath. Ringo simply smiled.

"We better go before Paul does do something nutty," George said.

I sighed, "Right. Thanks for lunch, Ringo, it was nice talking to you."

"You too," he smiled.

John shot him his classic cheeky grin before following George and I out. I felt bad for leaving Ringo just as we were having such a nice lunch, but I knew Paul would only get more worried the longer I stayed away. He had seen me do this before, but that wouldn't stop him from worrying. Molly had never seen me do this, and it probably scared her. I should have warned her before I left.

It didn't help that I was just adding fuel to the fire. Everybody was grieving, even Molly, and me leaving just added to their depression. Paul would probably be more hurt with me than anything else.

We met Paul and Molly outside of her house. Paul had his arms crossed, his foot nervously tapping on the pavement. Molly twirled her hair as she always did when she was anxious.

"Found the swine," John gave me a cheeky smile.

I glared at him. Paul spun around to give me his best stern glare, but I could see right through him. His relief was too obvious.

"Amelia, what the bloody hell were you thinking?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I wanted to get away for a bit."

"So you leave without telling anyone?"

"Sounded good at the time."

Molly came around him, "You gave me a right scare, Amelia. Disappearing without saying anything, what a shit move!"

"I'm sorry, Molly, Paul," I sighed, "I just wanted to be alone for a bit."

Paul's gaze softened, "You could've told us. The last time you vanished, Dad found you in the middle of a fist fight."

"I wasn't even fighting," I argued.

"No, you were just getting hit."

I sighed. He was right, the last few times I had left, I was found in less than lucky situations. Whether it be a fist fight, caught in a stray fishing net, or even being stalked by a schoolmate of mine, it was never good. Paul had a right to worry. Even if I was an adult and could take care of myself now, I could understand why he worried.

"I'm sorry."

Paul shook his head. Molly took a deep breath, "It's alright, just don't do it again. I thought someone had run off with you or something."

I laughed. Molly came up to hug me, and soon, Paul joined in. John and George leaned against the fence watching us.

"How about some tea? Mum made cinnamon biscuits," Molly said as soon as we pulled apart.

I grinned, "I do love your Mum's biscuits."


	41. Getting Better

The lads had gone to London for the weekend. Brian had managed to get them a recording deal with George Martin, a producer at EMI Studios. They would record a few songs and see how it goes, perhaps they would record more.

That left me in Liverpool. As much as I did want to go to London, I understood the premise of backing off. This was their band, not mine anymore, I can't be there for everything. Besides, I knew I would get a play-by-play from Paul whenever they got back. It would be exactly like I was there. 

I left Molly at home to go and have lunch with Michael. We were supposed to meet at the same sandwich place, and he would introduce me to his new girlfriend. I had to wonder if he had told Dad about her yet.

The day got off to a good start. I woke up in a good mood, a lovely change from my recent bout of depression. I saw the sunshine, heard the birds sing, and smelled the delicious aroma of porridge wafting through the house. Mrs. Mackenzie was an amazing cook, the best I had ever met. Even her porridge was delicious, and I have hated porridge all my life.

Everything seemed beautiful that day. I walked down the streets with a smile on my face, the wind blowing my coat behind me like a cape. It was still early in the year, winter had yet to go away, and the air was frigid. Snow lined the sidewalks and icicles dangled from tree branches.

I thought nothing could spoil my mood. The world's problems had seemingly melted away for a day. Everything was fine and dandy until I heard a voice I had known all my life call out, "Amelia."

I froze in place. Every muscle I had turned to stone. Slowly, I turned around, my eyes landing on the figure of my father standing just a few meters from me.

"Da," I said.

For a moment, we simply stared at each other. There was so much to say, yet neither of us could say anything. I wanted to run away, but my muscles wouldn't cooperate.

It was hard to comprehend the fact that my Father, the man who had raised me, was standing in front of me. We hadn't seen each other for nearly two years despite being in the same city. The last time we had been so close was when he was telling Paul and me to leave and never come back. 

"Michael said you were back," Dad muttered, "He said you didn't want to see me."

I frowned, "You didn't want to see us, first."

"Amelia-"

"Save it," I held up my hand, "I understand, I've had enough time to come to terms with it. You were angry, you made us choose, we chose what you thought was wrong, so you kicked us out for good. I get it."

In reality, I still didn't understand. We were following our dreams. Parents were supposed to support their children as they worked towards the life they wanted, not kick them out as soon as they disobeyed. Never would I fully understand why Dad kicked us out that day. 

Dad shook his head, "I know, and I'm sorry. I should never have kicked you out."

"But you did."

All I wanted to hear was that he regretted it. He may say he should never have kicked us out, but that doesn't mean he regretted it. Dad always had a way to apologize without ever truly apologizing.

"I was angry," Dad said, "And worried. You were sixteen, and you wanted to go to the dirtiest city in the world. I'm your father, I'm supposed to worry."

"You're supposed to support us too. You're the one who raised us on music. You had to have known Paul and I would pursue a career in it," I told him.

Dad sighed, "I did, but I didn't expect this. I was sure you would join an orchestra, maybe Paul would join too. I never expected you to join Lennon's band and run off to bloody Germany!"

"That doesn't mean you kick us out!" I exclaimed, "You're a father, you're our father, yes you should be worried about us but you should support us too. You should be there, cheering us on as we accomplish our dreams."

"I want to, but-"

"But you don't agree. You don't like what your kids are doing so you kick them out, brilliant, Dad, really."

I had seen him get angry before. Several times I had seen him get so angry that I was terrified he would hit us. Paul used to hide Michael and me in his room whenever Dad got like that. He never did hit us, but his anger was unparalleled. Even then, I could see the familiar glint in his eye. That was when the young Amelia would get terrified. For the first time, I stared at him, fully knowing what he could do, and I wasn't afraid. 

He frowned, "Don't take that tone with me, young lady."

"Don't take that tone with me," I took a step closer, "I'll have you know, I'm nearly nineteen, the time for you to tell me what to do has long gone."

His eyes flickered, "You did celebrate your birthday without me, didn't you?"

"Two, actually."

He was silent for a moment. I stared him dead in the eye, threatening him to press me further. He didn't scare me, and he knew it. I wasn't the impressionable child anymore, I was an adult who could fight back with all my strength. He took a deep breath.

"Where have you been staying?" he asked.

"Molly's house," I replied.

"And Paul?"

"John's."

Dad sighed, "Of course. I never approved of that boy, knew he would be a bad influence. I was right."

"Were you? You haven't even asked me where Paul is."

"Where is he?"

I smirked, "London, he and the lads are recording songs for their first LP. They already have a single out, and their manager, yes they have a manager, is going to book them a tour around Europe."

Dad's eyes widened. I could see the surprise written in every wrinkle across his face. He had not expected us to make it anywhere, let alone to London to record music. The pure shock he showed made me feel powerful, like I held something over him, and I could use it to win. 

"Why aren't you there?" Dad asked.

I shook my head, "I had to quit for reasons I don't want to explain to you, but, don't worry, I have my own group."

He thought over this for a moment. I thought about leaving but, somehow, I knew the conversation was far from over. There were still a few things I wanted to tell him, and I was sure there were many things he wanted to tell me.

"I'm proud of you both," Dad finally said.

My eyes widened, "Really? Last I heard, you hated us for what we loved."

"I could never-will never- hate you or Paul, Amelia," Dad tried to smile, "I love you both with all my heart, even if I don't approve of what you're doing."

I was at a loss for words. After all of this, I expected Dad never to want to see us again. I expected him to scowl every time we were mentioned at family meetings, or turn off the radio every time we came on. Never did I expect this.

"If you truly do love us, why did you kick us out?" I asked.

Dad sucked in a deep breath, "I was angry. I know that's not a good excuse, and I regret it immensely. I'm sorry, Amelia, please. I just want my children back."

I stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie. He was telling the truth. He actually did regret it, he did want us back. The heartbreak was evident in his eyes, and I wondered if it was a good idea to wait this long to confront him.

I had to remind myself of Dad's treachery. He was a manipulator even when he didn't realize what he was doing. I had suffered under his manipulation for years, only realizing once I stepped away. I couldn't let him deceive me again. 

"You mean it?" I asked, my voice small.

Dad nodded, "I do."

I wasn't sure what to do. Part of me wanted to hug him and pretend everything would be back to normal, but the logical part of me knew that wasn't right. It would take a long time and a lot of work to get things back to the way they once were, and, even then, I didn't want it to go back. I didn't want to be the child that had to listen to everything Dad said again.

"Will you forgive me?" Dad asked.

I stood straighter, "One day, maybe, but you can't honestly expect me to forgive you after one day."

"I know, but I hope we, Paul included, can start to try and make things better."

"Me too, Dad," I said, "I'll call Paul whenever he gets back, see what he thinks. In the meantime, I have a lunch date to get to."

Without allowing him another word, I spun on my heel and hurried down the street. My head was spinning. I wasn't entirely sure what to do.

I was beyond happy that Dad was ready and willing to make things right, but I wasn't sure if I was ready. Kicking your own children out is not something that's easily forgiven. I'm not sure if I could ever truly forgive him, but I could start to make amends.

As soon as Paul got back, I would tell him and we would make a plan. There was no way either of us could do this alone, we left together and we would come back together. If Dad is truly ready to make amends, then so were we.


	42. All Together Now

Dad's words still bounced around in my head. It was hard to tell if he were being truthful or not, he was a professional liar, but something told me I should believe him. That something could be the childlike hope that my father truly did want me back, or it could be raw intuition. I wasn't sure if I should believe that part of me or not.

The only solution to this problem was to talk to Paul. If we put both of our heads together, we could decide whether or not to believe Dad. I knew he wanted to believe Dad just as desperately as I did, but I also knew he was more logical than me. He wouldn't let his emotions prevail. Neither of us could handle this alone, but, luckily, we didn't have to. 

I decided to meet him at The Cavern Club just before their rehearsal. By now, they should know their numbers by heart, perhaps even being able to do them in their sleep, but Brian insisted that they needed practice. He told them that one can never have too much practice.

The Cavern Club rose into view. It was still five hours until the real show, but several fans had already lined up outside. I had never seen that before. It shocked me that they were willing to wait five hours, in the humid weather, just to get inside the most claustrophobic building in Liverpool.

I was going to go around the back entrance, but I was stopped by someone shouting, "Look, it's Amelia!"

A few girls rushed towards me. I was shocked still, frozen in the corner. They crowded around me, all smiling like excited teenage girls.

"Erm, hello?" I said, confused.

One girl clasped her hands together under her chin, "You're Paul's sister, aren't you?"

The fact that they knew my brother by his first name was baffling. True, John had introduced the band by name several times, but nobody ever expected them to remember. I thought they would remember the name The Beatles, not John Lennon, Paul McCartney, and George Harrison.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, "What're you-?"

"What's it like? Being able to see Paul every day?" one girl asked.

Another squealed, "Was he as cute as a baby as he is now?"

"Of course he was, Cindy," another spat, "He writes so many songs, I bet he's simply brilliant, isn't he?"

I wasn't sure how to reply. The girls had formed a tight circle around me to where I couldn't escape even if I wanted to. I had known the lads were popular around Liverpool, but I never expected this. I had only ever seen this sort of excitement around Elvis Presley.

"Um, it's nice, I s'pose," I replied, "I grew up with him, it's not anything special, really. I don't really remember him as a baby. His songs are nice and all, he loves every word he writes."

The girls squealed. It hurt my ears to listen to them. All at once, they began to pester me with even more questions. Only one question got repeated; can you take us to meet them?

"I can't do that, and you know it," I replied, "I'm just his sister."

The first girl shook her head, "You're more than that, you're their friend. You can convince them to meet us."

"They won't listen."

"If they won't listen to you, who will they listen to?"

I realized these girls were not going to stop until they got what they wanted. Unfortunately, I knew I couldn't give them that. The lads would love to meet fans, especially female fans, but they would do it on their own accord. I couldn't convince them to do anything, let alone step outside into this mob of fans.

"I'll see what I can do," I lied, "Go back in line, I'll go talk to them."

The squeals nearly shattered my eardrums. They quickly rushed back into line, chattering violently. As soon as they were back in the line, I hurried to the back door, rubbing my ears to try and stop the ringing.

Inside The Cavern was more peaceful than outside, but not by much. I walked in to find Brian pacing the floor. John and Paul were running about the stage, hurriedly putting things up and tuning their guitars. To my surprise, I saw Ringo behind the drums instead of Pete.

"Oi, where's Pete?" I asked Brian.

Brian jumped slightly before realizing it was me, "Oh, Amelia, it's only you. Don't sneak up on me like that."

"What's gotten into you?" I asked.

"He's worried that Georgie won't show up," John announced from across the room, "Special show tonight, it is."

"It is?"

Brian nodded, "The first show with Ringo as the drummer. George Martin is supposed to come as well."

"Why?"

Brian never answered me. He quickly sped off, muttering under his breath. I watched him go. Two of my questions still went unanswered. I walked up to John, who was sitting on the edge of the stage tuning his guitar.

"Mind answering my questions?" I asked.

"Brian fired Pete, didn't think he sounded right," John grinned, "George Martin is down to see us with a new drummer."

He jerked his finger to Ringo. I glanced behind him to see Ringo smiling and waving at me. I copied the motion. John stood and said, "If Georgie doesn't show up soon, might have to find a stand in. I'm sure Brian will love that."

"He's still got five hours, doesn't he?"

"The show got bumped up, we start in an hour."

I shook my head. George usually wasn't late, but, when he was, it could be blamed on two things; either he was sleeping or eating. Sometimes, he did both, though I could never figure out how. Due to it being late afternoon, almost evening, I suspected that he was eating supper with his family.

"He'll show, he always shows," I said.

John shrugged. He gently sat his guitar on the stage before going towards the back room. I climbed onto the stage and went to lean against the wall by Ringo, "You've joined permanently then?"

"I s'pose, unless they don't like my sound," he replied, "I feel nasty for getting Pete burned."

I shook my head, "Don't worry about it, Ringo, honestly. He was a bastard anyway, I never liked him."

Pete was a cool guy and all, he played nicely, but he always had this sort of bad attitude around him. It got on everybody's nerves more than once. He acted like he was a king all because his Mum owned a club the lads used to play at. I was especially angry at him for the way he handled the drums when he wasn't playing. He flung them about like children's toys. All he wanted to do was get famous and get laid, neither of which were good qualities.

I had momentarily forgotten the reason I came there. The chaotic scene I had walked into had blinded me. I pushed off the wall and glanced around, "Say, Ringo, have you seen Paulie?"

He was just there a few minutes ago, but now, he was nowhere in sight. Ringo shrugged, "Last I saw, he was heading to the back, something about his hair."

"He'll be back there a while. Thanks."

Ringo nodded. I jumped off the stage and headed to the back. In my trek, I passed Brian and John talking in the hall. Only John acknowledged me, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes in my direction. I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out.

Paul was in their 'dressing room'. Really, it was a closet they had retrofitted with a few mirrors and some stools. There was only one table to keep their things on, and that was cluttered. I happened to see several combs along with John's glasses.

Paul was leaning over the table, staring at the mirror and trying to get his hair just right. I came up behind him to lean against the wall and make eye contact in the mirror.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

He could easily see the look in my eyes and know something was amiss. I took a deep breath, "I ran into Da yesterday."

"What?" Paul's eyes widened, "What happened?"

"I was on my way to eat lunch with Mikey, and he kinda caught me."

Paul turned around to face me, "Did he say anything?"

"Course. He tried to excuse what he did."

"That sounds like him. What else?"

I shrugged, "He said he was sorry, I'm not sure if he really is or not though. He said he wants us back, he wants us to forgive him."

Paul furrowed his eyebrows. Several emotions passed through his eyes, but I couldn't distinguish any of them. I could see the gears turning in his head as he thought.

"He kicked us out, surely he wouldn't change his mind that easily," Paul muttered.

"I dunno, Paulie, it has been two years."

He began to pace what little room we had. Really, his pace was composed of three steps followed by a turn. I began to wonder if I had chosen the right moment to tell him. They were already nervous about this show, and now I had only made it worse.

"Maybe we should talk to him," Paul said, "What did you tell him? Did you say you forgive him?"

"Course not, but I said I might be prepared to try. It won't happen overnight, though."

Paul ran a hand through his neatly combed hair, "We knew we'd have to confront him some time. We can't keep avoiding him."

"S'pose we have to do it sooner rather than later."

"Yeah," Paul sighed, "We'll talk to him, together, somewhere public, preferably. Maybe we'll start reconciling, but, I dunno, it'll take a while."

I could see he was still hurt with our father, and I couldn't blame him. I was still hurt as well, my heart had yet to patch itself back up. It would be a long time before we could completely fix the issue, but it was as good a time as ever to start.

"He said he was proud of us. You especially, when I told him about your record," I muttered.

Paul gasped, "Really? He's proud of me?"

"Yeah."

Paul smiled slightly, "Can't believe it."

"Me neither," I sighed, "He could be lying."

"Or he could be telling the truth. We won't know until we confront him. You can't honestly tell me that you don't want to try and make things better with Da," Paul said.

"I do, but-"

"But, nothing. If he does anything wonky, we'll leave, simple as that."

I glanced up at him. He grinned his confident grin, the one that always seemed to instill confidence in those who never had any of their own. I had been relying on that grin for years. I smiled, "You're right, worst that can happen is us leaving."

"Exactly."

The door opened, interrupting our conversation. Brian poked his head in. He looked much more relieved than he did just a few minutes ago. He was actually smiling.

"George is here, Paul, time for a quick rehearsal."

"Jolly good, Eppy."

I raised my eyebrow at the nickname. Brian shut the door and Paul turned to me, "Are you staying for the show?"

"If I can get a seat. Your fans are already lining up outside."

I left out the part of them approaching me. Paul's face brightened, "Can't keep them waiting, can we?"

I shook my head. Paul ran a comb through his hair once more before hurrying out. I followed him at a slower pace.

The group went through a final run through of three songs before the show. I found a seat at the bar, a stool tucked in a corner where people couldn't get to me. The last thing I wanted was for more fans to hound me to get them a meet and greet.

I watched the fans file in. They entered as neatly as possible for a bunch of excited teenagers. Each lined the stage, packing like a bunch of sardines. The group reached all the way to the back of the club, each person craning their neck to get a view of the band they so loved.

Teens even crowded around me, but they didn't see me. For once, I was thankful for how dark The Cavern was. It kept me from having to talk to a bunch of fans who just wanted to talk to me because of my connection to The Beatles.

As the lads began to play, The Cavern became filled with music and excited squeals. Most of the fans were silent, determined to hear the band and nothing else. Others, however, simply could not contain their excitement. It was quite a sight to see, but it was nothing compared to what was coming.


	43. John Junior

Summer was my least favorite time of year. The weather could never make up its mind, either it was dry and blisteringly hot, or humid and smothering hot. Neither option was good, and both made me want to move to the Arctic. I always enjoyed the cold, I was raised in it. The heat and I did not agree.

Women wearing shorts was looked down upon in places like jolly old Liverpool. It was seen as 'indecent' and 'a distraction'. Molly and Janice both fell victim to society's demands and wore jeans on a boiling hot day. I, on the other hand, had had enough of society telling me what to do. I wore high waisted shorts, and anyone who spoke ill against me could speak to my fist.

"Do you think you've met who you'll marry?" Janice asked.

I glanced at her, "Where'd that come from?"

"I don't know, I've been thinking about it, I guess."

She looked down at her shoes meekly, like she didn't want to tell us exactly what she was thinking. I waved it off. Molly smiled, "I don't know. Mum told me you're most likely to meet the person you'll marry in high school. That could be anybody."

"You could marry John," I teased, earning a playful punch to my shoulder.

"Shuddup," Molly replied, "I'm serious. I probably already met the man I'm going to spend my life with."

"Have anyone in mind?" Janice asked.

Molly shrugged, "Not particularly. Maybe I'll marry Paul."

She playfully grinned at me. I knew she was teasing, but I still felt that familiar lurch in my heart. A sick feeling developed in my stomach as I pictured being a bridesmaid at Molly and Paul's wedding. I scowled, "You'll regret it. He snores, you know, loudly."

"Family trait, I s'pose," Molly laughed, earning a glare from me.

Janice giggled as well. I turned my attention to her, "What about you, Jan?"

"I don't know, I don't think so. There was this one boy but, I don't know, I don't think he would go for me."

"Who?" I asked.

Janice shook her head, "You don't know him."

Judging by how she refused to look me in the eye, I guessed that was a lie. It was hard to tell when Janice was lying. She almost never made eye contact, it took three weeks for her to finally look me in the eye. She was always looking at the ground as if the dirt were more interesting than the people around her. I had to wonder what made her act like that.

"What about you, Melly?" Molly asked.

"Marriage is a fool's game," I replied, "You're bound to another person by a ring, and for what?"

"For love, obviously."

"For commercial! It's an economic game that doesn't truly have anything to gain for those involved. All of it is bullshit, and I'm not going to play."

Janice lifted an eyebrow, "You're not going to get married?"

"Never, that's just what they want."

"Who?"

"Society," Molly sighed, "Melly's got a vendetta against all of society."

"It's more than a vendetta, Molly."

Molly rolled her eyes. We continued walking along, our sights set on the club we would play in. It was time for a rehearsal. That night was a special event, and we would play well into the morning. None of us were excited, but it paid well, and we all needed the money.

This wasn't the first long night we had. We had played several shows that required us to stay up for twenty-four hours. All of it painfully reminded me of Hamburg. The only difference was the cleaner club and better living spaces. That and the fact that there was no chance of any of us getting deported. 

Everything was fine until we rounded a corner and caught sight of a sullen looking John. He stood on the corner, under a broken street light, gazing at nothing in particular. His glasses were unnaturally foggy like he had just stepped out of a steam room. The very first thing I realized was that he was acting in a very non-John like manner. Every time I saw him, he always had the same cheeky grin and a mischievous look in his eyes. Now, he sported an uncommon frown and a damp look in his eyes.

"John?" I asked, stepping up to him, "John, you alright?"

He blinked before turning to look at the three of us. A weak grin played across his lips, "Melly, funny, I was just going to come looking for you."

"You were?"

I could feel Molly and Janice exchange looks behind me. Janice hadn't known John very long, but even she could sense something was off with him. I became severely concerned for my friend. For John to drop his humorous demeanor, something had to be dreadfully wrong.

"Would you mind if I borrowed Melly for a bit?" John asked, looking past me to the two girls standing behind me.

Molly shrugged. Janice refused to make eye contact, as usual. I spun around and said, "You two head to the club, I'll meet you there."

"Alright. Bye, Melly, John."

"Bye."

For a moment, we watched the two of them walk away. When they were out of sight, I gazed at John, "What's wrong, John?"

"Nothing, Melly, really," John sighed, "I should be happy, I s'pose, but, I don't know."

"Did something happen?"

John shook his head, "I already told the lads, and Eppy, thought you'd like to know too."

"Christ, John, spit it out before I pull it out of you."

"Knew I could rely on you," John laughed, "Cyn's preggie."

He locked eyes with me. At first, I didn't believe him. John was the one person I never expected to have children. He was the bachelor type, the sort that would remain free forever. I never expected him to allow himself to be chained down by a child, especially so early.

"You're joking," I said.

John shook his head, "Serious as I am breathing. She's pregnant and we're going to get married."

"You and Cynthia? Married with a child? That doesn't sound like you."

"I don't have a choice," John shrugged, "It's not respectable for a lad to have a child with a bird he's not married too."

He kept his eyes latched to the ground, unblinking. His voice quivered slightly, but I knew it wasn't sadness. No, it was fear. John Lennon, the bravest man I knew, was scared. He would never admit it, but I had known him long enough to see it on his face. 

I lifted an eyebrow, "That's all well and good, but I thought Brian said Beatles ought not to be married."

"We'll keep it from the fans. It's better to be respectable than seen as available," John sighed.

I looked at him for a moment. His fear was ever present. I wanted to ask him about it, maybe provide some comfort, but I knew he would never admit it. The fear made itself present in his voice, but his eyes told a different story. They sparkled with something I could only describe as excitement. 

"Are you against this?" I asked.

John shrugged, "I never thought I was the marrying type, really, but now-I do love her, Amelia."

He gazed at me, a small smile playing across his lips. That glimmer in his eyes expanded, soon taking over his entire face. I couldn't help but smile.

John was afraid, yes, but he was excited. It was only natural for someone to be afraid to marry. Marriage was a cage to some, and it would be easy to mess it up. At the same time, it was a beautiful thing to some people. 

"I s'pose that's good, if you're going to marry her," I said, "I'm happy for you, John."

John smiled, "Thanks, Melly. Never thought I'd marry, but, bloody hell, am I glad it's Cynthia."

Just by saying her name, his smile widened. I'd seen love before, it was rare, but I'd seen it. John had the same look in his eyes that Stuart had when he used to talk about Astrid. It was a look of complete adoration.

Seeing him gush like that made my heart ache ever so slightly. Part of me wondered if I would ever have someone to look at me like that. The other part of me wondered if I wanted it.

"We're getting married in a month or so," John glanced down at me, "Small wedding, I would like you to come."

I smiled, "Me mate's getting married, of course I'll be there."

John beamed. I had an odd urge to hug him, but I restrained myself. It was a rare occasion when John would let someone hug him, and that was not one of those times. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced down the streets, "S'pose you should catch up with the birds."

"Right, almost forgot, we have a rehearsal in a few minutes."

The time had gotten away from me. I had five minutes to make it to a club that was ten minutes away. The owner would have my head if I was late.

"Good luck, Melly," John winked.

I smiled, "I'm the one who should be telling you that."

He grinned. I nodded at him before hurrying down the road. Several cars honked as I rushed down the street, but I ignored them, my only thought being getting to the club on time.


	44. Fan Revolt

"I don't think he likes us very much," Janice mumbled.

I shook my head, "Come off it, Jan, if he didn't like us, he wouldn't hire us."

"He's just a bit of a prude, is all," Molly commented.

Janice didn't reply. She was letting the fact that our boss denied our request for a pay raise get to her. She took it personally rather than seeing the whole picture. Really, the reason he wouldn't do it is that he didn't think we would stay very long. Whether he fires us or we quit, he was sure we would be gone in a month or two. That, in addition to not wanting to pay us more because we were women, was enough to make him turn his nose up at us.

Janice was upset, but I was pissed off. This was just another reason for us to keep going. He was just another swine we had to fight in our revolution. He wasn't the first, nor the last, to add fuel to our fire. It was people like him, those who thought less of us because of who we are, that gave us all the ammunition we needed to fight this war. 

"Say, aren't the lads playing a show tonight?" Molly asked.

I nodded, "At The Cavern, of course."

"Why don't we go see them?" Molly suggested, "It's not like we have anything better to do."

She was right. We didn't have a show that night. Either we went to watch the lads or we went home. None of us wanted to go home and be bored. Even if I had seen the show a thousand times, even participated in some, it would still be entertaining.

"I haven't seen Ringo play in an actual show with them yet," I said, "Let's do it, they go on in about an hour or so."

Janice knitted her eyebrows, "It's always so crowded there, what if we can't get in?"

"Oh, we'll get in, don't worry your pretty little head about that."

Janice blushed slightly when I called her pretty. One of the first things I learned about Janice Hallieford was how easily it was to get her to blush. I often used that to my advantage, teasing her to the point where she was as red as a cherry. 

"Amelia has a few strings she can pull," Molly commented.

I nodded. The Cavern was always full at every single Beatles show. You had to know someone to get in at last minute, and, as it happens, I'm quite close with the club owner as well as the band.

The three of us made it to The Cavern Club to see a long line of eager fans. Each was waiting to see their favorite hometown band. For the first time, I actually saw a few signs. Some even wore homemade Beatles shirts. 

After what happened last time, I decided to lead Molly and Janice around the back. I did not want all three of us to be hounded by fans just like I was. I had no idea how the lads did it. Any day, they could be trampled by fans, but they kept on. 

We went in through the back entrance after the bartender let us in. I pretended to tip my nonexistent hat, to which he laughed. He and I had known each other for quite a few years and were on pretty good terms.

"We can get a good seat at the bar," I said, "You two grab a seat, I'm going to wish the lads luck."

Molly and Janice nodded. They went to the bar while I turned to go to the stage. At the time, only George and Ringo were present. When George saw me, he smiled, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"We didn't have anything better to do," I pushed myself to sit on the edge of the stage, "Thought we'd come hear your rubbish."

George laughed, "Remember, you used to be a part of this rubbish."

"And I remember that with distaste."

With both laughed loudly. Ringo looked between us, his eyebrows knit in confusion. One day, he would get in on our jokes, when he had become accustomed to it. Our sense of humor wasn't a usual one. While it had a lot of the Liverpudlian flare, we had a few of our own traits built in.

"I don't think we're rubbish," Ringo frowned.

I shook my head, "Course you're not rubbish, you're the best band in all of Britain. I'm just joking, is all."

Ringo stared at me for a moment before breaking out into a grin. I could already tell he was a perfect fit for this group, even more so than Pete. While Pete was a good drummer, he just didn't click with the lads. You need specific pieces to make up a puzzle, and Pete was not one of those pieces.

"Anyways, thought I'd wish you luck," I stated.

George smiled. Ringo did the same, twirling his drumsticks confidently, "Thanks, Melly."

"Course. We'll be over at the bar. Hear any whistles, it's probably me."

George shook his head, "Can't hear much of anything, honestly."

"Sounds about right. Tell Paul and John I wish them luck."

I could hear the front doors being opened, and soon, the entire Cavern would be filled with ecstatic fans. I quickly leaped from the stage and hurried over to Molly and Janice. They had already ordered drinks. Molly ordered my favorite.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" I asked, falling to sit next to her.

She shrugged, "I'm still trying to figure that out."

The fans filled the cavern before I could even blink. One second, we were in an empty club, and, the next, it was filled with hormonal teenagers. They all crowded the stage as John and Paul appeared.

Whenever anybody asked me why The Beatles became as popular as they did, I would always tell them it was because of the love they felt for both the fans and the music. They would always come out on stage with smiles bigger than all the universe. Their very demeanor was joyful. Each fan felt like their idol was smiling at them and them alone, and that made everybody feel special. 

People clapped and cheered as John introduced the band. At first, nothing seemed different. It was only as the wave of confusion reached the back that I realized. A few teens muttered near me.

"What's with the drummer?" one asked.

"A stand in, maybe?" another said, "Where's Pete?"

A third clicked his tongue, "Heard he got fired. He was replaced by the one up there, the one with the big schnoz."

"Quite an ill replacement, I'd say."

I sneered. They hadn't even heard him play, and they were already against him. I had half a mind to get up and show them exactly what a good drummer could do, but Molly held me down. She had heard them too. 

As the band began to play, the confusion quickly turned to dissatisfaction. Instead of the usual joyous reply, the lads were met with jeers and chants of, "Pete forever, Ringo never!"

"Bloody hell," I muttered, "It's a riot."

Molly bit her lip, "If they'd only hear him play."

The lads were getting anxious. It was difficult to see their faces due to the light being shined directly on them, but I could see their anxiety in the way they moved. Their playing was a bit shakier, despite their efforts to hold steady.

If the crowd would quiet down long enough to hear them, they would like Ringo. He was a better drummer than Pete and I combined, and they would see that if they would be quiet. The whole mob mentality took hold, however, and the entire Cavern became filled with jeers.

Molly, Janice, and I all watched as the recklessness of the crowd took hold. They began to get closer to the stage, slowly at first, but they quickly gained speed. As soon as I realized what was happening, I jumped up, "They're going to mob the bloody stage."

"We've got to do something," Molly jumped up as well.

I frowned, "You go get the security guard outside. I'll try and get the lads out."

"Amelia, you can't-"

I didn't listen to her. I practically swan dived into the crowd, pulling angry teenagers back. They all stumbled behind me as I swam towards the stage. As I pulled them away, they seemed to bounce right back. I couldn't pull one away before four more appeared.

They had managed to get on the stage and were mobbing the lads. George was being swarmed by a group of girls and Paul and John did their best to get themselves and Ringo out. The crowd was after Ringo first and foremost, the other lads just so happened to be speed bumps.

"Paul!" I cried, "Paul!"

He didn't hear me. His face was a look of both terror and confusion. Not many fans had actually managed to get to the stage, as it turns out. Most were still stuck on the bottom, trapped by the other teenagers pressing behind them.

I watched as the lads managed to get off the stage. Paul, John, and Ringo vanished first. George managed to follow them, only after forcefully pushing off several girls. I noticed he was favoring his left eye.

Someone hit me in the back of the knees, causing me to fall over. I was hit several times in several different places, though none was intentional. As the bartender, the security guard, and the owner himself all corralled the teenagers out of The Cavern, I was curled in a fetal position on the ground. Many pairs of feet walked all over me, jamming into my body like tiny knives.

"Amelia!"

Molly fell to a kneel next to me when the crowd had thinned out enough. Janice was right behind her, a look of complete terror splayed across her face. I rolled onto my back and groaned, pushing myself onto my elbows, "Fine, I'm fine."

"You're basically one big bruise," Molly pushed my hair back, "What on Earth did you intend to do?"

I frowned, "Help get the lads off the stage."

"You against a mob of angry teenagers? How did you think that would work out?"

"A lot better than this, I can tell you that."

Molly shook her head, "You need to think before you leap, Melly, one day, you're going to get yourself killed."

Janice glanced around the emptying cavern. Very few teenagers actually remained. A few were injured and nursed their injuries as they left. I saw a group of lads carrying out they're black and blue friend. Most looked dazed. I sneered at each and every one of them. 

"Bloody teens," I stood and brushed myself off.

Molly shook her head, "At least you're alright. Nearly gave me a heart attack, you did."

"I couldn't just stand there," I replied, "Those hormonal teens were going to trample the band."

"I swear, Amelia, you're going to be the death of me."

I shook my head, doing my best to brush off Molly's concerned hands. As much as I enjoyed being in contact with her, her fussing over me was annoying. She was looking over the bruises on my side, even lifting my shirt to do so, though I quickly pushed her away. She simply frowned.

"We-we should go and make sure the lads are alright," Janice said, in a tiny voice.

I glanced up at her. She had yet to stop shaking or regain any of her color. She looked like a terrified child. I laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Jan, you alright? You look paler than usual."

"I'm fine-fine-I'm fine," she tried, "I'm not used to this, is all."

Molly crossed her arms, "Neither are we. Fans don't usually storm the stage."

"It's the mob mentality. It's a killer, I'm telling you," I stated.

Janice glanced up at me, "The what?"

"Mob mentality," I replied, "When one person gets it in their head they're going to do something, the rest decide to go along with it."

"When the first person decided they were going to physically revolt against Ringo, the others simply followed," Molly continued.

Janice gulped, her shaking increasing. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and smiled, "Come on, let's make sure the lads are alright."

The three of us made our way into the back room. The lads were in a bigger room for once, this one had enough room for two couches. When we arrived, Brian was there as well, pacing the floor.

George was sitting on one couch, resting a bag of frozen peas against his black eye. Ringo was right next to him looking terrified. John and Paul leaned back in their couch looking rightfully pissed off.

"What the bloody fuck were they thinking?!" John exclaimed.

Brian sighed, "They liked Pete, and they want him back."

"They didn't even give Ringo a chance," George pointed out, "Before they rushed the bloody stage like a bunch of heathens."

I moved across the room to come up behind Paul. While John and Brian spoke loudly about the events that had just transpired, I leaned closer to Paul and whispered, "You alright?"

"Fine. George got the worst of it," he gestured, "Say, what happened to your arm?"

A large bruise was developing around my elbow. I shrugged, "Nothing bad."

Paul knitted his eyebrows. There was no way I was going to tell him what I did. He would forever hold it over me, never letting me forget the time I thought I could take on a huge crowd of raging teenagers. 

"Ringo, it's nothing against you," Brian said, "The crowd, as soon as one of them gets an idea, the others follow along. It's like, what's the word-"

"Mob mentality," I cut in, flashing a grin to Janice and Molly.

Brian snapped his fingers, "That's it, thank you. Mob mentality is a dreadful thing. All they needed was one angry teenager, and the entire crowd would be rioting."

"Yeah, Ringo, it's not a slight against you," George playfully pushed his shoulder.

"Course it was," Ringo replied, "You heard what they said. 'Pete forever, Ringo never.' They hate me, they do."

His confidence in himself was already so low. He already felt bad for getting Pete canned, he even felt bad for my quitting, though that had nothing to do with him. This only served to make him feel even worse. 

"Come off it, Ringo, they don't hate you. They hate change, the bunch of bastards," John stated.

Ringo didn't seem convinced, but he didn't say anymore. He became interested in a loose seam of the couch. Brian clapped his hands together, "That settles it, we're getting you a body guard."

"A bloody body guard?" John asked.

Brian nodded, "It's the only way to assure your safety."

"I'll take that as my cue," I muttered.

I flashed a supporting smile to Ringo before going to Molly and Janice. This was a topic for the lads and Brian to discuss without three imposing girls. All I wanted was to make sure they were all alright.

Molly, Janice, and I quickly left. We took the back exit out of The Cavern, walking out into the warm summer air. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain in my ribcage.

"Well, that was an eventful show, wasn't it?" I sarcastically asked.

Molly sighed, "That's one way to put it."


	45. Chin Up

The lads canceled their next four shows. It was all John's idea, mostly because he was mad, and also because he had to plan for his wedding. They all separated for a bit, spending some time with their families and girlfriends.

All except Ringo. I thought he had gone to spend time with his mother, that's what George did. John was off with Cynthia, and Paul was at home catching up on sleep. I was supposed to meet him at John's house in a few hours. Neither of us had any plans, it was just nice to spend time together, so long as he was awake when I got there.

To pass the time, I went for a walk in my favorite park. It was a simple place with only one playground set and a single loop of trail. The trees were large and covered the entire walking path, some even having branches that touched the ground. Flowers lined the pavement. Every so often, I would stop to take a picture, the camera bouncing on my chest once I had finished.

I didn't expect to see Ringo there. When I rounded a corner, coming upon the fountain with the statue of Cupid, I saw him slumped against the side. His eyes were glued to the pigeons flocking around him. He rested his elbows on his knees and allowed his arms to go limp. A camera was hung around his neck, but I knew he had yet to use it. For the first time since I'd met him, he wore a hat, one that covered every bit of his hair. It slumped over his eyes, making it seem as if he were hiding.

"You look like you ate bad biscuits or something," I commented, stepping closer.

He glanced up at me, "Oh, Mel, hi."

Every other time I'd seen him, he always had a sort of perk to his tone. There was always a hint of joy behind every word he said, but now, it had completely vanished. Without waiting for an invitation, I sat next to him, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing important."

"Course it's important," I said, "If it's got you this upset, it's got to be."

He shook his head, "They don't like me. What if they mob us again? What if Brian fires me?"

I should have guessed, this was about the night before. He still hadn't gotten over it, not that I could blame him. I couldn't imagine what that sort of thing would do to a person. His confidence could be completely shattered.

"Brian won't fire you, I can promise you that," I reassured him, "He's stressed out enough already, firing you would only make it worse. Besides, you're the greatest drummer I've ever seen, and you click with the lads better than Pete or I ever did."

Ringo snorted, "Doubt that."

"It's true. You've got exactly what this band needs, and they won't let you go."

Ringo hesitated. He continued to stare at the pigeons, watching them wander around. A few people wandered past, but nobody paid any attention to us. We sat in our own little world within the real world, a tiny bubble that was ours and ours alone. Had it not been for Ringo's sour mood, it might have been nice. 

"Why did you quit?" Ringo asked. 

"I already told you, mate," I replied, "Society's a dirty bastard. The band couldn't go any further with me, I was holding them back."

Ringo frowned, "Because the crowd didn't like you."

I could sense what he was getting at. Quickly, I jumped to divert the subject, "Sorta. They didn't like me because I'm a girl, it was the sexism, really."

"But they didn't like you," Ringo sighed, "Maybe I should just quit, get it over with."

"Come off it, Ringo," I replied.

"I'm serious."

He refused to look at me. I changed position to where I was facing him completely. Bringing my head down, I forced him to make eye contact with me, "You're not going to quit because you're stronger than that."

"I'm-what?"

"People don't make beautiful things without getting some hate for it," I told him, "Van Gogh didn't create Starry Night without first being told he was stupid. Elvis didn't become The King without some people telling him he was no good. And you can't become a great drummer without a few people telling you that you're shit. You've got to prove that you're stronger than that. Show them you can make beautiful music even if they don't like it at first. Eventually, the people who love you will overcome the people that don't."

Ringo stared at me for a moment, blinking rapidly. I waited patiently for him to absorb what I had just said. After a few minutes of rapid blinking, a small smile began to form on his lips.

"You really think so?" he asked.

I grinned, "I know so. You're better than you think, Ringo, and the world is going to see that, I promise."

Without warning, Ringo reached forward and pulled me into a hug. I tried to ignore the pain from my bruises, instead, smiling into the hug. When we pulled away, he was smiling brighter than ever.

"I won't quit," he announced, "They can hate me all they want, but I'll show them. I'll create my own Starry Night with me drums."

I grinned, "That's the spirit."

It seemed as if his confidence was slowly building back up. The only way to completely rebuild it was for him to go on stage and be met with nothing but cheers. Soon, the entire world will see, Ringo Starr was really and truly a star.

Perhaps I could sympathize with him because I knew what he was going through. I had never been mobbed before, but I had eggs thrown at me, and I'd faced plenty of jeers. Both of us had faced a crowd that hated us because of something we couldn't help. Ringo can't help that Pete was fired, it had nothing to do with him, just like I can't help being a girl. The crowd hates us all because of one factor, conveniently ignoring our playing.

"Want to go for a walk?" I asked.

Ringo nodded, "Love too. This here is my favorite park in all of Liverpool."

"Really? Mine too."

We stood up and began to walk side by side down the rocky paths. The crunch of gravel beneath my boots was oddly satisfying. I could hear the distant sound of a dog barking and a group of children laughing. Ringo stopped to take pictures of trees and flowers just like I did before I came upon him. 

"I caught one of your shows the other night," Ringo said, "Pretty good, you are."

I grinned, "Thanks."

"Did you write the songs?"

"Some of them," I shrugged, "Molly, Jan, and I all work together to get them written."

Ringo nodded, "They're good. I like the one about birds."

"George and I wrote that one a few years ago."

The two of us had decided to share equal credit for it. Either band could play it, though The Beatles seemed to favor John and Paul's songs. Only once had I ever seen them play The Birds, and that was back in The Quarrymen days.

"Do you play anything other than drums?" I asked.

"Tambourine," Ringo replied, "Bongos. Maracas. I like drums, though. Do you?"

I shrugged, "Drums weren't my first instrument, I played piano first. Paul taught me the trumpet, and I know the violin and the flute. I started to learn the saxophone, but, I don't know, it didn't click."

"That's a lot to keep up with," Ringo muttered.

"I like a variety. I'd like to learn guitar, to help with the band. Paul said he'd teach me, but it'll be hard, cause he's a leftie and I'm a rightie."

"You could always ask John or George," Ringo suggested.

I snapped my fingers, "Ringo, you're a genius."

Ringo beamed. I knew John was too busy with his wedding to teach me, nor would he want to. It wasn't his 'style' to teach someone guitar. George, however, would, I knew he would. It would be much easier to learn from George than to try and flip the chords in my mind while Paul taught me. He always played 'upside down', per say, due to him being left handed.

Ringo and I spent the next hour chatting about anything and everything. A few times, we paused to take pictures of each other or the world around us. Our conversation ranged from music all the way to places we wanted to visit. Both of us agreed we wanted to visit Australia more than anything. I've always wanted to hold a koala bear, and that seemed like the best place to do it.

When the clock tower uptown struck noon, I sighed. Paul would be waking up soon. I had to cut my time with Ringo short to go and visit my brother. As much as I wanted to spend time with Paul, I was having a grand time with Ringo and I didn't want to cut it short.

"I've got to go, Paul's waiting for me," I smiled at my friend, "See you later, then?"

Ringo nodded, "Bye."

I waved before hurrying off towards John's house. The place was empty, save for Paul. John's Aunt Mimi had moved out, and left the place with John to sell. Only a few people had come by to check it out, but none had bought yet. That left John and Paul with an empty house.

Thunder cracked in the distance, making me pick up my pace. The last thing I wanted was to be caught in the rain. Rain was a beautiful thing, but it always made me run and hide my head. The water tended to ruin my sweaters, and I wasn't keen on buying another one. I arrived at John's door just as it began to sprinkle.

"Paul!" I called after he didn't answer for a few minutes, "Paul, wake up!"

I heard loud footsteps coming down the stairs. The door flung open to reveal a half-asleep Paul. His hair was a complete mess, and he was still in his pajamas. He stared at me for a moment before he realized who he was looking at.

"Lia, what're you doing here?" he asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Is it a crime to visit my brother?"

"I s'pose not."

"You're the one who invited me, anyway," I said, "Let me in before I get soaked."

Paul blinked, "Right, almost forgot, come ed."

He stepped aside and let me in. Just as he shut the door, it began to pour. I glanced out the window and smiled, "Good timing."


	46. Lennon's Wedding

I had never been to a wedding before. A few of my distant family members had gotten married in my lifetime, but I was always left at home with a babysitter. The first wedding I had ever been to was so small, there were only fifteen chairs. Cynthia invited her family, which was small enough as it is, they only took up about eight of the chairs. John invited his family as well, which consisted of his aunt and his closest friends.

The wedding itself was short and sweet. John and Cynthia exchanged vows, kissed, and then it was back to Mimi's house for the reception. During the wedding, most of the family members were crying. Only John's side of the room didn't shed a single tear. In fact, his side beamed throughout the entire ceremony. Once the bride and groom were heading down the aisle, Paul let out a shrill whistle while George whooped. I cheered. John glared at us, but his smile betrayed him. 

The reception was much more fun than the wedding. John had cleared out the living room and turned it into a dance room. The wooden floorboard provided the perfect place for a bunch of wedding guests to dance. Refreshments and snacks were in the kitchen, and chairs lined the one-time dining room.

I sat next to Molly in the dining room. We watched as John and Cynthia spun around the dance floor, laughing the entire time. Paul and George were dancing near each other, though they never touched. Every so often, John would look at Paul, and they would both laugh.

"What a nice wedding," Molly commented.

I shrugged, "Bit boring, I think."

"It was beautiful," Molly argued, "And the cake was delicious."

A half-eaten wedding cake sat in the exact center of the kitchen counter. The white icing was all messed up, and the bride and groom figures had long since vanished. A few empty plates sat next to it, waiting for someone to come up for seconds.

"You look lovely in your dress," I commented.

My words didn't do her justice. In truth, she looked positively radiant, like a beautiful drop of sunlight. Yellow was not one of my favorite colors, but she wore it well. It complimented her naturally golden hair and bright blue eyes. Her smile only made her look even more beautiful, "So do you. I told you a dress wouldn't be that bad."

"Sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do," I sighed, "Especially for the sake of a friend."

I glanced up at John. I loathed dresses more than anything. They chaffed, there was a draft, and the looseness of the garment made me feel like I was in my knickers. Overall, they were uncomfortable. Under other circumstances, I would have fought wearing a dress. It wasn't respectable for anyone to show up to a wedding in anything other than formal attire. The guests reflected whoever they came for, and I came for John.

"Oi! Melly!"

I glanced over towards the front porch. Ringo was just coming in, smiling and waving at me. I waved back at him. A woman I had never met was hanging off his arm, glancing around nervously.

"I'll be back, Molly," I smiled at my friend.

She smiled back. I quickly jumped from the chair and glided towards Ringo. The soles of my flats had been worn through to the point where they were practically just cloth. They glided across the wooden floor with ease.

"'Ello, Ringo," I smiled, pulling him into an embrace.

Ringo hugged back, "'Ello, Melly. I'd like you to meet my girl, Maureen."

The woman smiled at me. She seemed to be about my age, give or take. Her hair was as black as a blackbird and circled her face as if she was shoving her face into a photo frame. The cut of her bangs and the sides of her hair was a perfect square, not a single hair was out of place. She had very defined features, including sharply outlined eyes. Overall, she was beautiful.

"Pleasure to meet you," I shook her hand, "The name's Amelia, though, my friends call me Melly."

"The pleasure is all mine. Ritchie told me about you," Maureen said.

I glanced at Ringo, "Oh, did he now? Good things, I hope."

"All good," Maureen laughed, "He said you're a good drummer, and you're close to the band."

"Got to be. Grew up with one of them, the rest kind of just appeared."

Maureen laughed loudly. Ringo quickly joined in, until both of them were giggling uncontrollably. The music abruptly stopped, causing me to turn around. Paul was changing the record. When it started back up again, I recognized the sound of Elvis Presley.

"Oh! Ritchie, come on, let's dance!" Maureen exclaimed.

She dragged Ringo onto the dance floor. I playfully waved before gliding back to Molly. She was smiling and tapping her foot to the beat of the music. I could see her slowly mouthing the lyrics. When I made it to her, I stopped and offered my hand, "Care to dance?"

"Love too," she grinned.

I pulled her up and we went to the dance floor. We occupied our own corner and began to dance together. She kicked off her heels about halfway through.

The two of us spun around, laughing the entire time. My skirt swished around my legs making a noise similar to the crinkling of wrapping paper. Molly's billowed out, nearly tripping me several times.

The pure adrenaline was enough to keep me going all night. Everyone in the room was excited. Heat built up around every body, expanding to fit the entire dance floor. It wasn't an uncomfortable heat. It was the sort that made you feel safe, while, at the same time, you were energized beyond belief.

When the song ended, Molly spun around twice before stopping just in front of me. She placed her wrists on my shoulders and let her hands hang limply. I rested my hands on my hips and grinned. Both of us were out of breath.

"Glad to know you're still shorter than me," I cockily grinned.

Molly huffed. When she was in her heels, she staggered a few inches above my head. Now that she was back on the ground she returned to being one inch shorter than me.

"I can put my heels back on," she grinned.

I laughed, "I'll still be taller than you in reality."

"Sod off, Amelia."

We both cackled. The other dancers had slowed just like us, swaying to the beat of the slow song. John and Cynthia took the middle with Ringo and Maureen swaying not too far away. Paul and George, having no birds to dance with, swayed with each other. Both cackled loudly at their own joke.

Molly leaned forward to rest her forehead on my shoulder and take a deep breath, "I'm bloody tired now."

I blamed my heart speeding up on the adrenaline wearing off. The fact that my skin was tingly was only because of the sweat appearing as beads. It was because I was tired, nothing else, just exhaustion. 

"Me too," I replied, "What I wouldn't give for a whiskey right about now."

"There's no liquor, Mimi's insistence." 

I sighed deeply. John's Aunt had never been one for alcohol or cigarettes. He always had to drink and smoke when she wasn't around.

Molly and I separated a moment later. She went to go get a glass of water while I leaned against the wall. I watched the couples sway together. Some of Cynthia's family had joined in, sticking to the sidelines and swaying offbeat.

The heat was slowly dying down. People were beginning to get tired as the hours wore on. It was getting late, and the guests were feeling it. Slowly, they began to vanish, starting with Cynthia's family and spreading to the rest of the group.

"Bloody good party, I'll admit," Paul raised his glass.

John, Cynthia, Paul, George, Brian, Ringo, Maureen, Molly, and I all remained afterward. We sat in a perfect circle in the middle of the dance floor, an open bottle of whiskey sitting in the center. John had finally pulled out his secret stash as soon as his aunt left.

"Bloody brilliant, it was!" John exclaimed.

Cynthia leaned against him, smiling the entire time. Both practically radiated happiness. It showed in their rosy skin, their bright eyes, and the crows feet wrinkles showing in the corners of their eyes. I had never seen John as happy as he was that night. His smile was so large, it could have overtaken the moon.

"To the lovely bride and groom," Brian lifted his glass, "May their lives be lived in happiness."

"Here here!"

Everybody tapped glasses. We all downed our drinks, laughing all the way. It surprised me that Brian was letting the lads drink this much. He said time and time again, image is everything, and the image of a bunch of drunk Beatles wasn't a very good one.

Of course, nobody was supposed to know John was getting married. If nobody knew he was getting married, then nobody would know to look inside that empty house to find a bunch of people in formal dress drinking and laughing like a bunch of hooligans. That was the first time in a long time where nobody had to keep up an image, they could just be themselves. Little did we know, it would be the last time as well.

That night was cause for celebration. John had finally found someone to love him despite anything, and soon, he was going to be a father. Even beyond that, we finally had a moment to ourselves. It was a moment where everyone could take a breath and genuinely smile.


	47. Beginning To Make Things Right

It was bound to happen eventually. We couldn't go through our lives without making up with our Father. No, scratch that, Paul and I wouldn't allow it. Knowing that our father was out there somewhere and we couldn't see him was heartbreaking. He was all we had left, after losing Mum, we couldn't lose him too.

"Nervous?" Paul asked.

I nodded, "Course."

"Me too."

"It'll be fine," I tried, "We'll talk like respectable adults and we'll make things right."

Paul straightened his coat, "Right. Respectable adults."

We both stood on the curb, staring at the house we had grown up in. The paint was still peeling, the door was still slightly crooked, and it still smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. Even from the pavement outside, I could smell the familiar smells of home. If I concentrated hard enough, I could smell Mom's favorite rose perfume.

I should have been elated to return home, but, instead, all I felt was dread. Inside that house was many memories, some of them good and some of them bad. Our father was in that house, waiting to yell at us once again. As much as we would hope for a casual, respectable, conversation, Dad could have other plans. 

Paul knocked. He stood, his back straight and his hands behind his back, waiting for an answer. I was just behind him, doing my best to look confident.

Dad answered. He looked better than he ever did when we lived with him, and I felt let down. He was clean shaven, full of color, and his smile was large. He always used to look tired, and it was a rare occasion when he shaved. Us leaving seemed to be the best thing for him. I should have been happy for him, but I felt upset. It should be the other way around. His children leaving should have torn him apart, not put him back together. In that moment, I felt all of the walls in my heart tower higher. 

"Paul, Amelia, I wasn't expecting you," Dad smiled brightly.

Paul didn't return the gesture, "You should have."

"Right. Come in, then, no use in you standing out there."

Dad stepped a side and let us in. Stepping inside that house felt just as if I had only been there yesterday; as if it hadn't been nearly three years since I'd last left. Everything was still the same, from the positioning of the furniture to the dust bunnies in the corners. Dad even had our childhood pictures still lining the staircase.

Paul and I went straight into the living room. Dad followed, watching us fall onto the couch that still had imprints of three growing children. My fingers traced over the coarse fabric, taking in every familiar stitch. I could even find the stain where I spilled my pop several years ago.

Everything seemed so familiar, yet so strange. It was like walking into a scene from a dream, or a dream of a memory. I knew every crack in the wall, every particle of dust floating through the air; nothing had changed, but everything felt different.

Dad sat in his favorite armchair and stared at us. For a few minutes, we sat in silence, each waiting for the other to say something. I kept my eyes on the floor, trying my best to ignore Dad's stares. Paul played with his fingers.

"If you're waiting for us to apologize, it's not going to happen," I finally said.

Dad sighed, "I know. It's me who should be apologizing."

"You're not wrong there," Paul muttered.

Both of us looked up at him expectantly. His eyes shone, but not with tears, with determination. The look on his face scared me slightly, but I refused to show it. He always had that look when he knew he was about to win an argument. I grew up fearing that look. 

"I'm sorry for how I reacted," Dad said, "I could come up with several excuses, but the bottom line is I'm sorry."

Paul frowned, "Are you really?"

"I am, I promise."

"You have a history of promising things you don't mean," I crossed my arms, "And lying, mostly."

"I'm not lying, this time, I swear on your-"

"Don't go there," Paul's voice became laced with ice.

Both of us glared at him. He gulped slowly. I could sense Paul's muscles tensing as he tried to hold back all the raw emotions boiling inside. I could feel it too, in the pit of my stomach, a swirl of several different emotions just waiting to get out.

"I would like to start making amends," Dad said, "Could you ever forgive me?"

I frowned, "I already told you, we might, but-"

"Not immediately," Paul completed.

Dad blinked, "I can understand that. What I did was terrible and I want you to know I regret it."

A sarcastic comment was on the tip of my tongue, but Paul elbowed me. He gave me a look telling me to shut up before I made matters worse. Reluctantly, I shut my mouth.

"Amelia told me you recorded a song," Dad smiled, "I'm very proud of you."

Paul smiled slightly, "Thanks. We've got a new manager, a chap called Brian Epstein, swears he'll get us a record deal."

"I can't wait to hear it."

"Really?" Paul asked, "Last time I checked, you seemed pretty against it."

"People change."

"Hardly."

The two began to have a stare down. I cleared my throat in an effort to break it. Dad flicked his eyes over to me, "What about your group?"

"We don't have a manager, yet," I sighed, "We've got a steady gig, though."

"I'm proud of you," Dad said, "Both of you."

My heart leaped, but my brain kicked in. As much as I wanted to believe him, I knew he could easily be lying. He was a liar, even when he wasn't purposefully doing it. It took a lot of analyzing to know what was true and what was false.

"If you would like, you two can move back in, have a steady roof over your head," Dad suggested.

Paul frowned, "I'm staying in Aunt Mimi's house until it's sold."

"And I'm staying with Molly," I said, "And I'd like to stay there."

Dad sighed, "Alright, so long as you two are happy, then, so am I."

Paul and I exchanged glances. Both of us desperately wanted to believe him. It took a lot of willpower to hold myself back from rushing to hug him. The joy of having my father back, even if only slightly, was overpowering. Deep inside, there was a little girl crying out to hug her father once again.

For all we know, he could be telling the truth. He could truly want to make things right, or, he could be lying for the sake of lying. It would take a long time to find the truth, but, when we did, everything would turn out alright.

After all, we weren't children anymore.


	48. Music Festival

Sleep was something I often took for granted. Molly called me an insomniac; I say I'm a night thinker. I got the best ideas late at night when the entire world was asleep except for me. It was then that I wrote the best poetry.

I gazed down at the sleeping figure of Molly. She was curled up in a tight ball, her head slowly inching closer to my thigh. Her hair was pulled back in a tight braid that was slowly loosening. With the moonlight shining through the window, I could see the sparkle of drool on her cheek.

A notebook was open on my lap, my pen poised to write, but I couldn't find anything. All I could do was look down at the sleeping figure of Molly, watching her chest slowly rise and fall. Something about her was melodic, like the music she created when she was awake followed her into her sleep. 

We'd spent many nights together. More than once I had woken up with her across me or vice versa. Both of us were restless sleepers, and we were bound to move around. It wasn't abnormal for me to see her sleeping. I had seen her like that a thousand times before, but that night, something stopped me.

Perhaps it was the way she looked like a portrait of a beautiful princess from the medieval era, or perhaps it was the way her breathing followed a rhythm unlike anyone else's. I couldn't quite understand why Molly caught my attention, but she did, and she held it.

"You're going to be the death of me," I muttered.

I began to scratch words onto the paper. They flowed out like a waterfall. Each word followed the next in a perfect marching band, all encompassing the feelings I didn't know I had.

At the end of the paper, I had a song. It was short, no longer than a minute or two, but it held everything I had hidden deep inside. Feelings and emotions I felt but didn't recognize ended up in that song. I called it; Moonlight Through The Curtains.

"Rubbish," I muttered, turning the page away.

***

"Molly, come on, we're going to be late!" I exclaimed.

Exhaustion filled my entire body, making my muscles weak and my limbs sag behind. The lack of sleep was bound to catch up with me sometime; I just wish it wasn't on that day.

With the help of Brian Epstein, Revolution had landed a gig at a small music festival just outside of Liverpool. It would take us an hour to get there by van, but that was nothing compared to the ultimate gain we would receive. This music festival was filled with music critics, producers, and managers. People there could launch our popularity tenfold.

"I can't find my bloody shoes!" Molly exclaimed.

I sighed deeply. We already had our instruments, including a drum set loaned to us by the club we were playing at. It was large and hard to lug around, but Janice was bringing her Mum's van. We would be able to transport it no problem.

Molly finally came rushing down the stairs. She was shrugging on a jacket as she did so. For a moment, I simply watched her. She smiled brightly at me, "Ready?"

"Been waiting for you."

"Come off it, I was only up there a few minutes."

"A long few minutes."

Molly rolled her eyes. She grabbed her guitar case and sighed, "We've got to get our own instruments."

"We've got to get the money first."

It took fifty pounds for us to rent those instruments. It would be even more expensive to buy them, but cheaper in the long run. If Revolution didn't start taking off soon, we would need to get real jobs in addition.

Molly hurried out the front door. It took me a few minutes to lug each piece of the drum set onto the front yard. Just as I pulled out the largest drum, Janice drove up. The first thing we saw was the hippie designs decorating the side of the van. From peace signs to flower doodles, that van had it all. It brought The Merry Pranksters to Liverpool before their time. 

"'Ello," Janice grinned.

She jumped out and went to open the back. The heavy smell of alcohol met my nose, but I ignored it. Molly shoved in her guitar case and began to help me load the drums.

"We're going to be late," I commented.

Molly shook her head, "We've got plenty of time. At least an hour to get there."

"That's not plenty of time."

Eventually, we managed to get every piece of the drum in the back of the van. Janice slammed the doors shut and jumped back into the driver's seat. Molly took the middle while I rode on the side. Janice took off down the road.

Liverpool wasn't known for its traffic. Most people chose to walk or take the bus. Those who did drive were few and far between, leaving the roads mostly open.

"It's not a bloody right!" Molly exclaimed.

She had the map open and covering nearly half the front window. Janice had to lean forward to be able to see. Both Molly and I were buried behind the paper.

"It is!" I said, furiously pointing to a small park, "Look, there it is, and we're here."

I pointed to a road several blocks away. The only way to get to the park was a right turn. Molly rolled her eyes, "Look, take Wilbury Drive, and we'll get there faster."

"No we won't, we'll get there five minutes later."

"Will someone just tell me where to go?" Janice asked.

I quickly pulled down the paper, "Right!"

Janice turned instinctively. We were all shoved against my door. Two female bodies squished me against a window. When we were straight, I smirked at Molly.

"Tosser," Molly muttered.

Janice began to panic, "Was that wrong?"

"No, Jan, it's fine," I smiled, "We'll get there in no time."

"Or we'll get lost," Molly commented.

"Sod off."

"You're both driving me batty," Janice said, "Be quiet before I scream."

Molly and I both fell into silence. Having seen Janice's panic attacks before, we weren't keen on her having one while driving. Especially since neither Molly nor I could drive. 

Just as I had predicted, we made it to the festival quicker than Molly's route. We pulled in behind our stage with twenty minutes to spare. The festival coordinator was pacing behind the stage. He was hunched over, making him look even more like a pig. He seemed to be permanently squatting with a squished face.

"You're late!" he shouted as soon as we stepped out.

I raised my hands, "Only by a few minutes. We'll be ready in time, cross me heart."

"Get up there and get playing, we've got an audience to please."

He waddled away, muttering under his breath about never doing a friend a favor ever again. When he wasn't looking, I stuck my tongue out at him, earning a slap on the shoulder from Molly.

"Come on, girls, you heard the man," I smirked, "We've got an audience to please."

Janice and Molly smiled. We went to the back and began unloading. Molly and Janice quickly vanished with their instruments, followed by me painfully lugging up two pieces of drums. Just as I made it to the stairs, I felt one of them being pulled from my hand.

"Oi!"

I was ready to hit someone for taking my drums, but I came eye to eye with Ringo. He smiled his wonky smile, "Thought you'd like some help."

"Thanks. These are a pain."

Ringo nodded. He set the drum piece down on the stage and said, "You set up, I'll get the rest."

"Thanks, Ringo."

"Course."

He vanished behind the stage. I began to set up the drums. As he added more, I put them together. I had the entire kit assembled quicker than ever before.

When I first started as a drummer, the hardest part was setting up the drums. It was like a complex puzzle. If I set it up wrong, I ran the risk of the entire set collapsing on me in the middle of the show. As time wore on, however, I had mastered the art of setting up a drum set. 

"You're a life saver, honestly," I clapped his shoulder.

He grinned. Molly waved at him from a few feet away, a gesture that he returned. I glanced between them before it dawned on me, "Wait a minute, what're you doing here?"

"Came to see you play," Ringo replied, "Georgie and I tagged along with Brian."

"George and Brian are here?"

"Yeah, out back, talking to the manager man."

I ran a hand through my hair, "S'pose I should talk to them. I've got something to ask Georgie, anyways."

Ringo gestured for me to follow him. We traced a path around the van and towards a tent several kilometers away. Inside, Brian was talking with the waddling coordinator. George was sitting on a stool outside, smoking a cigarette. A few other performers and visitors passed, but none recognized George and Ringo, something which I could tell they were grateful for. 

"'Ello, Melly," George smiled.

I returned the gesture, "'Ello, Georgie, didn't expect to see you here."

"Brian said he was coming. Didn't have anything better to do, so, why not."

"Glad you came," I replied, "Say, Georgie, I've got a question for ya."

George waited for me to continue. I knitted my fingers together and asked, "Would you teach me to play guitar?"

"Me? Why not ask Paul?"

"Paul's a leftie," I replied, "Him teaching me would do about as much good as a monkey teaching a fish to climb a tree."

George laughed, "Alright, I'll show you. Come round my house tomorrow afternoon."

"Thanks, I knew I could count on you."

Ringo smiled at me. It had been his idea originally to ask George about it. I hadn't gotten a chance until just then, right before a big performance. Every other time one of us was busy, or I got distracted, or a long list of excuses. 

"Say, don't you go on in a few minutes?" Ringo asked.

I gasped, "Bloody hell, you're right! Got to go, see you, lads!"

"Good luck."

I rushed to the stage. Molly and Janice were waiting with their guitars at the ready. I practically fell into the stool. Molly glanced back at me and smirked, "Good timing."

"Aren't I always?"

"Not really."

"Doesn't matter, I'm here, let's do this," I grinned.

Molly nodded. I started us off, hitting the drums in a precise manner to create the sound this song needed. None of us had music sheets, as we had them memorized. It was easier to memorize a song when you wrote it. 

The audience was larger than we had anticipated. It was the largest group I had ever played for, including my days with The Beatles. The rows stretched back across the lawn, and every seat was filled with smiling faces.

I expected the usual reaction; little claps and maybe a whistle or two. Most crowds weren't that enthusiastic. We were a new band, we were still discovering our sound, and I didn't expect us to get big quickly.

Perhaps it was the alcohol they were serving in the festival, but, instead of the usual reaction, we were met with an entire audience of cheers. People clapped along, danced, laughed, and cheered through the entire set. The pure energy of the crowd was so strong, it pierced my exhaustion and gave me a burst of energy.

None of us had ever been met with that sort of response. Janice and Molly smiled brighter than they ever had before during a performance. Our music became stronger. The joyful audience in front of us invigorated the passion we always had.

"Thank you!" Molly was nearly out of breath, "You have been a wonderful audience. Goodnight!"

They clapped loudly. A few people whistled, some even cheered loudly. I grinned brightly; waving so hard my arm could have easily fallen off. 

"That was the single greatest performance of my entire life!" I exclaimed as soon as we were off the stage.

I grabbed Molly with one hand and Janice with the other. Holding their wrists, I spun them around, laughing the entire way. They joined in my celebration.

"They liked us," Janice marveled, "They actually liked us."

"Jan, they did more than that, they loved us," Molly hugged her tightly.

I joined the hug. We all embraced, bouncing around and laughing like a trio of gits. Two more people latching on to us interrupted our tiny celebration.

"Don't stop because of us," George wiggled his thick eyebrows.

Ringo had his face between Molly and Janice. His trademark goofy smile was shared between everyone in the group.

I laughed loudly and jumped a few more times. George and Ringo jumped along with us, even sparing a few laughs. We only broke apart when Brian arrived and cleared his throat.

"Beautiful performance, ladies," he clapped his hands together, "Truly lovely."

As if reading each other's minds, the three of us did mock curtsey. We were so in sync, anyone would think we shared a brain. Even George and Ringo exchanged glances before laughing at us. 

"Thank you, Mr. Epstein," I grinned cheekily.

Brian smiled, "You all did such an amazing job. You three have talent, true talent."

"Don't go cheating on us now, Eppy," George commented.

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "You're cheating on us? Thought what we had was special."

"I'm not cheating on you boys," Brian shook his head, "I'm simply expanding my horizons."

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "What, are we a bunch of queers now?"

George and Ringo howled in laughter. Brian smiled a little, but I could tell that smile was fake. For a moment, I thought he was offended, if only slightly.

"What's happening?" Janice whispered.

"I haven't the faintest idea," I replied, "What're you on about, Brian?"

Brian smiled, "You ladies have potential, a very strong potential, I might add. And, you are tied to my boys, it would only make sense if I managed you as well."

I blinked. All three of us were silent, staring at Brian. He had told me about this before, but I didn't think he was serious.

What was more, I wasn't sure if I wanted to. He was the first person we had that offered to be our manager, it's not like we had much of a choice, but I wanted to turn him down. He was already the manager of a band I had quit and tried my best grow beyond. I never tried to step away, as I told the lads, I'd always be right there, I just wouldn't be a part of the band. All I would be was a backstage assistant and moral support. Revolution wasn't The Beatles, and I intended to keep it that way. The only connection I would accept came about socially, not contractually. 

"I truly believe I could help you," Brian said.

He kept his eyes on me for an extended amount of time. At first, I thought it was because he knew me more, but the look in his eyes said differently. He knew something that I didn't, something that had to do with me.

"No," all three of us said together.

Brian seemed taken aback, "What, why?"

"It's nothing against you, Brian, you're a remarkable manager," I explained, "We just don't want to be known as The Beatles' Shadow forever."

Molly nodded, "We're our own band. We're already tied with The Beatles, and we always will be. We want to go our own way, signing with you will only bind us tighter to this boy band."

"Who you callin' boy band?" George scoffed.

Ringo looked genuinely hurt. I sighed, "We don't want to offend you lads, honest. This is nothing against you. We just want to get to the top on our own."

We would always be tied to The Beatles. Both bands had shared a drummer, and each member from both bands acted as a groupie for the other at some point in time. I was always called The Beatles' Number One Groupie, and I was happy with that, so long as it didn't affect Revolution.

Revolution was exactly that, a revolution. We couldn't very well fight the patriarchy while tied to a boy band. We had to step out and get where we were going on our own strengths.

"I understand," Brian replied, "I should have known. You girls are strong, you're going places, but you have to do it on your own."

"Exactly. We just don't want to be shadows anymore," Molly said.

Janice nodded. Ringo's face softened as he slowly began to understand. I didn't want to offend them, they had to understand. We had to fight this battle on our own.

The Beatles and Revolution would forever be known together. We were two halves of a whole, the boys and the girls, both aiming for the same goal. We were tied together no matter what, but there were limits. Being each other's groupies was all right; we would be there for moral support and to provide a bit of assistance. There was a point when being associated became bad for both bands. Socially, we could be connected. Musically, we would always have a bit of influence on each other just like Buddy Holly had an influence on all of us. In reality, we were two completely different bands. 

Besides, I didn't want to go through this adventure without my best mates; those lads and the two girls were my dearest friends. We would be together no matter what. All six of us would go through this adventure together. We were separate bands, separate people, but we were still united.

The Beatles and Revolution would always be tied. To this day, they are considered sister bands, but they are not the same thing. Had we signed with Brian, Revolution would have been seen as nothing more than The Beatles' shadow, or worse, we would have been completely forgotten. By not signing with Brian, we effectively carved a path of our own without truly separating ourselves from The Beatles. 

"Even if you do not sign with me, I would still like to help you," Brian smiled, "I believe a friend of mine might be of assistance to you."

I cocked my head, "A manager friend?"

"Yes, I believe I can still help you."


	49. The Revolution Is Strong

After denying Brian, I felt bad. I felt as if I had offended him and the lads. They all said they understood, and they weren't offended. I told them we would never truly separate, Revolution just had to carve their own path. Even if they understood, I still felt bad.

"Come off it, Melly, it's nothin' to feel bad about," Ringo tried.

George nodded, "We all understand. You've got your own thing going, we're proud of you."

"Besides, it's not like you're abandoning us," Ringo said, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

I laughed, "You lads wouldn't know what to do without me."

"Can't argue with that," George replied, "Let's find some food, I'm starved."

I nodded in agreement. The three of us were wandering through our favorite park. There was nothing else to do but wander aimlessly, looking for entertainment. John and Paul were writing songs, Molly was at school, and Janice was with her Mum. Everyone was busy, leaving the three of us behind.

George and Ringo have been spending a lot of time together since Ringo joined the band. Some of the time, I join in. We're like the three musketeers of Liverpool. It seemed like everybody left us more often than not. Those who were left behind tend to gravitate towards each other. 

"I bloody hate the coast," I muttered, "Smells like fish. Bad fish."

Ringo wrinkled his nose, "I've become accustomed to it."

"Doesn't mean I like it."

We waited by the wall waiting for George to return with our fish and chips. From our position, we could see the fishing boats leaving the pier. The fishermen on board threw around ropes, nets, traps, etc. Their shouts were carried on the wind all the way back to land. 

George returned with three cardboard baskets of fish and chips. He passed them out, and we all sat on the seawall, watching the waves lap at the sand.

"We're about to release another single, we are," George said around his mouthful of fish.

I grinned, "What's it called?"

"Please Please Me. Pretty good, I'd say."

"Course, you play it."

Ringo laughed loudly. George rolled his eyes, shoving more chips into his mouth. I simply smiled and looked out to the coast.

The lads were accomplishing so much in so little time, I was proud of them. They were growing steadily in popularity, they were recording songs, and they even had a Scottish tour coming up. They had evolved so far from the four kids playing in a club, and they could only grow more.

"You should play one of your songs," I said, glancing at George.

He shrugged, "John and Paul have enough to fill a show and an album."

"You can never have enough music, Georgie," I continued, "Your music is just as good as theirs, and they will recognize that soon enough."

George didn't reply. Ringo glanced between us, "You write songs?"

"Sometimes. I dunno, they're not as good as John and Paul."

"Rubbish!" I exclaimed, "Georgie, you're one of the greatest song writers I've ever met, and don't you forget it."

George grinned, "Thanks, Melly."

I only nodded. George had written several songs, all of which were shelved. The only George song ever played live was The Birds, and Revolution was the one that played it. The Beatles only once played that song, and that was back in The Quarrymen days.

After we finished our fish and chips, we began to wander back towards our neighborhoods. Ringo lived a fair bit away from the rest of us, but George and I were close. His Mum's house was just half an hour from Molly's place.

We were just about to pass Molly's house when the door slammed. My attention became diverted. I watched Reginald storm away from the house.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Dad," Reginald replied, "He's a bloody wanker, he is, and he knows it too."

Reginald had been having a lot of arguments with Mr. Mackenzie since they got home. It ranged from a variety of subjects, most of which were not worth arguing over. Reginald was the one who usually started the arguments, and it got so bad that Mrs. Mackenzie had to step in before someone was hurt. There had been many times where Molly and I had left the house just to avoid the fight we knew was bound to occur. 

"Can't be that bad, Reggie," I said.

Reginald glared at me, "Don't call me Reggie. You're just a bloody bitch who's living in my house because you're too damn lazy to get a real job! Fuck off!"

George and Ringo both looked like they were going to say something, but I held up my hands to stop them. Reginald scoffed and began to stomp away. I watched him go.

"You just let him talk to you like that?" George asked.

"He's not right in the head," I poked my temple for emphasis, "Needs help, but none of us can give it to him."

Reginald always had this look in his eyes that made me uncomfortable. It was the sort of look that came from someone born without mercy. He had no restraint. Had it not been for Regina acting as his conscious, Reginald would have snapped years ago. There's no telling what's in his head, but I know it isn't good.

"He scares me sometimes, but I know he doesn't mean it," I sighed, "He's right, too, I can't wait until I can stop mooching off the kindness of The Mackenzie's."

Ringo shook his head, "You're not lazy, Melly, you're the opposite. You're working towards your goal."

"It just takes a while, is all," George replied.

"Too long if you ask me," I muttered.

I felt guilty for staying with The Mackenzie's for so long. They had never stopped making me feel welcome; I began to think of them as family, even the twins. Mrs. Mackenzie was like a second mother to me, and Mr. Mackenzie was more my father than my real father ever could be. They were the loving family I had always longed for, ever since my Mum died.

George, Ringo, and I spent the rest of the afternoon together. None of us had any particular idea of what to do. We wandered around the town, popping into stores and talking about nothing in particular. It was simply a leisurely walk with no destination in mind.

We only had to separate when it was time for their performance at The Cavern. I bid them farewell at the front door. When they vanished, I went around the back to avoid the growing line of fans.

Revolution had a performance in an hour, so I decided to head over to the club early. Molly and Janice were supposed to meet me there, though I expected them to be late. Janice often got lost and Molly's classes tended to keep her overtime. The club owner let me in early enough for me to do a quick practice session on my drums.

Reginald was on my mind all day. The look in his eyes was different than it was before. It still held the same anger without restraint, but something had changed. Something inside of his head had finally burst. He was changing, I could sense it, and I was terrified of how. Whatever was going on inside his head was steadily growing worse. 

Reginald was always an odd child. For the time that I have known him, I have never seen him in one place for longer than ten minutes. He was always in his bedroom or away from the house. The only person who saw him for extended periods of time was Regina. She was the only person that could calm him down, and the only person that could keep him standing. Without her, he would have done something to hurt himself or someone else a long time ago.

Molly shared my concerns. We weren't worried for our safety or the safety of her parents, rather, for his safety. All of us had read stories of the horrors mentally ill people had to go through. Back then, people weren't sure how to handle mental illness. It was seen as nothing short of demonic. Without proper care, Reginald could hurt himself. Molly had told me time and time again she was terrified someone would put Reginald in a hospital. She was scared they would hurt him, or he would hurt himself. We were all so worried about him and what might become of him that we forgot to worry about the rest of the world. 

All anyone in that family wanted was to make sure he was safe, but that was nearly impossible when you have no idea what's going on. Nobody ever spoke about mental illness nor did they do anything to work towards a cure. There were some medicines, but not many. Mental illness was seen as taboo back then. Even I knew it was wrong, and I was raised a Catholic. Even if I knew something wasn't right, there was nothing I could do. None of us knew how to handle mental illness or even what it was. 

"Oi, Amelia, some lady here to see ya," the owner interrupted my thoughts.

I glanced up, "Thanks, Clive, let her in."

Clive was a stick like man; I was always terrified any gust of wind would blow him over. He walked with a sense of grace. He was as kind as he was skinny and just as friendly. The moment we met, I knew he and I would be good friends. He had replaced the old owner when they moved from Liverpool. 

I gently set my drumsticks on the stool. The sound of the back door opening and shutting echoed through the club. It wasn't as closed in as The Cavern, but the echo was just as loud.

The club we played in was larger than The Cavern, specifically because it wasn't aiming to look like an underground tunnel. It was about the size of an average living room with tables and chairs scattered about. The stage was just large enough to fit two people and a drum kit without anyone getting hit, but that was it. Any more and the band members would come out with black eyes.

"Eleanor McCartney?" a woman's voice asked.

I glanced up. The woman Clive had let in was beautiful. She was middle aged, probably around her late thirties or early forties. The first thing I thought when I saw her was that she resembled the models I read about in magazines. Her raven hair was in perfect waves that framed her face just enough without covering it. Her eyebrows were perfect, her eyes held intelligence, and her skin was practically flawless.

She was obviously not from Liverpool. The dress she wore was too colorful for that city. She didn't have the usual Liverpudlian drag, and she did not share the overly pale skin as the rest of us. Perhaps that was what first made me think she was beautiful, she was different.

"It's Amelia, actually," I replied, "I go by my middle name, family tradition, it's confusing, I know."

The woman laughed, "Well, Amelia, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ellen Marie."

Her accent was not Liverpudlian. It didn't sound British at all. I couldn't quite place it, for all I know, she could be American. The only accents I'd ever heard were Scottish and British.

"The pleasure's all mine."

I knelt at the end of the stage to shake her hand. Her skin was abnormally soft. For a moment, I didn't want to let go, but I realized that would be seen as creepy. I pulled back a moment too soon and stuffed my hands in my pockets. 

"I am a friend of Brian Epstein," Ellen said.

I smiled, "Ole Bri, good man, he is."

"Yes," Ellen replied, "He said you are in need of a manager, and he suggested I come by. He and a lively group of young boys told me you play well."

"I like to think we do. Are you a manager?" I asked.

Ellen nodded, "Yes. I manage a singer by the name of Crystal Kensington."

"Hey, I've seen her records in the store before. She's pretty good."

Ellen nodded once again. I watched her waves bounce. Part of me wondered if her hair was naturally wavy or if she did something to it. I shook myself when I realized I was staring.

"If you truly are as good as Brian says, perhaps we could talk about making a deal," Ellen suggested.

I lifted my eyebrows, "You want to sign us?"

"I haven't exactly heard you play, but Brian talked about you favorably," Ellen's eyes sparkled, "Besides, I do believe this world needs more female musicians."

"So do I. Stay for the show, you won't be disappointed," I grinned.

Ellen nodded. My heart had sped up a bit with excitement. Finally, we had the prospect of a manager that wasn't Brian Epstein. We could finally carve our own path. With Ellen's help, we could take Revolution to a whole new level.

Brian Epstein was not our manager, but he did so much for us, he might as well have been. From getting us gigs to finding us a manager, he had done just as much for that band as I had myself. He was a great man, one of the best I ever met, and I made sure he knew it. 

Janice arrived first, shortly followed by Molly. They came in the back door within seconds of each other. When I saw them, I leaped from the drum set and rushed to meet them at the stage.

"Molly! Jan! Guess what?" I was practically jumping.

Molly raised her hands, "Bloody hell, Melly, calm down. What's gotten into you?"

"There's a woman here named Ellen Marie," I smiled, "She's a manager."

"A manager?!" Janice nearly shouted.

I shushed her, "Yes. She said she would like to be our manager if she likes how we play."

"Blimey!" Molly exclaimed.

"We've got to play our best tonight, lasses."

Molly nodded. Janice was steadily getting paler and paler. As the club began to fill, Janice looked like she was about to throw up.

She stood at the back of the stage, holding her guitar and trembling. She didn't have much color to begin with, but now she looked like a walking sheet. Molly and I both abandoned our instruments to go to our friend.

"Jan, breath, it's alright," I placed a hand on her arm, "You're going to do fine."

Janice shook her head, "This was a terrible idea. I'm not that good, and she's going to know that, and we won't get the deal all because of me."

"Jan, no, you're the best player of us all. She'll see the talent in you just like we do," Molly smiled.

"I'm not-"

"No, don't talk like that," I interrupted, "You're a remarkable girl, Jan, and a brilliant musician. Anyone who can't see that is daft."

"Precisely. You are amazing, and that manager is going to see it. You just have to take a breath and play," Molly continued.

Janice sucked in a shaky breath. This was not the first time she had stage anxiety. Any little change made her burst into tears. Even then, a few stray tears fell down her cheeks.

"Jan, listen," Molly gently cupped Janice's cheeks and made eye contact, "The crowd's opinions don't matter. Imagine they're not there."

"Or imagine them in their knickers," I suggested.

Janice chuckled, "That could be funny."

"Imagine them in their knickers," Molly repeated, "Focus on the music, not the crowd. All that matters is the three of us and the music we make together."

Janice nodded. Molly pulled her into a comforting hug, and I quickly joined. When we broke apart, we all went to our instruments.

I put every ounce of emotion I had into that show. Every thought, feeling, and hidden emotion went into slamming those sticks onto those drums. All three of us played with all the passion we could muster. We made our audience feel everything we did. They felt happy, excited, loved, and a desire to do something great.

Halfway through the show, I glanced up. My eyes caught the flash of light behind Molly's silhouette. She was singing, belting out lyrics with the rhythmic beauty of a goddess. I watched her dance with the music as if they were in love.

I had to pull myself away. The distraction caused my drumming to be off beat, earning me a concerned glance from Janice. I simply smiled and focused on playing, making a conscious effort not to look at Molly.

When the show was over, I was out of breath and dripping with sweat. I looked as if I had just run a marathon through a swamp. Molly and Janice weren't much better off. We all bowed and exited the stage where Clive was waiting with towels.

"Brilliant performance, ladies," Clive smiled, "As they all are."

Molly laughed, "Thank you, Clive, you always were our biggest fan."

"And I always will be."

He winked at us before going to the bar. I wiped my face with the fluffy towel, allowing the fibers to soak up every inch of sweat. Just as I went to dry my hair, Ellen walked up. The towel was abandoned on my head as Ellen began to talk. 

"Excellent performance, I must say," she smiled brightly.

There was a promising twinkle in her eyes. Molly, Janice, and I all exchanged hopeful glances. We all had the same thought running through our head; please like us.

"Thank you," I finally said.

Ellen nodded, "My pleasure. I can say, Brian was not wrong about you."

"He wasn't?" Molly asked.

"You are remarkable performers, and I believe you can go far," Ellen grinned, "With my help, I truly believe we can make Revolution big."

I began to bounce on my heels. She was telling me everything I've ever wanted to hear. Molly felt it too and she began to bounce with me. Only Janice remained stationary, still shaking slightly despite our comforting remarks. 

"If you will permit me, I would like to be your manager," Ellen said.

"Yes!" Molly and I exclaimed, "A thousand times, yes!"

She stuck her hand out for us to shake. All three of us grabbed her hand at once and vigorously shook. She laughed loudly as her entire body quaked.

"Thank you, Miss Marie!" Molly exclaimed.

Ellen held up a hand, "Please, call me Ellen. I make it a point to be friends with all my clients. Know this, the battle will be difficult. Female groups have a much harder battle to fight than males. Success will not come easily."

"Ellen," I grinned, "That's why we're called Revolution."


	50. Dress For Success

Ellen proved to be a great manager mere minutes into us signing. The very first thing she did was negotiating with Clive to raise our pay. That was not difficult, as Clive was our 'biggest fan'. He agreed to raise our paycheck three pounds each.

The decision was already making our lives better. Ellen was showing us how to be a good band inside and out. She even gave Janice more methods to deal with her pre-show anxiety. She was teaching us everything we needed to know about show business, including giving me a lecture about cursing on stage. 

Just after raising our pay, Ellen told us she was going to get us new clothes. When we asked why she said exactly what Brian told me.

"Image is everything."

That includes clothing. We couldn't have a greaser, a mod, and a hippie all in one rock and roll band. The image that sold was a band that seemed unified, both in personalities and appearance. That meant we needed matching outfits. It all sounded like a child's game of dress up to me, but I went along with it for the sake of the band. 

We were to meet Ellen on Dark Horse Street where all the good clothing shops were. It would take twenty minutes to walk there, even in the snow flurry. Just before it was time to leave, I was in Molly's room searching for my boots.

"Alright, Mum!" Molly exclaimed, slowly backing into her room.

She shut the door and sighed, "We've got to get our own place."

"What was it this time?"

"I didn't eat a big enough breakfast to go out in the snow," Molly huffed, "It's not like that helps!"

I shook my head. Molly had steadily been growing more and more frustrated with her parents. I have to admit, as much as I loved Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, I was beginning to become frustrated with them as well. They were helicopter parents, and that was not something either of us could tolerate. Mrs. Mackenzie was always on us to eat more, claiming we were 'too thin' and that we needed 'energy'. Mr. Mackenzie would never let us leave the house unless we were dressed like nuns. 

"With this new pay raise, we'll have enough o get our own flat," Molly said, stepping into her boots.

I smirked, "Who said I still want to live with you?"

"You wouldn't know what to do without me," she cheekily replied.

I couldn't argue with her there. After living with her for so long, I wasn't sure if I could leave. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I couldn't talk to her every day. 

Once we both had our shoes and sweaters on, we left the room. Mrs. Mackenzie was standing in the living room dusting her book collection.

"Be careful, girls," she smiled her warm smile, "Stay warm, and make sure to look both ways, and-"

Molly interrupted, "We will, Mum, bye."

"Bye, Mrs. Mackenzie."

We didn't give her enough time to say anything more. We quickly grabbed our coats and stepped out into the afternoon.

"We could get a flat near the club," I suggested, "Then it wouldn't be such a long walk."

Molly nodded, "It would be easier. Expensive, though."

"Damn."

We chatted about different flats in different areas of town all the way to Dark Horse Street. All we could come up with were the cheap ones on the coast. The only reason they were so cheap was that they were positioned between the shipyard and the canal. Either you smelt fish or you heard them building the ships, both options took a toll on your sleep. 

Dark Horse Street was the local hangout for teens. Whenever they had an off day from school, they would wander up and down the streets looking in the windows. The majority of the crowd was teenaged girls, though there were a few boys.

Molly and I walked down the street until we spotted Ellen and Janice. They were standing by a fountain. By the way they smiled at each other, I suspected they had just gotten there.

"'Ello!" I exclaimed.

Ellen smiled at us, "Hello Amelia, Molly. Janice and I were just wondering if you would be late."

"Why does everybody think I'm always going to be late?" I asked, "I'm usually very punctual."

"That you are."

Molly greeted Janice with a hug. I quickly joined. Janice practically melted into our coats as we embraced. She was abnormally cold, I thought, but that could be because she had a longer walk than us to get there. When we dispersed, Ellen smiled at us, "Come, time to go shopping."

"I've always hated shopping. Mum used to take us to buy Easter clothes every spring. We ended up spending hours in one store," I commented.

Ellen laughed, "We won't spend hours here, I can promise you that."

Had it not been for their different appearances, I would have said Ellen and Brian were related. They both spoke with the same proper tone as if they were royalty. I had never once heard Ellen Marie use any slang or anything that even slightly resembled grammatically incorrect sentences. Just to top it all off, she even walked like she was royal, with her chin held high and her arms daintily hanging at her sides.

Ellen led us to a large clothing store on the corner. All of the people inside were her age. Not a single child or teenager was in sight. It even smelled like my grandmother's house. I recognized the pungent smell of old cloth and mothballs. 

"You girls need to resemble elegance," Ellen searched through a rack of dresses, "You will be known as the picture of grace."

I frowned, "Last I checked we were a rock and roll band, not a ballet team."

"True, but-"

"But we're female so we have to be dainty?" Molly interrupted.

Ellen glanced up at her, "No, what I'm trying to say is, you're different. To make people remember you, you have to give them something to remember."

"Like the music," I said.

"The music and anything else that may catch their eye, like graceful rockers."

Molly and I exchanged glances. Without saying anything, I could tell she didn't like that either. Janice, however, was all for it. She dove into the shelf of dresses and began choosing her favorites.

I glanced behind us at the leather jackets and jeans. That was more the style we wanted. Dresses were not rock and roll, they were too feminine. We needed clothes that were as tough as nails and screamed rock and roll. We couldn't get that with poofy skirts and pastel colors. 

When Ellen had what she wanted, she took us to the dressing room. Each of us had a different room to try on the same dresses. 

I stared down at the lilac dress that fell to my knees. The skirt was like a ballerina tutu, complete with flowers. It was the exact opposite of rock, it wasn't even roll. If anything, it was ballet. I looked like a child playing make believe. 

"Rubbish," I muttered, "Stereotypical rubbish."

I shrugged off my sweater and replaced it with the dress. It fit uncomfortably, hanging loose where it should be tight and tight where it should be loose. Over my jeans, the dress looked shabby.

"Amelia, take off your pants," Ellen ordered as soon as I stepped out.

Molly and Janice were in their dresses without their pants. Janice was twirling and laughing. Molly admired herself in a mirror, smiling slightly. She straightened the folds of the skirt and admired herself in every direction. Even I had to admit she looked beautiful, though it wasn't the image we were going for. 

"I will not wear a bloody dress," I said, "These things are uncomfortable, I feel right wonky, like I'm bloody starker!"

"You look lovely," Molly said.

"Thank you, but that is beside the point. Do you know how hard it is to drum in a bloody dress? I'll flash the entire audience!"

Ellen frowned, "The public likes girls in dresses."

"The public can eat my entire ass," I replied, "I'm not wearing a dress, Ellen."

Revolution was founded on the basis that we would fight against society's demands. They wanted women to be in the kitchen, so we got on the stage. They wanted girls in dresses, so we wore battle armor. What they want is what we fight against, and I was not about to give in.

Molly came up behind me, "I'm not keen on it either."

Ellen glanced between us. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, "You are a stubborn lot, aren't you?"

"Amelia's the stubborn one, I just follow along," Molly replied.

I glared at her, "Sod off."

Molly chuckled. Ellen stared at us for a moment. Janice came up behind us, still smiling, and completely oblivious to the argument ensuing.

"Alright," Ellen sighed, "Go back in the rooms, take the dresses off, I'll see what I can find."

I nodded in contempt. All three of us vanished into the dressing rooms. With great relief, I stripped the dress off and let it fall to the floor in a shunned heap. I smirked as if I had just won some great battle. 

Ellen came back a few minutes later. She slid three articles of clothing underneath my door. When I picked it up, I grinned.

The black and white button up shirt was not common for girls to wear, especially in England. The collar came up higher than most, covering the bottom of our necks. I admired the fit of the shirt, enjoying how every crease accentuated my physique.

The pants were even better. Ellen had given us waist high black trousers complete with suspenders. They had deep pockets, which was a blessing to a girl. The style of the entire outfit was similar to the beatniks in America.

"Brilliant, I tell you," I said as soon as I came out of the dressing room.

Molly and Janice emerged moments later wearing the exact same outfit. I expected Janice to look upset, but she looked just as happy as she did in the dress. Molly looked more comfortable. All three of us looked more like a serious band rather than a trio of little girls. 

"It is different," Ellen walked around us, "And you all look beautiful. Yes, I do believe I like this better."

"It's memorable! It's fashionable! And, above all, it's comfortable!" I exclaimed, throwing an arm around Molly and Janice.

Molly laughed, "We'll be remembered as Revolution In Suspenders."

"A merry lot we are," Janice chuckled, "I like this a lot."

"Me too, Jan, I think we found the style of the Revolution."

Ellen smiled, "Alright, take it off so I can pay for it. We've still got to get shoes."

"No heels," Molly said.

"I understand that now."

We all returned to the dressing room once more. While I did love that outfit, nothing compared to my sweater. The warmth of the thing was beyond pleasurable. It warded off even the thickest snowfall, leaving me warm and cozy. 

When we came out, Ellen banished us outside so she could buy the clothes. Molly, Janice, and I all waited and leaned against the nearby wall. While we waited, I pulled a box of cigarettes out of my pocket. Molly took one but Janice politely declined.

"I've got to say, Ellen is great," Molly commented.

I nodded, "Might be the greatest thing to ever happen to this band."

"She's nice," Janice added.

I laughed, "Very nice indeed."

Ellen was more than nice, she was loving. She had just met us and she already loved us. In a way, I already loved her too. It was the sort of love that developed between two coworkers who eventually became friends. I knew from the very first moment I met Ellen Marie that we would be very close.


	51. Sick Little Georgie

"You look like a couple of posers," Reginald commented.

Molly glared at him, "Sod off, Reggie."

"Don't call me Reggie."

Regina placed a firm hand on Reginald's shoulder. He calmed down, if only slightly. Molly kept her gaze on him until I gently elbowed her.

We were wearing our Revolution outfits. Ellen had told us to wear them around the house a bit too 'break them in'. The outfit fits perfectly, the only problem was the stiff black boots she got us. They fit like cardboard boxes. Ellen insisted that they would become comfortable as soon as we wore them more.

"Come on, Reggie, let's go for a walk," Regina suggested.

Reginald simply followed her. She shot us an apologetic smile before leaving the house. Molly and I watched them go.

"I'm worried about him," Molly sighed, turning to gaze at herself in the mirror.

I placed a comforting arm around her shoulders, "He'll be fine. Regina'll keep him in line."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Neither of us could say what we both feared. Whenever this subject was brought up, we quickly brushed it away. Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie were especially prone to avoiding the subject. They danced a poisoned waltz with the truth every time their son was mentioned.

The phone ringing interrupted us. Since Regina and Reginald left, Molly and I were the only two in the house. I squeezed her shoulders and smiled, "I'll get it, you keep admiring your beauty."

Molly rolled her eyes. I left the room cackling. Taking the steps two at a time, I made it to the front hall in a matter of seconds.

"Mackenzie residence, Amelia speaking," I answered.

"Why do you always answer the phone?" John replied.

I shrugged, "Lucky, I s'pose. Seems like I always answer it when you call."

"You're a bloody stalker, you are," John laughed, "You busy tonight?"

"Not really. Molly and I were going to stay in tonight."

"Change your plans, we need a stand in for George."

I lifted an eyebrow, "What happened to George?"

"Sick. Got a cold, he does. Says he can't play while he's busy sneezing."

I shook my head. He seemed to be the most prone to colds than any of the other lads. Just in the past year, he's had two while the rest of us remained healthy.

George had been giving me a month of guitar lessons by then. I wouldn't say I was the best, but I wasn't the worst. I definitely wasn't good enough to go on stage and play. I would ruin the show, or worse, the fans would revolt. If they thought I was replacing George, they would fight back, just like they did with Ringo. 

"I'm not that good," I argued.

John groaned, "This isn't a question of your fucking self-confidence, Melly, we need a stand in and you're our only option."

I could hear three other voices in the background. Two could be recognized as Paul and Ringo, and the other as Brian trying to hush them. Paul's voice gradually became louder.

"I'm bloody talking, Macca, fuck off!" John suddenly exclaimed.

The phone became overtaken with the sounds of a fight. I could tell John and Paul were fighting over the phone. Pulling it away from my ear, I patiently waited for them to be done.

"George said you could do it," Paul finally said, "He said you're good. You've got to help, Lia. George even said you could use his guitar."

I frowned, "I can feel you giving me the eyes."

"Is it working?"

"A little."

I could practically hear his cheeky grin, "Does that mean you'll do it?"

"Fine. I'll meet you at The Cavern in an hour."

"Thanks, Lia, knew I could count on you," Paul said, "Love you, sis."

"Sure you do."

I placed the phone back on the receiver and sighed. The guitar was not my best instrument, but I knew it well enough. That and the fact that I had memorized most of their old songs, I should be able to pull this off. So long as the fans didn't riot, this plan might very well work.

It was the fans that scared me more than the prospect of playing. They might revolt before I even plucked a single chord, let alone played the show. If they did revolt, I might not make it out this time with just a few bruises. There was too much I had to do that required my bones to be in one piece. 

Despite the fears, I had to do it. As John said, I was their only option. It's not like they could walk down the street and find a guitarist that knew their songs like I did. 

"Molly!" I called as I ran up the stairs.

Molly jumped whenever I flung the door open, "Amelia, bloody hell, you're going to give me a heart attack!"

"You ought to be used to it by now," I commented, "I've got to play stand in for Georgie at tonight's show."

"I thought you'd only been playing a month?" Molly inquired.

I nodded, "They've got no other choice. I'm supposed to meet them at The Cavern in an hour."

"Guess our game night is trashed," Molly sighed.

She looked genuinely disappointed, which surprised me. We practically spent every day together, I expected her to be tired of me. Oddly, that made me feels happy. She still enjoyed my company despite always being with me.

"Not trashed, just postponed," I smiled, "By golly, Miss Molly, don't look so glum."

She chuckled, "Come off it, Melly."

I laughed loudly. My laughter soon spread to her, turning her frown upside down. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed, "Alright. Are you going to go in that?"

"Why not?" I replied, "It's my stage clothes, and I'm going on stage. I'll show all the lads up with my incredible sense of fashion."

I winked, indicating my sarcasm. Molly belted out laughing. Both of us smiled brightly.

***

"What the bloody fuck are you wearing?" John asked as soon as I walked into the cavern.

He looked me up and down with mock disgust. I sneered at him, put off by his obvious dislike of my clothing choices. I'd seen him wear some odd clothes himself, he had no room to tease me about my clothing. 

I glanced down at myself, "Clothes, John."

"No shit."

Paul came around the back of John and lifted an eyebrow, "I didn't take you for a beatnik, Lia."

"It's better than the bloody dress Ellen wanted me in," I sighed, "Can't play drums in a skirt, I told her."

"Who's Ellen?"

"Our manager."

Paul's face brightened, "You got a manager?!"

"Yeah. She's a friend of Brian's. She liked us, she signed us, and she dressed us."

Paul held his hand up for a high-five. I obliged. John even playfully punched my shoulder, "Great job, Melly. Knew you birds would make it."

I smiled. John and Paul went deeper into the cavern, closely followed by me. Ringo was sitting at the drum set spinning his sticks.

"'Ello, Ringo," I greeted him.

Ringo smiled, "'Ello, Melly. Good of you to step in."

"Always happy to help my mates."

John handed me George's guitar, "Play a few notes, let's see how you are."

I glared at him. His tone was reproachful but in a playful way. As if he were sarcastically calling me stupid. Sarcastic or not, I became spiteful and decided to show him up just because of the tone he had. 

I took the guitar. It had begun to feel familiar in my hands, as that was the guitar George taught me on. I knew each string just like I knew my own hands. While it wasn't as familiar to me as my drum set, it was close.

I strummed the first few notes to Love Me Do. That was their very first true single as The Beatles. I had listened to it several times, often putting it on whenever I got lonely. The tune had become familiar. I began to associate it with every good memory I had with these lads. 

"Pretty good," John commented, "Not George, but pretty good."

I frowned, "Look who's talking."

John belted out laughing. All of his reproachfulness from earlier vanished, replaced with enthusiasm. Paul smiled at me, "You're great, Lia."

"Thanks, Paulie."

He winked at me. John pulled a paper off of a nearby table and handed it to me, "The set list. Brian said to give it to you to memorize."

"In an hour? Easy as pie."

I took the list and looked it up and down. There were twenty songs, most of which I knew. About half the songs were covers, some of the same songs Revolution did, and the rest were Lennon-McCartney originals.

Most of the songs I already had memorized. I already knew all of the covers and a few of the originals. This show would be simple as any other.

"Think you got it?" Paul asked, falling to sit next to me.

I nodded, "Easy. I've been to enough of your shows to know the stuff."

"You're a lifesaver."

I smiled. Paul had to show me a few chords on one of the songs. It was a newer one of theirs I had only ever heard once before. The chords were simple. George had already taught me each of them. All I had to do was get them in order, and I would be as good as gold. 

Brian arrived a few minutes later. It seemed to be a rule of a manager to be present at every single show their band had. Ellen was always at ours, and Brian was always with the lads. They never seemed to separate.

"Amelia, thank you so much for stepping in," Brian shot me a smile.

Every time he looked at me, I felt like he was seeing something nobody else saw, not even me. As if he were looking directly into my soul to find the one patch of darkness I never cared to shed light on. His eyes told me everything; he knew something, or, rather, he suspected. I had no idea what he was thinking, and I had no intentions of asking. 

I grinned, "My pleasure, Bri. Always fun to play with the lads again."

"You've never played with me before," Ringo pointed out.

"That's right!" I snapped my fingers, "It's a friendship milestone, mate."

Ringo grinned. Brian looked happier than he should. His cheeks had a hint of rose to them like he had just come out of a hot shower. It was odd, but not terribly out of character. Brian was always a happy man. At least, he was on the outside. 

"You ought to stand by the drums, Melly," John said, "Don't want the fans rioting again."

I shrugged, "I'll stand wherever you want me to stand."

Most people would take standing in the back as a personal offense, but I understood why. The last thing I wanted was to be attacked by crazed fans. Standing in the back was the safest place for me to be.

I sat on one of the amps near Ringo. As he tapped out a light tune on his drum, I tuned the guitar. George usually kept it in tune, but the strings were tricky. They liked to come undone all by themselves.

Showtime came quicker than I expected. One moment, the cavern was empty, and the next, fans were beginning to fill the floor. John and Paul stood in the front, Paul standing in such a position where his body blocked mine. I stood and flung the guitar strap over my shoulder.

Ringo glanced at me and lifted an eyebrow. I gave him a thumb up, telling him I was ready. He nodded.

Being on stage was natural to me, perhaps more natural than being on the ground. The music had become a part of me, and I felt empty without it. Even so, I felt out of place. Usually, I was sitting behind the drums, putting my all into slamming the sticks down. It was odd to stand next to the drums with a guitar in my hand, but natural all the same. This stage, and this club, was all so familiar to me that the unfamiliarity seemed to vanish. 

John started us off, and soon, we were all playing the same song. I focused on the guitar, plucking each string just as George had shown me. In the back of my mind, I could hear him instructing me.

"You've got to treat the guitar like you would a lover. It's not brash like drums; it's elegant. You've got to stroke it as if you were in love with it; gently but precisely."

It was those words that got me through the show. Every time I had a doubt, I pictured George sitting right next to me telling me what to do. I would quickly correct myself and continue the song as if nothing had happened.

The fans never noticed the change in guitarists. A combination of dark lighting and Paul blocking me kept them in the dark. The only way they could have seen who was playing was if they physically got on the stage and pushed past Paul.

At the end of the show, my fingers were bright red. Had it not been for the calluses built from years of playing drums, they would have been bleeding.

"You've been a great audience! Goodnight!" John exclaimed.

The crowd cheered. All four of us exited the stage and headed for the back room. The entire time, Paul made sure to stand in front of me. I held the guitar to my side with the neck blocking a portion of my face. We made it to the back without any one asking any questions. 

"Good show, lads," Brian said as soon as we had arrived in the back room, "You all did wonderfully."

John placed a hand on my shoulder, "We're not all lads tonight, Eppy."

I rolled my eyes. Paul looked me up and down and said, "When did George become a lass?"

"Isn't there a surgery for that?" Ringo genuinely asked.

John grinned wickedly, "Shouldn't we call you Georgette now?"

"Shove off, the lot of you," I laughed, "Thank you, Bri."

Brian nodded. John went to the corner table where a bottle of whiskey sat with five glasses. He picked up the bottle and announced, "I propose a toast to the bloody good show we just put on."

He passed around the glasses and the whiskey. All of us filled our glasses three-quarters of the way full, except for Brian. He opted for two mouthfuls but no more. We all tapped glasses and downed our drinks.


	52. To London

Just a week after I performed with The Beatles, Brian made them get matching haircuts and they left for Scotland. It all happened at once, they were at the barbershop in the morning and on a plane in the evening. I didn't even get a chance to wish them luck.

"Ellen better not make us get matching haircuts," I said.

Janice frowned, "I think it would be cute."

"You think everything is cute."

Janice shrugged. The three of us were as bundled as we could possibly be. We did our best to ward off the snowflakes falling from the sky, but they managed to get inside of our coats. I could feel a nearly melted flake tracing down my spine.

"Wonder what she's calling us for," Janice muttered out loud.

"Probably something to do with a gig," Molly replied, "Maybe she got us a place in another music festival."

I grinned, "I hope so, that was bloody amazing."

Molly nodded. Janice didn't reply, preferring to keep her eyes on the snow covered pavement. We turned a corner and entered what was commonly referred to as downtown Liverpool.

Ellen had an office at the top floor of a five-story building. Her building was in a group of large buildings, all housing important corporations, most of which had national exports. One time, Paul and I had a school trip to one of them. We watched a bunch of people talk about their jobs, it was awfully boring.

The lift took us straight up to Ellen's office. Her secretary, a tiny boy by the name of Peter, was sitting on his desk writing a note down. I had only ever met Peter once, but I already knew he was easily intimidated. He was always trembling even when nobody was talking to him. His body shape was more like a fifteen-year-old than a twenty-five-year-old.

Ellen's office was the picture of elegance. Portraits of dancers and musicians were neatly lined on the walls. The first room had large windows that looked out over the street. From that height, we could see all the way to the hazy seaside. Two couches sat near the window, both made of rich leather.

""Ello, Peter," Molly smiled as soon as we stepped in.

Peter shoved his glasses higher on his nose, "Hello girls, I mean, ladies, I mean-"

"Girls works, Peter," Molly warmly interrupted, "Ellen said she wanted to see us, yes?"

"Yes, of course, I'll tell her now."

He hurriedly stood, dropping his pen in the process. Molly and I exchanged glances. She simply shook her head as I rolled my eyes. Peter got the job done, but he made a mess of himself as he did so.

Peter rushed into Ellen's real office. There were two rooms, the entry room and where Ellen did all her work. We had to wait in the entry room for Ellen to call us back.

"She's ready," Peter mumbled whenever he came back out.

Molly gave him a smile bright enough to cover my obvious annoyance, "Thank you, Peter."

He simply nodded. Molly gestured for us to follow her in. Ellen was sitting on her desk, glasses resting on the tip of her nose and papers strewn over her desk. Whenever she saw us, she warmly smiled.

"Girls, welcome, please, sit down," Ellen gestured.

Sometimes, I noticed her accent more than others. That day, her accent seemed thicker than usual. It caught my attention once again and I finally asked, "Say, Ellen, where's your accent from?"

"India. I lived there until I was about twenty," Ellen replied.

She seemed pleased that someone had finally asked her. It occurred to me that most people wouldn't ask because they were afraid to offend her, or they would ask to purposefully offend her. I asked because I was genuinely curious.

"Oh, I hear it's beautiful there," Molly said, sitting in one of the high-backed leather chairs.

Ellen nodded, "Simply magnificent. I do love your country, but India will always be my home."

She had a wistful look in her eyes as she said that. I glanced at Molly and Janice to see if they noticed. Both held them same wistful expression, though they only imagined what Ellen knew by heart.

"I didn't call you here to tell you about my past," Ellen laced her fingers together on her desk, "I called you here to give you some very good news."

I sat on the armrest of Molly's chair, "We don't have to get matching haircuts?"

"No, when was that ever in the question?"

"Long story, continue."

Ellen smiled brightly, "I have secured a contract with a recording studio in London for Revolution to record three songs to be released as singles."

I nearly fell off the chair. Molly and Janice both squealed while I did my best to contain my shouts. Ellen watched us like a mother watches her excited children.

"A record deal?!" I shouted.

"Not exactly," Ellen replied, "It is simply recording three songs, not quite a record, but it's a start."

"A start!" Molly, Janice, and I all exclaimed.

As if in sync, we all leaped off our chairs and ran around the desk. We all practically tackled Ellen with our hugs. She laughed loudly, using one hand to grip onto her desk and keep her upright.

"You're the greatest, Ellen!" I exclaimed.

"Brilliant, you are!" Molly shouted, "Bloody brilliant!"

Janice hugged Ellen's shoulders, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said, "Our train leaves in three hours, will you be ready?"

All three of us nodded. Ellen smiled, "Good. Go home and pack your things. We're going to be there for three days. I'll pick you three up in two hours."

We didn't hesitate to rush out. Peter jumped out of his seat whenever we hurried into the main room, a flurry of giggles and cheers. He watched us run out to the streets of Liverpool.

"We're going to record our music!" I exclaimed.

***

"Do be careful. And stay together, London is full of suspicious people."

Mrs. Mackenzie was fussing over Molly's collar. She pushed her mother off and did her best to smile kindly, "We will, Mum, promise. Ellen's going to be there, and Peter, we won't be alone."

Mrs. Mackenzie smiled before kissing her daughter's head. She turned and did the same to me, earning a warm smile. Whenever she kissed my forehead, I was reminded of Mum. She used to do that before Paul, Michael, and I would leave for school. Warm memories surged every time Mrs. Mackenzie treated me like a daughter. I grabbed my bag and tipped my hat to her before we left the house.

Molly huffed, "Christ, we need our own place."

"We'll look whenever we get back," I replied, "With our new paycheck, we might actually be able to afford it."

Molly snorted, "Not just the two of us, we're several pounds short."

"A third roommate then? Jan, maybe?"

"Jan, that's a good idea."

Molly and I went to the front gate and leaned against the wall to wait for Ellen. A large van appeared at the end of the street barely five minutes later. It was the sort large families owned, and it was towing a large, covered, trailer.

"Wonder what that is," I muttered.

Molly shrugged. The van pulled up to the curb in front of us. Ellen got out and smiled at us, "Wonderful, you're ready."

"Ellen, show them the stuff!" Janice poked her head out the back window.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Stuff? Is it drugs?"

Molly elbowed me, hiding her laughter. Ellen shook her head disapprovingly. I made a mental note not to make drug jokes around Ellen, though I was sure I would forget. She went around to the back of the trailer and said, "It's about time you girls got your own instruments."

She pulled open the trailer. Inside, three guitar cases, a disassembled drum kit, and a few amps littered the trailer. There were two small suitcases as well.

"You got us instruments?!" I exclaimed.

Ellen nodded, "It was time for you to stop using the club's ratty instruments and have your own."

Molly and I both dropped our bags and hugged Ellen from either side. She laughed, "One day, you're going to break my bones with these hugs."

"You're the greatest, Elly!" I exclaimed.

Ellen only smiled. Molly began to climb up the trailer, "Can we look at them?"

"Oh, yes, please, can we look at them?" I repeated.

I tried to copy Paul's puppy dog eyes. He did them so well, but I never could. I think it had something to do with his naturally voluptuous eyelashes. Mine were practically nonexistent.

"Not right now, we're already late," Ellen looked at her watch, "We have to be at the train station in half an hour."

Molly and I sighed but obeyed. I threw our bags in the back and closed it as Ellen and Molly went up front. Ellen took the driver's seat leaving the three of us to squish in the back. Peter was in the front, writing things down in his ever-present notebook. His writing reflected his demeanor; shaky and small like a terrified kitten.

"Alright, are you girls ready to go to London?" Ellen asked.

Molly nodded vigorously, "Are we ever!"

"I'm still hung up on the fact that you bought us our own bloody instruments," I said.

Ellen smiled, "You girls deserve it."

She put the van into gear and we drove off. Janice, being the smallest of us, was stuck between Molly and me. Every turn we took sent her into one of our laps because there was no seatbelt. It was up to Molly and me to help her stay upright.

The train station wasn't far. We made it with ten minutes to spare. There were cars and people all over the station. I even saw a cat. Being Sunday, the station was busy with travelers.

I grabbed one of the luggage carts and wheeled it to the van. We all worked together to unload the instruments and neatly stack them on the cart. My drum kit was rather large and took up most of the cart. In the end, Molly and Janice had to carry their guitars while Peter wheeled two suitcases. Each of us had a backpack in addition to whatever cargo we had. Ellen helped me guide the cart through the station.

At the ticket counter, we were met with a long line. Each counter had at least fifty people waiting for their turn, and more were quickly adding.

"Alright, I'll get the tickets checked. You four wait by the entrance," Ellen said.

She gestured to the gates. Two security officers waited there and checked tickets. Molly, Janice, Peter, and I all made our way to the side wall to wait.

Ellen got through the line in twenty minutes. She shook the tickets in her hand and grinned, "Luck is with us."

"First time that happened," I muttered.

Molly glared at me, "Don't jinx it, Melly."

"I speak the truth."

We guided the cart through the gates without any problem. Ellen led us through the train station and passed several trains going across the country. I noticed some going to Scotland, Wales, and other places in England. Molly seemed to gaze longingly at one going to Edinburgh.

Our train was near the back of the station. Ellen spoke to one of the employees. He took the cart and our luggage towards the loading bay.

The train itself was magnificent. I had only ever been on a train twice before, once when I was a child and once to go to a television studio The Beatles were appearing on. Both times, I never left Liverpool. This trip would be full of firsts, though not all of them were good. 

This train was more spectacular than any I had ever been on. The seats were together but separated by armrests. There was not a single stain or speck of dust to be found in the entire car. Green carpet with ornate yellow patterns covered each part of the floor, and the windows were crystal clear.

I didn't have a chance to marvel at the beauty of it for long. Ellen quickly led us through the train and to our compartment. The door had a reserved sign taped to the glass. She glanced at the tickets and then the door before saying, "This is us."

We all stepped inside of the room. It wasn't small enough to be claustrophobic, but it wasn't big enough to be considered an actual room. Three suede seats lined each wall, and a window was covered with curtains at the end. I drew the curtains just as we took off.

"Just in time," Ellen slid into a seat in sighed, "It's official, we're on our way to London."

Janice gazed out the window and smiled sadly, "Bye bye, Liverpool."

"It's just for a few days," Molly patted her shoulder.

"I've never left the city."

"It'll be fun!" I exclaimed, "We'll sing, we'll dance, and we'll drink some London liquor."

"No you won't," Ellen casually replied.

I frowned, "Or we won't. Until Elly's not looking."

"Amelia, I'm serious, we have to present ourselves with an air of profession," Ellen gazed at me sternly.

"I can drink and be professional."

"Amelia."

"Fine," I sighed, "I'm going to get a coffee, at least, anybody care to join me?"

Nobody did. I rolled my eyes and left the car, heading down the hall towards where I thought the kitchen car was. I had seen a sign whenever we first boarded, and I hoped I remembered which way it pointed.

Trains were unfamiliar to me. The last time I had been on one, I had forgotten which cart the lads were in and wandered in on a small family. The father got angry with me and nearly got me kicked off the train. The time before that I got motion sick and spent most of the time in the loo with my Mum. Things didn't seem to work out for me whenever I was in a moving vehicle.

The kitchen car wasn't what I expected. There was a small bar in the corner and tables screwed to the floor. Very few people actually sat in them, most chose to get their food and leave.

"Coffee, please," I told the man behind the bar.

He nodded and brewed it up rather quickly. I took the steaming white mug and went to sit at one of the tables, watching the world go by.

Blurs of green sped past the window. I couldn't register anything that passed. We were going so fast, it seemed as if we left the world behind. In a way, we were. We left behind the only world I knew. All I knew was Liverpool and Hamburg. Otherwise, the world was a mystery to me. 

"Hang it all, McCartney?" a girls voice asked.

I blinked and turned around. A group of three teenaged girls paused at the door. They looked like they were about to leave but the sudden realization of their friend stopped them. All three locked eyes with me before hurrying to the side of my table.

"It is you!" one whisper-shouted, "You're Paul McCartney's sister."

I nodded, "The name's Amelia, pleasure to meet you."

All three shook my hand. The only way I could tell them apart was their hair. They were a rainbow of red, black, and brown. All three had the same button noses and pale skin.

"Didn't you used to play drums for The Beatles?" the redhead asked.

"Yeah, you could say I was the original drummer," I replied.

The brunette frowned, "Does it hurt to see Ringo replaced you?"

"What? Not at all. I quit, he didn't replace me. Besides, Ringo's a swell lad, I like him well enough."

In truth, I liked Ringo a lot. He was quickly becoming one of my closest friends, just like the rest of the lads. If anyone had to take my place, I was glad it was him. 

"Is Paul really as cute up close as he is on stage?" the black haired girl asked.

I wrinkled my nose, "He's my brother, I can't answer that."

"What about John?" the redhead inquired, "What's he like?"

She had a dreamy look in her eyes. I was about to tell her that John was taken, but I quickly shut my mouth. Cynthia was a secret, and his marriage to her was confidential. Had the fans known, well, the ending wouldn't be pretty.

"He's nice, funny, he's John, really, I don't know how to describe him."

All three giggled. We earned some reproachful glares from an elderly couple two tables down. The girls were being rather loud, and I could understand how they would be annoyed.

I answered their questions until my coffee ran out. When my cup was empty, I smiled, "Sorry, girls, but I've got to get back to my cabin."

"Wait, could you sign my photograph?" the redhead asked.

I was shocked, "You have a photograph?"

"I cut it out of a newspaper. Come on, please?"

"I-um-I would love to."

She began to dig in her purse. I was shocked for a moment; I didn't know I was in a newspaper. It could have been from my days with The Beatles, but I still don't remember being in a newspaper. The closest we ever came to professional photography was when Astrid took our pictures back in Hamburg. There was no way these Liverpudlian girls could get their hands on photographs in a private archive in Hamburg, Germany. 

When the girl handed me the picture, my shock instantly turned to confusion. The picture was of Paul, John, George, and Ringo, and it looked recent. They all had their mop top haircuts that Brian had insisted they get and their gray suits. I stared at it for a moment.

"You want me to sign this?" I asked.

The redhead nodded, "Could you put McCartney right there?"

She pointed to the spot directly above Paul. I furrowed my eyebrows, realization dawning on me. She didn't want my full name, she didn't want me at all, she wanted Paul. This girl expected me to sign a picture of a group I was no longer a part of all because I shared a last name with one of the members.

"Bloody hell, I'm not Paul!" I exclaimed, "You can take your picture and shove it, I'm not signing it."

I shoved the paper back in her hands before heading towards the door. The girl scoffed loudly, "What bit you in the arse?"

"Sod off."

I stormed out of the kitchen car and back towards our cabin. All the way there, I did my best to calm my anger. The last thing I wanted was to explain what just happened to the rest of the group.

I shouldn't find it shocking. The Beatles were quickly soaring in popularity, and they didn't often sign autographs. Any fan would take the closest they could get, even if that meant having a sibling sign their last name.

The frustration took over the anger. It would be more difficult than I expected to step out of Paul's shadow. I didn't want to forever be known as 'Paul McCartney's younger sister' or 'The Beatles' former drummer'. I wanted to be known as Amelia McCartney, drummer and original founder of Revolution, the band that broke boundaries. I wanted to be known for being me, not for being Paul, and not for being a Beatle.

That was, perhaps, the hardest fight of them all.


	53. To Battle

"I can't believe it," I muttered.

Molly, Janice, and I all stood in a line along the pavement. We all stared up at the bleach white building. It was several stories, and taller than any building I'd ever been in. Each window was covered with blue curtains, and trees lined the outside of it. It stood over us like a stern school teacher, ready to send us to detention for being unruly. 

"It's so big," Janice muttered, "We might get lost in there."

Molly gulped, "We won't get lost, but we might get tired trying to climb all those stairs."

There were tall buildings in Liverpool, but none of us had any reason to go in them before. The tallest building I'd ever been in was Ellen's office. This seemed like a tower compared to that.

"Come on, girls, we best not be late," Ellen walked around us.

She strutted to the door with power in her walk. Molly and I did our best to copy Ellen's power strut. Janice, however, meekly followed us like a lost kitten.

The inside of the building was just as large as the outside. Abstract paintings hung off the wall to give the entire room a modern feeling. The walls themselves were an ugly color of brown, but the rest of the room was beautiful. I felt out of place in my old blue jeans and tattered cardigan. We should have listened to Ellen and worn our stage clothes. 

"We have an appointment with producer Markus Beckham," Ellen told the woman behind the desk.

She glanced over her glasses at us, "Name?"

"Ellen Marie."

"Alright, follow me."

The woman stood and began to lead us down the halls. She took us to a lift. All of us piled in, and we rocketed to the top floor.

"Right this way."

Markus Beckham was hidden away in the back corner of the building. His office was larger than any of the flats in Liverpool. Just the walk from the door to his desk was enough exercise to last months.

"Mister Beckham, a Miss Ellen Marie to see you," the woman announced.

A gruff voice replied, "Alright, send her in."

The woman gestured to Ellen. We followed her into the large office. The moment my eyes landed on Markus Beckham, I knew we were in trouble.

He was the sort of man that you looked at and immediately flinched. His very breathing was aggressive as if he were punching the air with every exhale. Muscles rippled under his suit, and a thick mustache hung over his lips. He reminded me of American action stars; full of muscles and anger.

"Markus Beckham, it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," Ellen extended her hand.

Markus simply stared at her, "Where's the band?"

"What?"

"Where's the band?" Markus repeated, "You and I spoke on the phone about a band, a trio, calls themselves Revolution. Where are they?"

Ellen gestured to us, "Markus, meet Revolution. Molly Mackenzie, Amelia McCartney, and Janice Hallieford."

Janice was halfway hidden behind me as Molly kept her hands latched to one of my arms. I could feel they were nervous just like me. Something about this man seemed off; almost as if he would get us to sing then force us to plow a field.

"This is the band?" Markus began to laugh, "A group of girls? You're joking, right?"

Ellen frowned, "No sir, I am not. This is Revolution, and they are here to record."

"Nonsense! Bloody insane! A group of girls, recording a song, ridiculous," Markus cackled rudely, "Go back home, girls, the music industry is a male business."

My nerves were quickly overtaken with anger. Markus Beckham was the picture of everything I hated. He laughed at us because we were girls, and he had the audacity to tell us to go home. That right there was enough to start a war over.

"Mister Beckham, please, my girls are just as good as any male group," Ellen placed her fists on her hips, "They're better if I do say so myself. You and I had a deal for my group to record three songs with your company."

Markus laughed, "That was before I knew they were girls. No, absolutely not, girl bands will never make it any further than a club. No, better, a whorehouse."

He began to laugh so hard his face turned red. Ellen was taken aback. For a moment, she couldn't say anything. I glanced back to see Janice on the verge of tears. Molly looked terrified. I shook them off and stepped towards the desk.

"Listen here you piece of shit," I slammed my hand onto the desk, "You have no right to tell us what we can or cannot do. You made a deal with our manager, and you will follow through."

"Or what? You'll cry? Go ahead, it doesn't bother me," he smirked.

I sneered. Behind me, I could hear Janice sniff, trying to hold back her tears. Molly grabbed hold of her. Their fear propelled me forward. We were there to do a job, and I wasn't about to let that wanker turn us away all because of our gender.

"You, you absolute git, are denying the future," I stated, "Girl groups are going to become something big, bigger than any boy band could ever dream to be. You say this is a male's business, but you're as wrong as you are stupid. This business is about music, not genders. It doesn't matter what's between your legs, it matters what music you make. And we make bloody good music, all you've got to do is let us."

Markus stood up, leaning over the desk to where he was scarily close to me. Our noses were just centimeters apart. His laughter was quickly turning into a sneer; "Don't talk to me like that, girl."

"Don't talk to me like that, boy," I spat, "You listen and you listen closely. We will record here, and we will do it without any more argument. Get your shit in order so we can do what we have to do."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"Watch me."

We stared at each other for a moment. I hoped he wouldn't sense the fear slowly growing in the pit of my stomach. There was no way I would back down, even if I were on the verge of screaming.

"I will not produce a girl group and that is final," Markus fell back in his chair.

I sneered, "That is not final. I've had enough of you bastard sexists! I've given up a lot because of you, but no more! No! This ends now. Quit being a bloody child, get your act together, and get into that studio before this gets ugly."

"And what could a fragile girl like yourself do to scare me?" Markus smirked.

Something seemed to pop inside of me. For a moment, I completely lost control of myself. All I saw was red. I slammed both of my fists down on the desk, looked him directly in the eyes, and said, "I can spread the word that you went against a contract because of gender. I can get this entire establishment shut down, and make you live on the streets for the rest of your miserable life. Which is it? A contract or a cardboard mattress?"

Markus paled slightly. It surprised me that what I said had actually gotten through to him, but he stood and cleared his throat, "Fine. I suppose a contract is a contract, and I am a businessman. Three songs, but no more."

"That's all we need," I coolly replied.

"Lydia, please show these girls and their manager to the studio," Markus pressed a button on his com, "And get the boys to retrieve their instruments from their vehicle."

"Yes, Mister Beckham."

He released the button and looked at me, "I've got my eye on you, Scouser."

"Wanker," I muttered.

"Get out of my office."

Ellen quickly pulled as out. As soon as the door shut, my knees buckled. Molly grabbed my arm to help hold me up. Everything was swimming around in my vision as if the entire world became covered in water. I felt dizzy and excited and sick all at the same time. Most of all, I felt powerful.

"Amelia, that was amazing," Ellen held my other arm.

I blinked, "I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"You'll be alright," Molly wrapped an arm around my waist, "You did amazing, Melly, you'll be alright."

The reality of what I did was just sinking in. Markus was a terrifying man, anyone would have a right to run away, but I didn't. I let my anger get the best of me, and now, we had won. The first battle was won.

"I can't believe I did that," I muttered as we stepped into the lift.

In my mind, I wasn't sure if what I did was good or bad. Yes, I got us our record deal, but at what cost? Markus could easily tell the rest of the recording studios how the drummer from Revolution practically attacked him. I could have just ruined any chance we had at a record deal for three songs.

"That was a terrible idea," I whispered, "I let my anger take control again. Bloody hell, I'm sorry."

Molly cupped my cheeks and made me look at her, "Amelia, listen to me, what you did was brilliant. You did exactly what we set out to do. That man is a bloody bastard, and you set him right. You did wonderfully."

I laid my head on her shoulder, trying to calm my trembling. My heart was still thumping loudly. I wanted to sleep, scream, laugh, and cry in no particular order. Molly held my shoulders gently, rubbing my back in an effort to calm me.

"You did the right thing, Amelia," Ellen stated, "While I am opposed to violence, even violent words, you did the right thing. He had no right to turn us away, and you fought back. You stood your ground despite the odds. Remarkable."

"Thanks, mates."

So many emotions were running through my system, I wanted to sleep in order to shut them all off, but we had a job to do. Lydia led us to the recording studio where three men were unloading our instruments.

"Let's do this," Molly muttered.


	54. To Record

Recording, as I have learned, is not that bad. It gives you a chance to experiment with new sounds and new techniques that you can't do on the stage. You don't have the rush of adrenaline you get during a live performance or the excitement of the crowd. The studio was quiet; it was sort of like a break from the rush of live performances.

That studio was anything but. I had only ever recorded once before, and that was an in and out thing. The Quarrymen all went in, recorded two songs in an hour, and left just as quickly as we had arrived. There was no stress, nobody breathing down your necks, and no sexist producers criticizing everything you do.

"Terrible, absolutely horrendous, do it again," Markus' voice filled the studio.

I clenched my drumsticks so tightly; my fingers began to turn white. We had been playing the same song over and over again for the past five hours, all because we couldn't satisfy the big man in charge. The day before, we had played for six hours straight. After the big argument with Markus Beckham, I could barely hold a drumstick let alone play, but I managed.

Molly and Janice looked like they were about to drop. Janice's legs trembled to the point where she had to sit down to avoid a mouthful of carpet. Molly kept taking deep breaths in order to calm herself.

My hands felt like they were going to fall off. All of this drumming was beginning to eat away at me. I already had to take a break to wrap gauze around two of my fingers in order to stop the bleeding. My new drumsticks had been christened with dark red stains.

"It was our best performance yet!" I argued.

"It was terrible," Markus replied, "Too many drums, not enough bass, and the blonde's voice sounds worse than me grandmother's."

"Alright, that's it, I'm coming up there and-"

Ellen gently pushed my shoulders, "Amelia, it's alright. I'll handle this one."

She smiled at me. I took a deep breath, allowing my anger to exit through exhaling. Ellen left me at the drum stand and made her way into the production room.

"Don't listen to him," I came up behind Molly and placed a hand on her shoulder, "You're the best bloody singer in all of England."

Molly smiled, "Nah, any ole singer could do better than me."

"Molly, don't make me shower you with compliments, cause I will."

Molly chuckled. Janice leaned around me to smile up at her, "Melly's right, you're a beautiful singer."

"Ole Markus just doesn't know how to spot true talent," I stated, "One day, we'll be famous, and he'll regret it."

"He'll never stop kicking himself in the arse," Molly laughed.

All three of us belted out laughing. I could just imagine it, the beefy Markus Beckham seeing our songs at the top of the charts and screaming like a little girl. He would never be able to sign anyone else ever again. That, I would make sure of.

"Alright, girls, we're going to use that take," Ellen came back out of the production room, "Onto the next song."

We had only recorded one song in two days. Markus was as strict as a drill sergeant with no mercy. I knew he would never be this hard on a male band, but we were girls, and that meant he would never let up on us.

I sat back at the drum stand and picked up the sticks. My drum kit was tucked away in a corner, surrounded by muffling plywood. A microphone was provided to pick up the sounds of my drumming, and I was given headphones to better hear Molly and Janice. They were nearly on the complete opposite of the room. I was hidden from the view of Markus and his team, but they were perfectly in view.

We played the next song with record precision. After earning a long lecture every time we so much as breathed wrong, we had learned never to slip up. That in itself was a difficult task without the constant feeling of being watched, let alone knowing he was watching us with unblinking eyes.

"That'll do," Markus announced as soon as we finished, "It wasn't the best, but it'll suffice."

I snorted, "It bloody well better suffice, bastard."

If Markus heard me, he didn't say a word. Since I had attacked him, he hadn't even looked at me. I felt like I had a sort of power on him. He would do anything I wanted if I was aggressive enough. All I had to do was stare at him, and I had him cowering in a corner and crying for his mother.

"That's all for today. Be back here seven a.m. tomorrow morning," Markus announced before the com system went dead.

I practically dropped my sticks, "Thank God."

"I'm so tired," Janice muttered.

She hung her head like a sad puppy. Molly gave her a sympathetic smile, "Come on, Jan, let's go back to the hotel."

Ellen led us to the car. Peter had pulled it up to the curb in front of the building. He waited on the passenger side, shaking as he always does. Peter was efficient as an assistant, but he wasn't much socially. In all the time I've known him, the only time he'll speak to me is to relay something from Ellen. Otherwise, he just stood there, waiting for his next job like some dutiful puppy.

Molly, Janice, and I all slid into the back of the car. As Ellen drove, I felt myself slowly falling asleep. The rhythmic vibration of the engine made me feel safer than I had since we arrived in London. For a moment, I could picture myself back home, listening to the trains go over the tracks near the house.

London was a beautiful city. The buildings were lovely, the air was free of fish, and there were no gray clouds. It seemed like a whole new planet than Liverpool. Even the people seemed different; they weren't so pale and downcast. They all walked with their eyes on the horizon instead of the ground. They all turned their gaze to the future instead of crying over the past.

London was beautiful, but our trip there was anything but. It was a bad experience for us all. The hard hours in the studio and Markus' inappropriate behavior contributed to a sudden dislike of London. Later, I would learn to love the city, but the first trip I had there was associated with bad memories.

The hotel we stayed at wasn't terrible, but it wasn't good either. It was the sort where you had a comfortable bed, but you made sure to lock the door, just in case. The men at the front desk would gaze at you like you were their next meal, or they wanted to use your skin as a rug. It made me uncomfortable just to walk through the lobby. Molly and Janice would cling to me, their eyes wide and their muscles clenched. Even Ellen would lay a hand on us somehow just to make sure we were still there.

All of us shared a room; being low on funds. We had yet to make a successful record, and our club salaries only went so far. Ellen could pay for most of the trip, but even her funds could only stretch so far. That left us with a dingy rental car and a less than the spacious hotel room.

I was quick to claim the floor. Molly and Janice both volunteered to take the pullout couch. As soon as I saw it, I knew the floor was more comfortable. The mattress was more springs than pillow, and it sat unevenly. All night, Janice was rolling into Molly.

Ellen got the bed while Peter slept in an armchair. I told him he could sleep next to me, but he adamantly refused. He didn't know, but, late at night, I had seen him go to sleep in the bathtub. Anything was better than the cramped armchair, I suppose.

As soon as we arrived in the hotel room, I fell into my heap of blankets and pillows. Ellen had ordered as many spares as she could, giving us at least some comfort.

"Let me see your hands," Ellen suddenly said.

She clicked her tongue as she inspected Molly and Janice's fingers. I hid my hands underneath my body, but that didn't stop Ellen. She crouched next to me and pulled my hands to her.

"You were not made to play for so long," Ellen sighed, "I do apologize, I didn't expect it to be like this."

I smiled slightly, "I've had worse, Elly. You shouldn't have to apologize, you got us a record deal."

"For three songs."

"Three songs is a lot when you've never recorded before," Molly sat on the edge of her bed, "We're grateful."

Ellen smiled, "Still, I do wish I could do better for you. Whenever the real record deal comes along, I will make sure the producer is not an arrogant buffoon."

I busted into laughter. Everybody else stared at me, confused as to why I was laughing. Ellen's statement wasn't even that funny, I was just so exhausted, I was in that stage where everything was hilarious. Within seconds, tears were falling down my cheeks.

"Amelia, are you alright?" Ellen asked.

"She's fine," Molly sighed, "She gets this way when she's overly exhausted."

Ellen stood, "All of you, get some sleep. There's a big day ahead."

I couldn't reply. It took me a solid twenty minutes to finally calm down enough to breathe. By then, the lights were out and everybody was lying down and trying to sleep. I took a deep breath and listened.

Janice was always a fast sleeper. Sometimes, she fell asleep before her head even hit the pillow. In all the nights I've slept in the same room as her, I've never heard her make so much as a sniffle. She was a soundless, move less, deep sleeper. It made her seem like she was dead.

Ellen was a restless sleeper, just like me. She tossed and turned all night, and usually woke up more exhausted than when she went to bed. Once I had heard her talk in her sleep. She had a conversation with her mother, something about what spices to put in a dish I didn't know the name of.

I knew when both of them were asleep. Ellen began to do barrel rolls while Janice was as still as a statue. Peter pretended to fall asleep in the armchair but made a quick escape to the bathroom. The room became silent except for the rustle of Ellen's sheets and the creaks of floorboards in the hall as people passed by.

Sleep never came easily to me, even when I was as exhausted as I was. My insomnia got in the way, especially when we had something important like recording. I was becoming excessively exhausted as the days went by, only getting enough sleep when I finally collapsed. A few times, I suspect Molly slipped crushed up sleeping pills in my tea. When that happened, I woke up more chipper than ever.

That night sleep never found me. I laid on the floor, memorizing every bump on the ceiling, for what seemed like hours. The seconds ticked by slowly. I felt like time was going backward.

Nighttime was when things seemed different. Between the hours of midnight and five a.m., time was something of a memory and reality was altered. The world changed all together every time the moon took over the sky.

"Can't sleep?"

I jumped slightly. Molly had sat up in bed, staring down at me. I blinked, "What else is new?"

"I can't either," she pushed the blanket away, "Think it has something to do with the odd smell."

"I hadn't noticed."

The room did smell a bit like urine. After sleeping on the floor for two nights, I became used to it. Molly slid off the bed and crawled over to sit by me. I shared my blanket with her, allowing her to be warm as she leaned against the wall with me.

"Do you think we really are as bad as all that?" Molly asked.

I didn't have to ask what she was talking about. Markus' words had found their way into all of our subconscious, giving us a new sense of self-doubt. No musician came without it, no human, really. Everybody had to learn to deal with it throughout their lives. Sometimes, people might even learn to overcome it, until some pompous git came along and gave them more.

"Course not," I replied, "The three of us, we're something special. You've heard Ellen say it, Brian; even the lads have said it. We're not bad."

Molly shrugged, "Markus is a big-time producer, he should know."

"Markus is a fucking bastard. What he says isn't worth a pile of shit."

Molly chuckled. She fell silent for a moment. I could still tell it was bothering her. The way she gazed off at the wall with a blank expression told me everything I needed to know. Markus' constant badgering and heckling was getting to her; it was beginning to break her spirit. That alone was enough to make me want to break a thing or two of his.

"Molly, listen to me," I cupped her cheek and made her look me in the eye, "We are a bloody good band, and we're only going to get better. The only thing Markus holds against us is the fact that we're girls, it has nothing to do with the music, just him being an asshole. Don't let it get to you."

"It's hard to ignore him when he's screaming in my face," Molly muttered.

"I know, and you can't ignore him. Don't let what he says hurt you, let it fuel you. Take your anger and your pain and turn it into spite. Use that spite to show him just how great you really are."

Molly smiled, "You've got a real way with words, you know that?"

"That's why I write music."

Molly laughed. She pushed my hand away from her cheek and pulled me into a hug. I returned the gesture. For a moment, we just sat there, latched to each other like two lovers refusing to separate.

Eventually, Molly's breathing slowed down. I realized she had fallen asleep. She was hunched over me in a position that would surely come back to bite her. Gently, I laid her out and let her use my lap as a pillow.

"By golly, Miss Molly, you sure are something else," I muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.


	55. When I Loved

We recorded until noon the next day. Ellen spent the entire time in the production room to make sure Markus kept the first good tape. That cut the recording process short. Peter took us back to the hotel while Ellen stayed at the studio to talk about the final editing with Markus. All of us were beyond grateful to finally be out of that hellhole. Though, I felt bad for leaving Ellen with Markus. Something told me there was nothing to worry about, Ellen could handle herself. 

"Go fish," I said.

Janice sighed and drew from the deck. She huffed, obviously not getting the card she wanted. Molly looked up at her and asked, "Got any threes?"

"Aw, I just picked this one," Janice handed Molly a card.

Molly laughed. She dropped all of her cards and grinned triumphantly. Both Janice and I fell back, groaning.

"That's the fourth bleeding game," I muttered, "You're a champ, Molly."

Molly beamed, "That's what happens when you grow up with two younger siblings."

I began to shuffle the cards just as the door clicked. All three of us became on alert. The doors never locked well, and the people inside of the hotel were less than trustworthy. I was ready to defend Molly and Janice when Ellen stepped in.

Her face was lit up like a Christmas tree. One hand was hidden behind her back as she beamed at us. She shut the door behind her and said, "I've got some wonderful news for you girls."

We waited for her to continue. All of us eagerly watched her, our eyes unblinking and our fists clenched in the carpet below. A thousand ideas ran through my mind, ranging from a new record to a certain producer going out of business. The news Ellen had in mind was even better than I could have imagined. 

"You're done recording with Mister Beckham," Ellen said.

All three of us cheered without realizing we had interrupted her. Ellen patiently waited for our tiny celebration to be over. We only stopped when we noticed her waiting. 

"And," Ellen's smile grew wider, "You have this."

She pulled a record from behind her back. It was small, the size that usually worked only for singles. It was in a red paper sleeve. In the middle, the title was shown in cursive handwriting.

When I Loved

Revolution

"Your very first single!" Ellen was practically giddy, "It'll be on the shelves in a fortnight."

Molly leaped up and took the record from her. She pulled it from the sleeve and inspected it, "That's us! Bloody hell, that's us!"

"It's us!" I exclaimed.

I jumped up behind her and peered over her shoulder. Our name and our song were actually on a record. People were going to hear it and buy it and love it. On the bottom, in tiny golden letters, it had the credits. In addition to the producer and the band, it had the song writing credits as McCartney-Mackenzie-Hallieford. For that song, Molly and I had written the lyrics while Janice had helped with the chords. It was the perfect beginning of The Revolution to come. 

"This is bloody amazing!" I exclaimed, "We actually have our own record!"

Janice took the record from Molly and examined it, "Can we play it?"

"We don't have a player, I'm afraid," Ellen replied, "But that is your copy, you can play it as soon as you get home."

The phone began to ring, but none of us paid any attention. Molly, Janice, and I all crowded around that record. It was hard to believe that our voices, our music, was on that thin slice of black vinyl. Those bumps and ridges formed to produce what we created. We had made that, and I couldn't have been prouder than that moment. 

"I can't believe we have a record," I muttered, "Our very first single."

Ellen placed one hand on my shoulder and the other on Janice's, "You girls are amazing, and, in time, the world will see it too."

I released the record and surged forward to hug Ellen's waist. Molly and Janice soon joined me until we were all squeezing the life out of our manager. It had become a sort of tradition for all three of us to hug Ellen every time something important happened. She had begun to expect it so she could keep herself from falling backward. Sometimes, we managed to get a one up on her.

"Elly, you're the greatest of them all," Molly said.

"Here here," I stated, "The best manager anyone could ever ask for."

Ellen patted out backs, "Thank you."

"We should be thanking you."

"Um, Amelia?" Peter's small voice came from the bedside table.

I released Ellen to turn to him, "What?"

"Your brother's on the phone."

"You're going to have to be more specific, I have two."

"Um, both?"

I lifted an eyebrow. Paul and I had mended our relationship with Michael, and it shouldn't surprise me that they were together. Except for the fact that Paul was supposed to be in Scotland while Michael was back home in Liverpool.

"Am I talking to Paul or Mikey?" I asked as soon as I put the phone to my ear.

"Paul, but Mikey's right next to me," Paul replied, "Who was the chap that answered the phone?"

"Ellen's secretary Peter. Say, what're you doing? I thought you were in Scotland."

I could almost hear Paul shrug, "Tour ended yesterday, decided to come home. We all got sick of the cramped van. Ringo got sick for real, but he's alright, just a bit of a cold. Brian didn't want the rest of us catching it."

"He's visiting me while Dad's on a business trip," Michael said.

His voice sounded a bit more distant than Paul's, but not incoherent.

"Hey, Mikey, how are things at home?" I asked.

"Boring," Michael replied, "Wish I could've gone to London with you, or Scotland with Paulie."

"You wouldn't like it here. Our producer's a bloody bastard, and it's raining."

It had only started raining an hour or two before. Every other day the skies had been bright blue. Even as I spoke to them, I could hear the light patter of raindrops on the window.

"What'd you mean your producer's a bastard?" Paul asked.

I shrugged, "Said we couldn't play because we're girls. Bloody git, if you ask me, but Ellen and I set him straight. We've got our first single, too!"

"Bravo, Lia, I knew you girls could do it!"

"What's it called?" Michael asked.

"When I Loved. It'll be on the shelves in a fortnight."

Paul chuckled, "Bet Eppy's store'll have it. We'll go down and buy a few copies."

"Can't be the biggest fans without owning the records," Michael stated.

I laughed, "You lads are the best."

I've heard stories of people who had the worst siblings. It made me even more grateful for the ones I had. Paul, Michael, and I had our fair share of fights, but we always came out all right in the end. I always knew, if there were anyone in this world I could trust no matter what, it was them.

"Melly, come on, celebratory dinner!" Molly exclaimed.

I grinned, "Got to go, duty calls."

"Bye, Lia!"

I hung up and hurried off after the rest of my group. That night, we all ate delicious food and Ellen even let us have a few drinks. We celebrated the very first single of the revolution. It was the first step in the adventure before us. There was a great big world out there, and, soon, every corner of it would know our names.


	56. Celebration

"When I loved you, the skies were blue. When you loved me, I could clearly see."

It was difficult to believe that Molly was singing our song. She was lying right next to me, listening to the record, as her own voice flowed from the player. That was her voice, my drums, and Janice's guitar. Our music was coming from that flimsy vinyl. It was magical.

Our very first single was on the shelves. People were buying it, slowly, but they were buying it. Only a hundred or so copies had been sold, but that was enough of a kickstart to fuel our excitement. It was proof that, against all odds, someone out there truly liked us.

"I still can't believe that's you, lasses," Michael commented.

He was lying with Molly, Janice, and I in Molly's living room. We all circled around the record player with our heads lying dangerously close to the machine. A few stray hairs in Janice's braid threatened to tangle with the record. None of us cared, all we paid attention to was the music flowing out from the player. 

"Believe it, Mikey, you're listening to the sweet sounds of Revolution," I said, "On a bloody record!"

Michael laughed, "It's brilliant, it is."

"We sound different recorded," Janice commented, "It's a good different, but still, different."

The record version of us sounded better than we did live. That was only logical, as whoever sang didn't have to scream the lyrics at the top of their lungs. We didn't have to play as aggressively as we did in a live show, and that made the music sound smoother.

"You're great however you play," Michael smiled at Janice, "Especially the guitarist."

Janice blushed a deep shade of red. Molly grinned, thinking he was also referring to her. I rolled my eyes, "Glad to see where your loyalties lie, Mikey."

"You're alright, I s'pose."

I reached around to hit him in the shoulder, earning a loud laugh. Michael scooted further from me and continued to laugh. I simply huffed.

The story behind the recording session that created that record was terrible, but listening to our music come from a record player made all of those memories wash away. It was worth the pain, the heckling, and the constant fear to create something for people to hear whenever they wanted. We were truly becoming something beyond the three girls who occasionally played at a club. I was becoming something other than The Beatles' ex-drummer.

It started off slowly. A few shows and a single or two on the shelves was all we could manage at the time. Eventually, we would have albums, tours, maybe even a performance in The Royal Albert Hall. I could see it in my mind's eye; we were going somewhere.

To the Toppermost of the Poppermost.

"Someone get the bloody door," Molly sighed.

I frowned, "I'll get it, you lazy bum."

"You're too kind."

I laughed loudly and I headed to the door. It was late in the evening, and we weren't expecting any guests. We all expected the same people. Only four people in the city would knock on Molly's door that late, and I counted my bets on which it could be. 

"'Ello, Melly!" John exclaimed as soon as I opened the door.

He had his arm around a heavily pregnant Cynthia. Her dress didn't do anything to cover the giant lump in her stomach. Behind him, George, Ringo, and Paul grinned at me. I casually leaned against the doorframe and asked, "What're you doing here?"

"Don't act so excited," John laughed, "You ought to be delighted, we just made your evening better!"

"That's one way to put it."

Paul laughed, "Come off it, Lia, you're happy to see us."

"I s'pose," I did my best to hide my growing smile, "Doesn't answer my question. What're you lot doing here?"

"We're going to celebrate!" John exclaimed.

By the way he was acting, I could guess he had already done a bit of celebrating himself. The last thing I wanted to do was carry John Lennon out of a bar. Luckily, the three lads behind him would be left with the cleanup job whenever John drank more than he could handle. All I had to do was enjoy it. 

"Celebrate what?" I inquired.

"A bloody amazing tour," Paul explained, "And a bloody amazing single!"

My smile was undeniable then. The rest of the group couldn't contain the grins plastered across their faces. We looked like a crazy circus just rolling into town.

"Alright, then, let's celebrate," I held onto the doorframe and leaned further into the house, "Molly! Jan! Mikey! Come on, turn the bloody record off!"

The music quickly died down. Michael spun around the corner and saw the merry group at the door. He lifted an eyebrow, "What's going on?"

"Mikey! Perfect, come celebrate with us!" Paul exclaimed.

Molly and Janice came up behind him. Janice hid behind Molly slightly. It hadn't occurred to me that she had yet to become completely comfortable with the lads I considered family. She refused eye contact with everyone except Molly and me.

"Where are we going?" Molly asked, stepping into her boots.

I slapped my hat on my head. John laughed heartily, "A bar, of course. Can't celebrate without liquor."

I glanced at Cynthia who shrugged. All I had ever read was that women should never drink when pregnant. She was the most pregnant woman I had ever met, and yet, she was going to a bar with her already tipsy husband and his friends. Never did it cross my mind that she might be going to keep us all in order. 

Molly shut the door behind us as we all made our way down the streets. John led the pack, intent on a direction. Even when slightly tipsy, John was as stubborn as ever.

He took us to a dingy bar near the coast. All the fishermen went there after they had their catch. One would expect it to reek of fish, but the smell of alcohol overpowered what little fish smell remained. Neither was a good smell, it was enough to make anyone nauseous, even those accustomed to the smell. Molly retched whenever we stepped inside and Janice nearly hit the ground. I simply grinned, "Smells like Hamburg."

John, Paul, and George belted out laughing. We all packed into a circular booth in the corner. I was shoved between Molly and George with Ringo on the other side of George and Janice on the other side of Molly. Paul took the edge seat next to John who kept his arm around Cynthia. Michael gratefully took a seat by Ringo.

"A round of whiskey for everyone," John laughed, "We're celebrating."

The waitress smiled, "May I ask what?"

"Two fucking amazing bands!"

The entire table roared with laughter. The waitress simply smiled before leaving to get our drinks. John watched her go, a playful smirk growing on his lips. Cynthia took notice and playfully slapped him, though I could sense a bit of legitimacy behind it. 

When the drinks came, Paul raised his high above all of our heads, "To The Beatles and Revolution!"

We did our traditional toast. It seemed that one of us always proposed a toast after something big happened. In a way, it had become a ritual. We couldn't be successful without it.

"Soon enough, we'll all be at the toppermost of the poppermost," John grinned, "And we'll look back at everyone who told us we couldn't do it, and we'll give them the ole fuck off."

He flipped both of his middle fingers in the air for reference. Everybody but Cynthia laughed. We all downed our drinks and ordered another round.

That night, we drank and drank until we couldn't handle anymore. The only ones with enough sense not to drink too much were Cynthia, Molly, and Michael. The rest of us became absolutely plastered. I forgot how many drinks I downed, but it didn't matter. A few was just enough to push me over the edge. 

"And then he said, absolutely horrendous, and I told him-I told him-" I couldn't finish my sentence because of my laughing.

John, Paul, Ringo, and George all cackled along with me. We were louder than the band playing several meters away. Several people gave us reproachful glares, but we barely noticed, we were too busy having a wonderful time.

"Another round, I'd say," John's words were slurred, but, to me, he spoke The Queen's English.

"I think that's enough," Cynthia told John, "You're drunk."

John chuckled, "Am not, Cyn. Don't be a spoil sport."

Cynthia sighed. The world had become blurry to me, but I barely noticed. Everything was too damn funny for me to notice any difference.

I didn't notice Molly and Cynthia exchange looks. Janice was crying, her head resting on the table. All of us were getting to the point where we disrupted those around us.

"Perhaps we should take them home," Cynthia suggested.

Molly nodded, "Good idea."

"I don't wanna go home," I grumbled, "I wanna, um, I wanna."

"I wanna go to the zoo," Paul cut in.

I threw my hands up, "The zoo! Let's go to the bloody zoo!"

That was the first time I had ever been drunk in my entire life. You can learn a lot about a person from how they act when they're drunk. Janice is a sad drunk, John is a crazy drunk, Paul and George were both thoughtful drunks, and Ringo was a sleepy drunk. He was completely unconscious and snoring before we even had any fun.

I, on the other hand, was an excited drunk. Everything was hilarious and I was willing to go through with the craziest ideas. For example, I was already climbing out of my seat to go and break into the zoo with full intentions of riding a zebra.

"We're not going to the zoo," Molly pulled me back down into my seat, "We're going home."

I pouted, "I wanna ride a zebra."

"No! Zebras are boring," John cut in, "Let's ride a fucking lion!"

"A lion!"

John was halfway out of his seat. Paul had already fallen onto the floor and was studying a crack beneath the table. Cynthia pulled John back up, "John, please, you're causing a scene."

"I'll cause a bloody scene if I want to."

His tone had changed from happy to aggressive. He glared at Cynthia with a look I can only describe as violent. Cynthia shuddered slightly but didn't let go of his shirt.

"I'll take Paul and George home," Michael sighed, "Can you get Amelia and Janice?"

Molly nodded. Cynthia gazed at her husband, "John, please, let's go home."

"I don't want to go home, Cyn."

He shoved Cynthia off and stood. Almost instantly, he tripped over Paul. I found that to be the funniest thing in the world. Tears were rolling down my face as I laughed uncontrollably.

John began to make his way towards the stage with Cynthia close behind him. Paul was still on the floor studying the same crack in the floor. Molly grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the booth, "Come on, Amelia, I'm taking you home."

She reached back in and pulled out Janice. With an arm around each of us, she led us out of the bar. I completely forgot about the rest of the party, focusing on the flickering streetlights and why they were so damn funny.

"Molly, Mols, Molly Golly," I laughed, "I-ha- I've got to tell you something."

Molly sighed, "Save it, Amelia."

"Aw, don't be mad at me," I gave her my puppy dog eyes.

"I'll be bloody angry with you if I want to," she scoffed, "You're pissed, Amelia! Nearly stripped in the middle of the damn bar."

I didn't remember that happening. Come morning, I would realize I forgot a great many things. I would also learn that I did a few things I'd have to apologize for.

"No, no, Molly, I've got to tell you something," I muttered, "Do you remember-do you-when you dated John and I got so bloody pissed off?"

Molly frowned, "Thought we'd forgotten about this, but yeah, I guess I do."

"You thought I was upset you didn't tell me, but-it's not-I was jealous, I was. Jealous enough to run away like a fucking bitch."

I had never quite forgotten how I felt whenever Molly and John announced they were dating, or when they announced their split. It was unusual, and I knew it meant something, I just didn't know what. Had I not gotten drunk, Molly never would have known.

"Jealous?" Molly asked, "Of John or me?"

"I don't bloody know. Both, I guess, or not, or you, or him, I'm confused."

Molly simply shook her head. Had I been sober, I would have seen the gears turning in her head. She would remember what I said.

After we passed The Cavern Club, I blacked out.

***

"Oh, bloody hell," I muttered.

When I woke up, I learned what a hangover felt like. My head was pounding, my body ached, and I had a strong urge to throw up. Before taking in my surroundings, I rushed to the nearest bathroom and spilled everything that was in my body. When I came out, I saw the blurry figure of Molly leaning against a wall.

"Morning, sunshine," she smirked.

I used the doorframe for support, "Bugger off, Molly."

"Quite a night last night, eh?" Molly asked, "Bet you'll never touch alcohol again."

I coughed, "Touch it, yes, but in small doses. Please tell me I didn't do anything embarrassing."

"Nearly," Molly replied, "You almost stripped in the middle of the bar, but I stopped you. You also said a few things."

"Like what?"

"That you were jealous of John and me whenever we got together."

Her eyes were shining with curiosity. I frowned. That feeling had stuck with me since that day I stormed out of the café. It didn't mean anything, I didn't think, it was just different. A feeling I had never felt, and I never understood fully.

"That's not true," I replied, "Why would I be jealous? It's not like I want to shag John."

The mere thought disgusted me. John was like my brother. Besides, he and Cynthia were married. If that wasn't enough, the way he looked at Paul was enough to set any girl off.

Molly stared at me. There was something in her eyes, something I had never seen before. It both scared me and intrigued me.

"You were jealous of something, Melly," Molly said.

I wrinkled my nose, "Forget about it, Mols, I was drunk. You can't trust a drunk, never know what they'll make up."

"On the contrary, drunks tend to tell the truth."

She left without another word. I watched her disappear down the stairs, leaving me dumbfounded at the door of the bathroom.

"By golly, Miss Molly, you're killing me here," I muttered before turning back into the bathroom to empty my stomach once again.


	57. The Royal Variety

Molly decided not to bring up my drunken confession, though I knew she hadn't let it go. She began to look at me differently. Not a bad differently, in fact, I thought it was better. As if my confession had brought us closer. She smiled every time she looked at me and her eyes sparkled brighter than ever. I both loved it and hated it. Something about the change was unsettling to me.

Neither of us confronted it. We went about our lives as if nothing had happened because nothing truly did. I had just told her something that was nothing, in the long run, it just meant something to me all those years ago. All it was was the hormonal imbalance of a confused teenager.

One day, I was fast asleep in a train cabin. The lads were playing at The Royal Variety Show, a prestigious event that only held the best bands. It was the greatest leap they had yet, and it was all thanks to Brian Epstein.

Paul had told me each member of the band was allowed a plus one. Ringo was bringing his girlfriend, John was bringing his wife, George was bringing his mother, and Paul was bringing me. When he invited me, I didn't hesitate to accept. I had always wanted to go to The Royal Variety Show, or better, play it. Watching my brother and my best friends play on a show I had grown up watching would be exciting.

When I had told Ellen, she became excited as well. She told me that it would be great exposure for the group for the drummer to attend one of the most publicized events as a band member's plus one. She insisted I wear my Revolution outfit, though I argued heavily. This was not about Revolution, it was about The Beatles. I wasn't going to publicize my band, I was going to support my brother and my best friends. In the end, Ellen let me wear what I wanted so long as I kept my face free.

I always knew I would never be able to fully sever my connection to The Beatles. Revolution and The Beatles would always be connected, if not for us showing up at each other's shows, then because Paul and I were siblings. Later in life, we would be known as 'Music's Most Famous Siblings' with good reason too. As time wore on, I began to realize, being tied to The Beatles wasn't so bad after all.

"Macca, wake up," John's voice pierced my consciousness.

"Which one's Macca?" Ringo asked, "There's two of em."

John chuckled, "Right on the nose, Ringo."

I could almost hear John's cheeky grin and Ringo's eye roll. 

"He's talking to Paul," George answered.

"Melly's already got a nickname."

My senses began to come back to me. I recognized a warm lump beneath my head, and it was moving up and down. It occurred to me that I was sleeping on someone. I heard the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter and realized I was never going to hear the end of this.

"Macca, bloody hell, wake your arse up!" John shouted.

The lump beneath me jumped, causing me to fall to the ground. I was completely awoken by my head connecting with the ground beneath me. Everything came into focus as I lifted my head to glare at my friend, "Fucking hell, John!"

"Morning sunshines," John grinned, "Have a nice nap?"

Paul rubbed his eyes, "I did until you came around, wanker."

"Just trying to wake you up, Macca. We made it to London."

I stood to look out the window. The brilliant halls of King Cross Station looked back at me, along with crowds of people. Near the exit of the train, a group of teenagers was packed close together behind a fence. They had signs that said things like 'I love Paul' 'I love John' I love George' and 'I love Ringo'. Some even had pictures of the lad's faces. Every teen had one thing in common; they all looked to be on the verge of tears. 

"You lads are famous," I muttered.

Cynthia appeared at my side, "How are we going to make it through that?"

"With a little help," Brian said, walking into the room, "A few police officers will keep the fans back. Mal will help get you to the cars."

Brian gestured to the man behind him. He was muscular, but not to the point where his shirt threatened to rip. His glasses made him look less menacing and more like a helpful pedestrian. The smile he bore did nothing to help his impression.

I had met him before, but only in passing. Once upon a time, he was the bouncer at The Cavern Club. I hadn't seen him since I quit the band. He looked more than pleased to lend a helping hand.

"I'll keep them from gettin' at ya," Mal grinned, "I've gotten used to it."

John laughed and clapped his shoulder, "Always were a good man, Mal."

"Come on, there's no time to waste," Brian gestured for us to follow, "There are two cars waiting. John, Paul, George, and Ringo will go in one. The fans will be diverted enough for the ladies to go in the other."

I glanced at Paul to see his eager look. He wanted nothing more than to go out and meet the people who idolized him. Even John, George, and Ringo looked eager. Cynthia, Maureen, Mrs. Harrison, and I all looked skeptical.

"It's for your own safety," Brian assured us, "We don't want you to be harmed just because you're with The Beatles."

Brian glanced at each of us individually, his eyes lingering longer on me. I could tell he was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't figure it out. Just as I was about to protest, his glare hardened, making me shut my mouth. 

John and Cynthia had already heard that speech whenever they got married. Teenage girls across the country were in love with The Beatles, and they would attack anyone who they thought was 'taking their place'. The only one of us who might be safe was Mrs. Harrison, the worst she would face were teenagers asking about George. Cynthia and Maureen were in the most danger, Mrs. Harrison and I were just relatives.

"See you on the other side, love," John kissed Cynthia's cheek.

She looked nervous, but she didn't say anything. John left with Paul close behind. Paul only paused to look back and wink at me. If he saw my annoyed expression, he didn't comment.

This wasn't the first time I was subject to threats by Beatles' fans. At first, it scared me, it even made me feel bad, but as time wore on I gradually became angrier and angrier. From taunting me enough to making me quit the band, throwing eggs at me, and asking for my autograph just because I have the same last name as Paul, it was all annoyingly frustrating. This was just another time I had to glare at the fans.

Cynthia, Maureen, and I all gathered around our compartment window to watch the lads run to their car. Mal did a wonderful job of keeping the few loose fans away from them. George and Ringo were smart, they went straight to the car without stopping to talk to the fans. All they did was wave. Paul and John, however, stopped to talk and had to be pulled away by Brian. Everybody but Mal loaded into the car while policemen held back the fans. We watched as they drove away, abandoning us on the train.

"Stay for our own protection, rubbish!" I exclaimed, "A few fans never hurt me."

That was a lie. Cynthia glanced at me, "Maybe you could make it, but I don't want to risk the baby."

She rubbed her stomach gently, her eyebrows knit in worry. I gazed at her, wondering if this trip was worth her sanity. She was obviously stressed out.

It occurred to me why Brian had made me stay in here with the other ladies. I was the only one in this room who knew how to handle crazy fans. I had been subject to their jeers, and their eggs. I knew how to protect myself as well as the women around me, and I was going to do everything I could to make sure they got through alright, especially Cynthia and the baby. 

"You're right, Cyn. I'd rather make sure you're alright then put up with crazed fans anyhow," I smiled at her.

Maureen nodded, "I'm sure John wouldn't have left if he didn't know you would be with friends."

"We'll keep you safe, dearie," Mrs. Harrison smiled, "I'm sure our car will be here soon."

Most of the fans had already dispersed, unaware of the Beatles relatives standing on the train. Only a few remained. They might have known about the plus one rule of The Royal Variety show and decided to wait and see The Beatles' plus one. It didn't matter, anyhow, they were on the wrong side of the train.

"Come along, ladies, your car awaits," Mal smiled as soon as he entered.

Cynthia went out with Mal first. She practically waddled down the train corridors. She was nearly nine months pregnant, and it showed. I had to wonder if it was safe for such a pregnant woman to be so far from home, especially when she was trying to hide from fans. John had said he would call her his sister, but none of us thought that would fly.

I took up the back, ready and waiting to take down a crazy fan or two. It would be no problem for me to shove them off if they even recognized us. I pulled my hat further down on my head as we stepped off of the train.

Mal led us to a black car without any problems. Mrs. Harrison helped Cynthia slid in slowly, making sure she was safe. They sat on one row while Maureen and I took the one behind them. Mal quickly slid into the front and took off.

Brian had gotten us hotel rooms at the very top floor of a hotel just four blocks from The Royal Variety show. It was the fanciest hotel I'd ever stepped foot in. I marveled at the crystal chandelier and the mirror like tile reflecting every beam of light. Even the people inside were fancy. Part of me expected to pass The Queen at any moment.

We all piled into the lift and went straight up. Mal was smiling contentedly as if he had just won some major prize. Cynthia looked exhausted. Maureen and I worked as her leaning posts.

"It'll be alright, Cyn," I tried, "We'll get you to your room and you can rest."

Cynthia frowned, "I've got to get ready for the show."

"We've still got a few hours," Mrs. Harrison smiled, "It'll give you enough time for a two-hour nap, sweetie."

Cynthia looked grateful. When we arrived on our floor, Mal took Cynthia and helped her to her room. I saw the door open to reveal a worried looking John. He embraced Cynthia as soon as she stepped in.

Paul and I shared a room right next door to them. The door was cracked open and waiting for me. I pushed it to see Paul relaxing on his bed.

"Glad you could make it," he smirked.

I frowned, "Leave me for my own protection, rubbish!"

"Come off it, Lia, we didn't leave you for your protection," Paul rolled his eyes, "It wasn't you we were worried about."

"Right, leave the others with a friend, I got that, it's still rubbish."

Paul glared at me, "You can't honestly expect us to let Cynthia go through those crowds while she's pregnant. Mrs. Harrison can't run without hurting herself, it was best."

I fell onto my bed and groaned. Paul was right, of course, but that didn't stop my annoyance. I'd had enough of people thinking I couldn't handle myself. Even if Paul said it wasn't for me, I didn't fully believe him.

***

"Right this way, ladies," Brian smiled his usual gentleman smile.

We had all arrived at The Royal Variety Show an hour early. The lads instantly vanished backstage, but not without a final word to the ladies they brought along. John kissed Cynthia, Ringo kissed Maureen's cheek, and George regrettably received a cheek kiss from his Mum. His nose wrinkle was enough to send me into a giggle fit, to which he glared. I playfully punched Paul's shoulder, "Break a leg, Paulie."

"Thanks, Lia," he winked.

Brian led us to our seats. All of the plus one's had seats at the very front of the show. All of us sat in a neat line along our reserved seats. I was put between Maureen and Brian. Mrs. Harrison insisted on sitting next to Cynthia. Mrs. Harrison was the only one of us who knew what it was like to be pregnant, and she was the only one who could help Cynthia should the occasion arise. I more than willingly stepped back, seeing as how I had no idea how to help Cynthia. The last pregnant woman I had seen was Mum when she had Michael, and that was years ago.

The Royal Variety show was exactly that, royal. Everybody showed up in formal dresses and suits, looking like they had jumped straight out of a fashion magazine for the rich. Even the girls next to me wore beautiful dresses. Brian looked dapper in his suit.

I felt out of place. After arguing with Ellen to let me chose my clothes, I went with simple black slacks and matching blouse. It wasn't fancy, but it wasn't rubbish either. It was right in between, but it didn't fit with the gorgeous gowns I was surrounded by. I began to wish I took Molly's advice and borrowed her dress no matter how much I despise it. At least then I would feel like I actually belonged in that seat. 

"Wonder if they have popcorn," I said, turning to look back at the crowd.

Brian shook his head, "This is a prestigious event, Amelia, they do not have popcorn."

"Alright, caviar, then."

"Amelia-"

"I'm hungry," I replied, "Somebody was rushing us out of the hotel before I could eat anything."

I gave him an accusing glare. Brian frowned, "You should have eaten earlier. We were running late."

"We're early to being early, Brian."

"Nevertheless, just stay in your seat, the show will start soon."

I huffed and sat back, crossing my arms. George always seemed to have some form of snack with him, I wondered if he had anything backstage. If I could sneak away without Brian noticing, I could go and ask him.

I didn't get a chance because the lights went off. The curtain was raised and the entire theater clapped. John, Paul, George, and Ringo all stood there with smiles plastered across their faces.

"If there's anything that you want, if there's anything I can do. Just call on me and I'll send it along, with love from me to you."

I hummed along, having memorized every lyric and every chord. Even Maureen and Cynthia joined in, clapping and humming along with the beat. Some of the teenagers behind us screamed loudly, nearly overtaking the music being made.

Having watched The Royal Variety Show on television all my life, I thought I knew what to expect. Seeing something on the telly and seeing it in real life are two vastly different things. Being there, I could feel the heat of the bodies surrounding me. I didn't even have to play and I was drenched in sweat. The lads sparkled beneath the bright stage lights, but their smiles never went away.

"For our next number," John said as Paul and George changed guitars, "Would the people in the cheaper seats clap your hands, and the rest of you just rattle your jewelry."

The entire theater erupted in laughter, the loudest coming from Cynthia. It was good to see John being just as humorous on stage as he was off, it gave the performance a sort of realness to it. It made the audience truly believe that The Beatles were real people just like them. They weren't just famous musicians, they were humans. Just by being themselves, The Beatles connected with their audience in a way musicians never had before.

That's the thing about The Beatles. They are exactly who you think they are because they never know how to be anybody else. They never had an image to uphold like other musicians, they were as natural as they were talented, and that was beyond measure. People connected with The Beatles easily because they could see their idols were real people. There was nothing fake about them.

They went through their last number with the same enthusiasm as every other song. John did his bow-legged bouncing, Paul bounced around in his usual over-excited manner, George tapped his foot along to the beat, and Ringo looked as happy as a kid in a candy store. They all looked so normal, yet special all at the same time.

"Thank you for being so wonderful," John laughed into the mic.

Paul and Ringo both waved wildly. George gave a tiny wave as they left the stage, leaving behind rapturous applause. The loudest cheers came from the front row, where those closest to the lads were more proud than they ever had been before.

The next act was good, but they didn't compare to The Beatles. We sat through the rest of the show with pleasant looks on our faces. I enjoyed the rest of the show, but they didn't hold a candle to the first act in my eyes. 

Brian had met the lads backstage as soon as they finished. The rest of us went to meet them after the show. I slid into the dressing room with a smirk and three ladies following behind me.

"What'd you think?" Paul asked when I came up behind him.

He was trying to brush the sweat out of his hair but to no avail. His hair remained damp and plastered to his head. I leaned on the back of his chair and smirked, "You're alright."

Paul laughed loudly. He stood up and flung an arm around my shoulders, "Alright? Bloody brilliant, I'd say."

"You're ego's big enough as is," I giggled, "No need to inflate it further."

Paul only laughed. Brian clapped his hands, getting the attention of the celebrating group. Even Mrs. Harrison stopped peppering George with motherly love.

"A brilliant show, truly," Brian smiled, "You lads did spectacularly."

John cackled, "In other words, we were fucking amazing!"

The other lads cheered. I joined them. Cynthia and Maureen simply smiled while Mrs. Harrison shook her head at the use of language.

"Let's go get some food, I'm starved," I commented as we began to leave.

Paul grabbed his own stomach, "You took the words right out of my mouth."

"I have reservations at a restaurant across the street from our hotel," Brian said, "It's only fitting to have a celebratory dinner."

We all nodded in agreement. Any sort of dinner sounded good to me at that point. We had been on the move all day, and I had barely been able to eat anything. The last time I ate was back in Liverpool, and that seemed like days ago rather than just that morning.

The dinner was amazing. We all ate, drank, and celebrated for two hours. Brian finally pulled the plug when John started to become tipsy. He took us back to the hotel where we promptly separated. Paul and I vanished into our bedroom to the buzzed calls of goodnight from three other lads.

"I'm bloody exhausted," Paul groaned, falling into his bed.

I shut the door and glanced at him, "Go to sleep, then."

He didn't reply. I turned off the light and slipped into my own bed. His snores began to bounce through the small room. For a moment, I blinked and I was back in my childhood, having campouts with Paul in the living room. His snoring always kept me awake.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, turning over and covering my head with the pillow.


	58. Our Own Place

The release of another single rose our popularity. Earth and Stars sold over one hundred thousand copies in the first week. It was a milestone for us and got us enough money to purchase our own flat.

Janice, Molly, and I all decided to move in together. We were all very close friends as well as bandmates, it was only fitting. One day, just a week after I came home from London, we found ourselves wandering the streets of Liverpool with a newspaper open between us.

"What about Wings Street?" I asked, "It's close to the club."

Molly wrinkled her nose, "And the brothels."

I sighed. Flat hunting was more difficult than I expected. With every flat we found, we found both goods and bads. It seemed as if the bads often outweighed the goods. 

I dropped my side of the paper and fell onto a nearby park bench. Flowers were beginning to bud in the trees and grass around me, giving Liverpool a bit of color. Spring used to be my favorite season; it was when the color returned. Now, it reminded me that we were faced with another year filled with more obstacles to overcome.

"Hold on, what about this one?" Molly fell next to me and pointed to one of the ads, "A three bedroom flat on Crackerbox Drive. That's a good neighborhood."

I glanced over her shoulder to read the ad. Crackerbox Drive was just a few streets down from Ellen's office. It was within walking distance to the club, and the neighborhood was better than good. It was filled with families who wanted nothing more than safety. There were no sketchy people wandering the streets late at night, or a strip club blaring their music next door. As if to top it off, the flat was far enough away from the coast for the fish smell to fade.

"It's perfect," I muttered, "Jan, what do you think?"

Molly handed her the paper. Janice read the ad, her smile growing slowly as she did, "My Aunt lives on that street. It's a nice part of town."

"It's settled, let's go take a look."

Janice folded up the paper and handed it to Molly. She stuck it in her purse as we made our way towards the flat. We walked side by side, our grins matching our excited strides.

Many people were out and about. Crackerbox Drive was mostly a residential street, but there were a few stores that were popular with the older generation. A few glanced at us as if they recognized us, but nobody said anything.

Every time we turned a corner, I was scared we would face another teenager who recognized us. It would be amazing if they recognized us as Revolution, but I knew they wouldn't. All they had to do was take one look at me and they would know exactly who I was. I would be hounded for autographs, but only my last name. They would ask about the lads and try to convince me to get them a meet and greet even though I told them I couldn't.

You never know how a fan is going to react. The good ones freak out and ask questions and autographs. The bad ones freak out and get violent. Those were the sort who started the riot on Ringo's first day. It was them that I was afraid of. I could picture Molly having to drag the panicking Janice and the injured me out of a crowd of teenagers.

Luckily, we didn't encounter any such fans. Our walk was peaceful, it was welcome. We made it to the building without a single problem.

There was a woman in the lobby who gladly took us up to show us the apartment. Her smile looked like it was painted on, and the scale was off. Her mouth was bigger than any other facial feature, it could have easily overtaken her face. Even her hair seemed fake, plastered with so much hairspray it looked like a plastic beehive. She walked like a rigid Barbie Doll, even her skin glistened. The woman was an animated Barbie doll with a raspy voice.

"It's a lovely neighborhood with the best neighbors," she giggled, "The view is positively spectacular, and there's a wonderful park just down the way."

I glanced at Molly. Her glare warned me not to say any sarcastic comments that were coming to mind. All I could think was how this woman used more adjectives than the world had to offer.

"It's extremely spacious, just large enough for three gorgeous girls," the woman laughed.

I leaned over to whisper to Molly, "She'll run out of adjectives soon."

Molly simply glared at me, doing her best to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The woman opened the door and let us into the apartment. The first thing I noticed was the sliding glass doors that led to a balcony. The living room and the kitchen were connected. The only way to tell which room was which was the sudden change from wooden floor to gray tiles. It had a small island as well which could easily be used as the perfect dining room table.

"One of the bathrooms is right here. It's very small, there's only one shower in the flat, but a bathroom is a bathroom I suppose."

She showed us a small bathroom in, what I thought, was a closet. The toilet and the sink were almost touching, and the mirror was just large enough for a face. It looked as if the owners had changed a closet into a bathroom.

A short hall led to the three bedrooms and the larger bathroom. Each bedroom was about the size of Molly's bedroom, which was no larger than a usual suburban bedroom. All had matching windows and small closets. At the very end of the hall, the large bathroom waited. It had a shower and bathtub combination as well as a drug cabinet and a large storage space beneath the sink. I admired the colorful tiles on the walls that clashed terribly with the blue tiles on the floor. It made in unique, in a sense.

"It is very cheap for such a lovely place as well," the woman's smile got wider if that was possible.

Molly gazed into one of the bedrooms, "It is lovely, one of the best we've looked at so far."

"It is positively perfect for three beautiful girls."

Molly, Janice, and I all looked at each other. I was ready to give the woman my money now. Every other flat we'd looked at was either too expensive or in a bad place. That flat seemed like it was built for us.

"Can we talk it over for a moment?" Molly asked.

The woman nodded, "I'll wait in the kitchen."

Molly pulled Janice and me into the nearest bedroom. As soon as she released me, I said, "I think it's bloody brilliant."

"We could keep looking," Molly replied, "See what else comes up."

I frowned, "Mols, we're not going to get a better flat than this. All the others are shit!"

"Melly's right, this is perfect," Janice added.

Molly glanced between us, "I've got to admit, it feels quite right. It's settled then?"

"We've found our flat," I grinned, "And, I must say, it's positively splendidly perfect for three pretty girls."

Molly elbowed me, chuckling at my imitation of our tour guide. I never thought I'd say those words. One of the biggest wishes I'd had since the day I left for Hamburg was to have my own place. I was tired of mooching off others, especially The Mackenzie's. I felt like I was using them. This gave me the chance to fend for myself.

We went to the woman whose smile seemed to grow. It was beginning to overtake her nose. Her lipstick was smeared under her nostrils, and her eyes were unblinking. I began to wonder if we had just purchased a haunted flat.

"We'll take it," Molly and I both said.

The woman laughed, "Brilliant! Come, follow me, I'll get the contract and we can talk about the down payment."

She led us back to the lift. I took one last look at the empty flat. Soon, it would be decorated just how the three of us wanted. We would finally have a place to call home. One that we paid for, we took care of, and we owned. As soon as we signed our names, we would have our own flat. No more mooching, no more handouts, we were finally getting on track.


	59. Moving and Meeting

This world is filled with beauty. It took me a long time to see it. Every crack, bruise, bump, and jagged edge of this planet is a thing of beauty. Each person was a walking work of art, no matter what they looked like. Not everybody sees the true beauty in this world. You have to open your heart feel the beauty in your soul. You have to smile when you feel like frowning, love when you feel like hating, and laugh when you feel like sobbing. 

It took me a long time to learn how beautiful the world was. Even to this day, I still don't believe I see all of the beauty. It took the bright eyes of a tiny baby boy for me to begin to realize how beautiful the world truly is. 

Moving from one house to the next was easier than I had expected. I had seriously downgraded my possessions since Hamburg. Everything I owned could fit into ten cardboard boxes, not including my instruments. I was completely moved in the day after we had bought the place, but Molly and Janice took a bit longer.

"Melly!" Molly shouted, "Melly, can you get the door?"

I glanced up from my box. All of us had spent the past two days unpacking and organizing our new flat. We discovered that we would need to make essential purchases like furniture and dishes, but, for now, we lived on what we had in the boxes. That meant sitting on the floor and eating soup out of plastic cups.

I hadn't noticed someone knocking on the door. I stood, abandoning the pile of clothes and half empty box at the end of my mattress. I shuffled past Janice and Molly's bedrooms, ignoring their grunts and mumbles.

"'Ello, Lia," Paul grinned, leaning against the doorframe.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Didn't expect to see you so soon."

"Don't try to hide your enthusiasm," he stepped forward and flung an arm around my shoulder, "It's only fitting for me to visit my baby sister in her first flat."

I frowned, "I'm not even a full year younger than you, Paul."

"Ah, but you're the baby."

"Wrong, Mikey's the baby."

"You're both babies to me," Paul laughed, "Come on, then, let's get a look at the place."

I stepped aside to welcome him in. He waltzed past me, glancing at the bare walls and living room full of boxes. A small smile played across his lips.

I had to admit, I was glad he came. I had been expecting him. He said he would visit as soon as we found a flat.

"We're not quite unpacked yet," I shrugged.

Paul smiled, "You just got it yesterday, I didn't expect you to be."

"Come on, I'll give you the grand tour."

It was a simple tour, as there weren't many rooms. Molly and Janice had their doors shut, and I didn't bother knocking. By the grumbles on the other side of the door, I could tell they were having difficulties. It was best not to bother them.

"And, last but not least, my room," I gestured for him to step inside.

He glanced around the near-empty room. My mattress was crooked and missing a stand. Only one picture decorated the walls, and that was a small family portrait from fifteen years ago. Paul stopped at the mattress and chuckled, "It's as bare as a sheet of paper."

"As you said, we just got here yesterday," I knelt next to the pile of clothes and began sorting once again.

Paul fell to lay on the bed, his head propped up on his elbows at the foot. He was just a few feet away from me, smiling the entire time. I shuffled through my clothes to decide what went in the closet and what went back in the box to wait for a dresser.

"You birds need to go shopping," Paul commented, "Honestly, this place is depressing."

"Depressing or not, it's home."

Paul grinned, "Can't believe you got your own place before me."

"It's not just mine," I replied, "It Janice and Molly's too."

"Still. I'm proud of you, Lia."

I gave him the biggest, most genuine smile I could muster. Both of us had been raised in a childhood where we starved for approval. Hearing Dad say that would have been a day of celebration. Because of this, we often said it to each other, and we meant every word.

"Thanks, Paulie," I said.

Paul nodded, "Course, you gotta let me stay over some time."

"The spare key is under the welcome mat."

"Knew you'd come through."

Paul winked, causing me to laugh. My laughter only made his smile brighten. Both of us sat there smiling like two kids.

As our lives went on, moments like those became more and more precious. We didn't see each other every morning and every night anymore. There were some times when we didn't see each other for a week or so. Those moments when we were together were precious. Especially those where we were together as Paul and Amelia the siblings, not Paul and Amelia the musicians.

There were times when I wondered if those weeks where we didn't see each other would begin to stretch. Next thing I knew, we wouldn't see each other for a month, a year, a decade, or never again. One day, I could turn around and Paul would be off with his family, completely forgetting about the sister he once called his best friend. I was terrified for that day even though it might never come.

"Paul?" I asked, dropping the shirt back into the pile.

Paul looked up at me, "Lia?"

"Promise to never leave?" I glanced at him, "Even when we're old and gray and have our own families, we'll still be close, right?"

Paul grinned, "Aw, come on, Lia, you're not getting rid of me that easily. You wouldn't know what to do without me."

"Paul, I'm serious."

Paul reached forward and grabbed my wrists. He smiled his usual smile, but there was something behind it. It was a sort of genuineness that I only ever saw when he was making a promise he could never break.

"Amelia, you're my sister and my friend, that's not going away easily," he grinned, "You're stuck with me, and I'm stuck with you, and I wouldn't want it any other way. Promise."

I smiled, "Good. I wouldn't know what to do without your constant cheeky comments."

"And I wouldn't know what to do without your sarcastic aggression, you know."

Paul was many things, but a liar was not one of them. When he made a promise, you can be sure that he will never break it. To him, a promise is as important as life itself. Promises are not meant to be broken, and Paul knows that better than anyone.

Paul rolled over to stare at the ceiling as I continued to go through my clothes. Neither of us said anything for a while, but we didn't have to. Both of us were enjoying each other's company in a rare peaceful moment.

It was peaceful until the telephone began to ring. That was the first thing we put into the flat, and we spread the number through our social circle. All of the lads had it as well as Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie and Michael.

Paul followed me like a lost puppy as I went to answer it. As I leaned on the kitchen island, Paul leaned on me, nearly pushing me over the edge. I looked over my shoulder to glare at him and was met with his cheeky grin, "You sure you want to be stuck with this?"

"I'm seriously beginning to reconsider," I sarcastically replied, "Course I do."

Paul laughed. I pressed the phone to my ear, "'Ello?"

"Amelia?"

"Hello, Johnny Boy."

John had a very distinctive voice, one that wasn't easily mistaken. Even over the phone, I knew exactly who was speaking to me. His voice matched his personality, neither was easily forgotten.

"Bloody hell, finally, this is the fourth number I've tried," he groaned.

I lifted an eyebrow, "I gave you the right number."

"The writing got smudged, couldn't read half of it."

"Well, you got me, what do you want?"

Had I been standing in front of him, I knew I would have seen the biggest smile John Lennon had ever produced. Perhaps even the biggest smile anyone had ever produced. It was the smile of a man who was living in the happiest moment of his life, so far.

"It happened," John's voice became giddy, "It finally fucking happened, Melly!"

"What?"

John could barely contain himself, "Cynthia had the baby."

I nearly dropped the phone. Paul had been listening in to the conversation and tripped in his effort to spin around. I gasped, "What? When? I just saw her day before yesterday!"

"Last night. She came home this morning."

"John! Congratulations!"

"It's a little boy," John said, "His name is Julian. Christ, Melly, he's the spitting image of Cyn."

My smile was growing wider with every second, "Can we come visit him?"

"We?"

"Paul's on the floor next to me."

"What's he doing on the floor?"

"Napping."

John laughed, "Come 'round our flat tonight, you can meet him then."

"Can't wait."

We hung up after that. I glanced down at Paul, who was still sprawled out on the tile. He gazed back up at me, "They had the baby?"

"Last night," I replied, "His name's Julian. We can go see him tonight."

Paul was practically glowing. I helped him stand. When he was upright, his glow only became stronger.

Few things are rarer than the joy felt when a baby is born. For months, the parents are practically rays of sunshine. Even John smiled more often than ever before. Everybody around them, Paul and I included, fed off of that joy.

***

"You know where you're going?" I asked.

Paul had his hands stuffed in his pockets and a cigarette hanging from his lips. I followed him down the streets, weaving around pedestrians and peddlers. He was casually walking, but the sparkle in his eye told me he wanted to go faster.

"Course I do," Paul grinned, "I've been there a million times."

I smirked, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you and John were lovers. You're with each other enough as is."

Paul laughed, trying to hide the blush rising to his cheeks. I noticed it just as he turned away. Getting Paul to blush wasn't the hardest thing in the world, in fact, it was fairly easy. Jokes like that don't usually cause him to become pinker than usual.

We made it to a nice building near Brian's office. Every brick was as clean as a dinner plate, and the stoop seemed to be permanently swept. I thought my building was nice, but it was nothing compared to this.

"It's very clean," I commented, running my finger over the wall.

"Eppy got them this place," Paul hit the button for the lift, "He wouldn't settle for anything less."

I followed him into the lift, "Sounds like Brian."

The lift was quick. It soared upwards like a bird taking flight. I found myself wishing that my building had a quicker lift and cleaner rooms. John's building was so much nicer than mine, and I thought I'd hit the jackpot.

Paul lightly knocked on the door of John and Cynthia's flat. Inside, I could hear the soft sounds of a radio playing. With it came female hums and the slight cry of a baby.

John opened the door. I had to do a double take to make sure I was looking at the man I'd known for three years. His skin was flushed like he barely had any sleep, but his eyes were filled with life. His hair was an absolute mess, which was unlike John. To top it all off, his glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. John would never be caught dead in his glasses. 

"Macca and Female Macca," John grinned, "Come on, then, no use standing there like a couple of tossers."

He stepped aside and let us in. Paul nodded a greeting at John who nodded back. I simply smiled.

"Where's John Junior?" I asked.

John placed a hand over his heart in mock pain, "Am I not good enough for you?"

I giggled. Paul clapped John's back, "Course you are, John, always a pleasure to see you."

"I just saw you yesterday, I'm beginning to get sick of you."

The sparkle in his eyes told me otherwise. John and Paul had a special friendship, one that could be mistaken for a real relationship. The way they looked at each other was like two soulmates. They couldn't live without each other, and they knew it. Sometimes, I had to question if I truly understood their relationship. 

"John? Who's at the door?" Cynthia called.

John grinned, "They're in the bedroom, come on."

John led us through the flat. It was a nice place with paintings on the wall and rugs beneath the furniture. They had only lived there for a month or so, and they already had the place suited to their liking. I found myself becoming jealous over a simple couch.

Cynthia was lying in her and John's bed with the curtains pulled back and sunlight across her face. She looked absolutely exhausted like she would faint at any moment but kept herself together for the tiny bundle in her arms. As soon as she saw us, she smiled, "Paul and Amelia, lovely to see you again."

Paul grinned, "You had to know we were coming, Cyn."

"Course," Cynthia's smile brightened, "I didn't expect anyone else."

I came up to her side and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted but elated," she replied, "It was tough, but Julian was worth it."

She pulled back the blanket covering Julian's head. The moment I laid eyes on him I knew what true innocence looked like. His tiny brown eyes looked around the world with a curiosity unlike any other. Everything was new to him, from the air he breathed to the people around him. He reached out to touch his Mum's nose, a tiny smile crossing his lips.

"He's beautiful," I commented.

Cynthia smiled. John sat down on her opposite side and asked, "Doesn't he look just like her?"

"Bit of both, I'd say," Paul replied, "He's got your eyes, Johnny."

John began to glow. His very eyes looked like glittering Christmas ornaments. He looked down at his son with all the love and compassion the world held.

"Would you like to hold him?" Cynthia asked.

Paul nodded. She gently passed the little boy to Paul. Paul gazed down at the baby with a smile that grew wider with every second. I sat behind him and peered over his shoulder.

Most babies cried, I knew that much, but Julian looked content. He never made so much as a whimper. His dark eyes gazed up at Paul with curiosity.

"Meet your Uncle Paulie and Aunt Melly, Julian," John smiled, "Better get used to them, they'll be around a lot."

Julian cooed lightly, reaching his tiny hand up to grasp Paul's finger. Paul looked like he had just been blessed by heavenly angels. He smiled down at the tiny baby who smiled back.

"Want to hold him, Lia?" Paul asked after a few minutes.

I nodded. He shifted position to hand Julian to me. He rested in my arms as if I were a cradle. He was much lighter than I had anticipated but no less cute. He looked up at me and smiled a toothless smile.

"Hello, Julian," I beamed, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

John laughed, "It's not like he understands you."

"You don't know that."

John shook his head. I rocked Julian slightly, enjoying his light coos and fidgeting hands. Paul and John both gazed over my shoulders at the little boy who was slowly falling asleep.

There are places and moments I remember all my life, and that was one of them. I'll never forget the first time I met Julian Lennon. The first time he smiled at me, the first time he cooed, or even the first time he began to cry. He was the first baby I'd met, save for Michael. Before I met him, I never understood the fascination with babies. Everybody always cooed over tiny lumps of flesh that did nothing but cry and poop.

It wasn't so much the baby they cooed over, rather, what the baby stood for. A new baby was a new life, a new start. He was innocent and beautiful, unspoiled by the world around him. Babies are the only ones who have yet to have the seed of hate planted in their hearts. All they know is the love around them. If everyone was a little more like that, the world would be a much brighter place.


	60. Insomnia and Insanity

Being a drummer takes a lot of energy. Being a musician, in general, takes a surplus of energy, drumming more than anything else. It took a certain level of strength to pound the sticks onto the drums, and a certain level of stamina to keep going through a concert. As a result, a drummer was supposed to be adequately rested and fed, neither of which I ever was.

It seemed as if every night was a sleepless night for me. Only the nights when I crashed or Molly secretly gave me sleeping pills did I get a good enough rest. Some would call this insomnia and tell me to get some medicine, but I called it an overactive imagination.

Night time was when I thought the best. The greatest ideas came to be when the rest of the city was asleep. At night, my mind ran several thousand miles an hour with thoughts, ideas, and brilliant realizations that had to be put on paper. When I wasn't sleeping, I was dreaming.

Molly had told me that moving into a new flat could help my insomnia. She thought that the change of scenery could put my mind to rest, but, if anything, it did the exact opposite. My mind was more awake than ever before, leaving me to stare up at the unfamiliar white ceiling with eyes wider than silver platters.

"Change of scenery my arse," I muttered.

I kicked off my blankets and sighed deeply. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, the time when most people were fast asleep. All I wanted was to sleep, but my mind had other ideas. Instead, I grabbed my notebook and pen and headed into the living room with a colorful afghan wrapped around my shoulders.

I was careful not to wake up Molly or Janice. I was sure that, if they knew I was awake, they wouldn't hesitate in hitting me with a frying pan. At least then I would be asleep.

Our living room opened into a small balcony. It was no larger than a dining room table and had black railings that only came up to my waist. We had a small plastic chair on it, a gift from Janice's stoner Uncle. It was decorated in spray-painted flowers and peace signs.

I sat there and gazed out into the night. Liverpool was completely at rest, save for the occasional car and insomniac. Everything was dark. It seemed as if the entire world had turned off for the time of rest.

"Sleepy, sleepy world," I muttered, "Turned off except for those few who blink whenever everyone else lies still."

I scratched the words onto the paper. The sound of my writing seemed to echo across the street, though it could have just been my imagination. I gazed up at the stars twinkling in the midnight sky.

Mum used to tell me stories of the constellations in the sky. Whenever I would have a nightmare, she would wrap me up in a blanket and set me in her lap at the foot of my bedroom window. We would gaze out together and identify every constellation. With each one we found, she would tell a story.

She was up there with them, dancing with the stars. Just like the constellations she spoke of. The stars had welcomed her home as soon as she took her last breath. Now, she's up there, waiting for someone to tell her story.

The stars have always made me feel closer to Mum. After she died, I would stare up at them for hours, bundled in a blanket at the foot of my bedroom window. I would pretend she was holding me as I told the stories I had long since memorized. For a moment, I felt like she was with me once again.

I leaned back in the chair, pulling the blanket closer around my shoulders and abandoning the notebook on the ground. My eyes found the constellation of Orion, with his perfectly aligned belt.

"Once there was a brave warrior by the name of Orion," I began.

I was barely halfway into the story whenever sleep finally came.

***

"Bloody hell, Lia."

My skin was prickling with goosebumps. I jumped slightly, causing the blanket to slip off the chair completely. Three blurry figures stood in front of me. When I rubbed my eyes, they came into focus.

"What?" I asked, "What's going on?"

Paul gazed down at me, "Why're you on the porch?"

"I was tired."

"So you came out on the porch?" Michael asked.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "What are you two doing here?"

"You were supposed to meet us for breakfast," Paul replied, "When you didn't show, we figured we'd come and get you. Janice let us in."

Janice wrung her hands together, "You weren't in your room. We looked for a few minutes before Paul found you."

I glanced between the three of them. For a moment, my vision was still blurry. They were in focus, but the world around them seemed to be in a haze. I rubbed my eyes once again to try and see clearly, but to no avail. 

"Why the bloody fuck are you on the porch? You're practically blue," Paul stated sternly.

"Couldn't sleep," I replied, "Thought I'd come out here and write some stuff down. I s'pose I passed out."

"Obviously. Christ, Lia, you're gonna get sick."

I smirked, "Since when were you such a Mum, Paulie?"

"He's always been like this," Michael commented.

Paul playfully whacked the back of his head. I rubbed my arms. My skin was practically ice laden with bumps. Only then did I realize my teeth were chattering.

"I'll admit, not one of my better ideas," I shivered.

Paul sighed, "Obviously. Go get some warmer clothes on."

"You're not the boss of me. I'm going to go change, but not because you told me too because I'm bloody freezing."

"I don't care why you do it, so long as you do it."

Michael smiled, "You still owe us breakfast."

I shook my head and grinned. Hurrying inside, I spun around the hall towards my room. I passed by Molly's room to see her fast asleep on her bed. The door was only slightly cracked open, so I could only see the back of her head.

I quickly shoved on jeans and a sweater. When I returned to Paul and Michael, they were sitting on the floor in our barren living room.

"Wherever we're going, I'm getting a warm cup of tea," I commented.

Paul stood, "Jolly good. Let's go before the crowds get in."

Janice waved at us as we left. I followed my brothers down the stairs and out to the streets. The sweater was just beginning to warm my skin, but not as much as I would like. As we turned a corner, I sneezed loudly.

"You're sick, ain't you?" Michael asked.

I crossed my arms, "No, course not, I don't get sick."

"Yeah, you do," Paul cut in, "You used to get sick all the time."

I rolled my eyes, "That's when I was a kid, Paul."

"Kid or not, you still get sick."

I sneezed three more times, ending the argument there. We went to a small diner on the corner. As soon as we sat down, Paul ordered three warm cups of tea. The waitress returned rather quickly and placed steaming mugs in front of us. I gladly took it.

"Just what I needed," I muttered.

Michael smirked, "Guess you'll never pull that again."

"Bugger off, Mikey."

He laughed. The tea spread through my entire body, warming me from the inside out. I sighed in content.

"Good start to this sibling fun day," Paul commented, "Finding Lia nearly frozen on the balcony."

Michael nodded, "It's a good laugh, at least."

"You two are bloody wankers."

"Ah, but you love us still," Paul winked.

I rolled my eyes. The waitress returned to take our orders for food. All three of us got different dishes with intentions to share, so we could all get a taste of everything.

"Say, Mikey, didn't you say something about getting a guitar?" Paul asked.

Michael shrugged, "I dunno, I thought about it."

"You want to be a guitarist?" I asked.

"I like music, is all. I want to play too."

It was a McCartney family trait to love music. Paul and I didn't hesitate in jumping into a musical career, but Michael took the safe route and took it slow. I had to applaud him, he was doing things cautiously despite his clear direction. Paul and I went in without fully knowing what we were getting into.

"I can't decide," Michael admitted, "I like guitars, and piano, and trumpet, and drums, and singing. I don't know what I want to do."

"Why not all of the above?" I asked.

Michael lifted an eyebrow. Paul grinned, "Yeah. Look at us, for example. I sing, and play guitar, and piano. Lia's the drummer but she still sings."

"And I can play the piano among other instruments," I replied, "You don't have to choose what you want to play. You just have to choose which instrument you want for which song."

Michael smiled, "S'pose you're right. I could learn them all. Hell, I could be my own one man band."

"That's a bit of a stretch," Paul replied, "You could make your own band."

I grinned, "Yeah, call it Mikey and the Mics."

Michael laughed. Our food arrived moments later. The very first thing we did was split each plate into thirds and pass them around. We had been doing the same thing every time we went out since we were children. It had become sort of a tradition. We even did it when one sibling wasn't present.

"I think maybe I will. A few lads at school said they wanted to play too, maybe we'll do it together," Michael grinned.

Paul clapped his back, "There's the spirit. We'll help you all we can, Mikey."

"Yeah. You can come play with us anytime," I said.

"Or be an opener."

"Or both."

Michael smiled, "Thanks."

The diner was empty for most all of our meal. We ate in peace, our conversation changing topics several times. The only subject we avoided was our father. It was still a tender subject for Paul and me, we didn't talk about it to each other let alone our little brother. 

"He's a great guy, Eppy," Paul smiled, "Done great things for the band, though I still can't get comfortable in the suits."

Paul wrinkled his nose. I snorted, nearly spitting my food back onto the plate. Michael grinned, "But you look so dapper."

This time, I belted out laughing. Paul sneered at both of us, his eyes twinkling joyfully. I grabbed my napkin and wiped my mouth as Michael chuckled.

"I'd say we made a good choice in a manager," Paul commented.

I grinned, "Can't say I disagree. Brian is a fine man."

"What about your manager?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, we haven't met her yet," Paul stated.

"She's brilliant," I replied, "Her name's Ellen, and she's a bloody amazing manager. She's already got us three singles, a pay raise, and more gigs."

"And some interesting clothing," Paul commented.

I smirked at him, "Better than those clown suits you lads wear."

"Got me there."

We finished our food and I handled the check. Just as I finished up paying, squeals echoed from the other side of the diner. We all flung our heads up to see a group of ten odd girls come in, their faces red as cherries.

"Paul!" one exclaimed, "Oh, it really is him, Paul!"

Paul grinned. Michael and I exchanged annoyed glances. The girls rushed up and mobbed the table. My chair was pushed to the point where I nearly couldn't breathe. Michael kept a strong grip on the table in an effort to steady himself.

"'Ello, ladies," Paul winked.

One girl nearly fainted. Paul was badgered with question after question, all of which he answered cheekily. He began to sign autographs as I tried to fight my way out. Michael managed to get out of his chair and he helped me pull mine back. We both pushed through the girls to wait at the door.

"So much for that," I muttered.

Michael shrugged, "We'll still be able to hang out, we just gotta wait for Paulie."

"It's bloody annoying."

Michael didn't argue. We watched Paul practically bathe in the girls. They lapped up everything he had to say. He signed shirts, arms, pants, and even a few handkerchiefs.

"That's going to be you one day," Michael commented.

I flung an arm around his shoulders, "You too, Mikey. The three of us will be the most famous siblings in the world."

"Big dreams for little people," Michael stated.

"Who're you calling little?"

He laughed. I pouted, doing my best to ignore the two inches between us. He patted my head playfully.

"Sorry, ladies, but I must be off," Paul pushed through the crowd, "Music and stuff to attend to, you know?"

"Oh, Paul, please don't leave!" the girls were practically clawing at his shirt.

Paul became visibly nervous, "I'm sorry, but I've got to go."

My mind flashed back to Ringo's first concert. The girls were pulling Paul back to them by force. He began to look uncomfortable and slightly scared. Michael and I jumped to his aid.

Each of us grabbed one of his arms and pushed him forward. We placed ourselves between Paul and the group of girls. A few grabbed my sleeves and jerked back, but I fought them off. They cried out for Paul, a few breaking down in tears as we left. Through some divine miracle, we managed to get out of the diner.

"Let's get out of here," Paul muttered.

Neither of us argued. We all began to hurry down the street. The unmistakable sound of several pairs of shoes slapping the pavement behind us made me cringe.

"Paul!" the girls screamed.

"Run!" Paul shouted.

Paul began to sprint down the street with Michael and me at his heels. The girls weren't too far behind. Most were in heels, it was a miracle they could run at all.

Paul, Michael, and I ran for several blocks. We tried to cut corners and take shortcuts in an effort to lose them, but they were as persistent as they were crazy. They kept screaming and calling for Paul, only making him go faster.

When we turned onto a familiar street, it took me a minute to realize where we were. I glanced at one of the buildings and smiled, "Quick! In there!"

Paul and Michael didn't argue. They dashed into the building and towards the lift. I quickly shut the doors behind us and followed. They crashed into the back wall just as the girls made it to the door. The lift was closed before they could see us.

"That's never happened before," Paul commented between breaths.

Michael shook his head. I chuckled slightly. The bell sounded, letting us know we had made it to the floor I intended. I stepped out and led the lads down the hall.

"Where are we?" Michael asked.

"A friend's office," I replied, "Thought we could hide here for a bit."

I pushed open the door. Peter was sitting behind his desk, typing on a typewriter. When he saw me, he jumped, "A-Amelia, I didn't think you were coming in today."

"Neither did I," I replied, "We were chased by a mob of crazy teenagers, and this was the nearest place to hide."

Peter glanced behind me at my two brothers. Michael was admiring a painting of a ballet dancer as Paul fell to sit in one of the leather chairs. He was practically panting, his forehead glistening with sweat. I half expected a Paul-sized sweat mark to appear on the chair as soon as he stood.

"That's Paul and Michael," I told Peter, "They're my brothers."

Paul nodded at the trembling boy, "Pleasure."

"Ditto," Michael commented.

Peter gulped, "I'll tell Ellen."

He stood and went to the back office. I fell onto the other leather chair and took deep breaths, trying to calm my shaking muscles. My body wasn't made to run that hard for that long. The lack of sleep didn't help matters either. 

"Amelia?" Ellen stepped out of her office.

I smiled, "'Ello, Elly. Mind if we hide here for a bit?"

"From what?"

"Crazy fans out for a piece of Paulie."

I jerked my thumb at the brother in question. Ellen shifted her gaze to Paul, "So you must be Paul. I've heard a lot about you."

Paul stood and moved to shake her hand, "All good things, I hope."

"Mostly," Ellen replied.

I smirked, "She's being nice."

"Sod off, Lia."

I stuck my tongue out at him, "Yeah, that's Paul, and this is Michael. Lads, this is Ellen Marie, our manager."

Paul grinned, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Ellen."

"Please, just Ellen," Ellen smiled.

"I've heard a lot about you as well," Paul grinned.

Ellen smirked in my direction, "All good things, I hope."

"Of course," I answered for Paul, "There's nothing but good about you, Elly."

Ellen smiled gratefully, "You three are welcome to hide here until they are gone. I can arrange a ride if you like."

"It's alright. I think we all need a bit of a breather," I replied.

Paul nodded, slumping back into the chair. Michael occupied the final chair, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

"Well, I must get back to work. It was lovely meeting you, Paul, Michael. I expect to keep hearing good things," Ellen winked before vanishing into her office.

Paul looked at me, "Oh, I like her."


	61. Paul McBreakdown

If you asked anyone who knew me to describe me, they would immediately say I went above and beyond to do whatever it is I was doing. Whenever I played drums, I went above and beyond to make sure I did it perfectly. Whenever I dance, sang, shouted, or got into fights, I put my whole heart behind it. The same went for when I got sick.

When I got sick, I came to the doors of death. Even if it were just a cold, I would convince myself that I was dying. Something as little as a sneeze would make me stare into death's hollow eyes. 

"I'm dying," I groaned.

Molly sat on the edge of my bed, "Quit being over dramatic, you're not dying, it's just a simple cold."

"I can see it now," I rolled to push my face into my pillow, "Amelia McCartney, killed by the common cold. Bloody ridiculous."

My entire body ached. I felt like an elephant was sitting on my lungs and stuffing my head with cotton balls. Everything hurt, I couldn't stop sneezing, and I yearned for a sleep that would never come.

"Drink this," Molly held out a tea.

I sat up slightly and took the cup from her. She had been taking care of me all morning, even though I told her I could take care of myself. Molly always did have a bit of her mother in her, with her obsessive need to protect those around her.

"You're a lifesaver, Mols," I muttered.

I let the tea slide down my throat and warm me from the inside out. Molly smiled slightly, "This wouldn't have happened if you didn't fall asleep on the porch."

"I'll take the consequences," I sighed.

"You don't have a choice."

Molly waited for me to finish the tea. She watched me, her eyes sparkling mischievously. When I finished, she took the cup and stood to leave. I stopped her.

"Molly?"

"Yeah?" she turned around and connected our eyes.

I smiled, "Thanks, you're the best."

"I knew that," she cheekily replied, "You're welcome, Melly."

With that, she left. I watched her go before bundling myself back in my blanket and curling on the mattress. The tea had made me feel better and sleepier. I found my eyes slowly drifting shut against my permission.

"Bloody hell, not again," I muttered, "She slipped me sleeping pills."

I could barely get the last sentence out before I was asleep.

***

"Melly, wake up."

That voice pierced my consciousness. My dream self stopped strumming the guitar and tapping the drum. I glanced up at the ceiling of The Cavern Club and asked, "Janice?"

"Yes, wake up, Melly," the entire club began to shake.

My eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for the room to come into focus. Janice was standing at the side of my bed, her eyebrows laced together with worry. She was trembling more than usual, even more than when she got stage fright.

"What time is it?" I rubbed my eyes.

Janice wrung her hands, "Quarter past Midnight. Paul's on the phone, he needs to talk to you."

"Tell him I'm sick."

"He sounds upset," Janice replied, "I think he was crying."

Having grown up with Paul, I had seen him go through every emotion imaginable. I had seen him cry countless times, sometimes over nothing. For him to call me in tears, something had to have happened. The last time he called me crying from a different country, Stuart had died. Almost instantly, I threw back the covers and stood, nearly falling back over due to the head rush.

"Are you alright?" Janice held my arm.

I nodded, "Fine, fine, just stood up a bit quickly."

"I'm sorry to wake you, he wouldn't stop crying, and I-"

"No, Jan, it's fine," I smiled at her, "I'm glad you did. I'll go talk to him."

Janice nodded. She watched me go before returning to her own room. I used the wall as a brace all the way into the kitchen. The phone was lying on the island face down. I picked it up and slowly slid down to the floor. The cold plastic made my cheeks prickle. I could hear sniffles and rushed breathing on the other end. 

"Paulie?" I asked.

"Lia," he sniffled.

I raised my eyebrows, "Paulie, what's wrong?"

"We-we were at a show today and the crowd booed. A lot. They shouted insults in French. A-and then John got mad at me. Now he won't talk to me. Neither will George and Ringo. They say it's my fault. I-I-"

He broke down in tears. I felt the sudden urge to go to him and hug him, but he was on a tour of France. He wouldn't be back for a fortnight.

"Paul, take deep breaths, it's not your fault," I did my best to sound comforting.

He hiccuped, "It was, though. I-I tried to speak French to them, to apologize, but I think I insulted them further."

"You can't blame yourself for that. French is a tough language to learn, and you only had a month of lessons."

"John yelled at me," Paul muttered, "He called me McCartney and now he won't even look at me. George and Ringo left, and I'm all alone, and I don't know what to do."

I took a deep breath. Normally, Paul wouldn't have a complete breakdown over something like this. He would pout all night, or, at least, until he and the lads made up. This was uncharacteristic of Paul, and I knew exactly what was happening.

Janice did the same thing whenever we had steady strings of shows. Everything would pile on top of her; the stress, the anxiety, and the exhaustion. She would completely break down over the tiniest of things. I figured Paul was having the same problem.

"John is a frustrating man," I told him, "This is just John, he does this all the time. In the morning, he'll stroll in as if nothing happened, and you'll be best mates again. George and Ringo just needed to breathe for a bit. In the morning, everything will be alright."

Paul choked slightly, "B-but what if it isn't? We've been cooped up together for so long, what if they're getting sick of me? Of each other? We just started to get somewhere, we can't quit now."

"Paul, listen carefully," I took a deep breath, "Everything is going to be fine. You four lads are too close to break up now. In the morning, everything will be fine, you're all just tired."

"But-"

"Paul."

He fell silent. I could hear his shaky breaths. He had never broken down before. Paul was the one who could handle anything. Even with all the pressure of the world on him, he stood with his head up and a grin on his face. He was the strong one, he always was, but even the strong break sometimes.

"Alright, take deep breaths," I said, "Do it with me."

I began to breathe deeply. Over the phone, I could hear Paul copying me. His breaths were shaky at first, but, eventually, they calmed down. He was breathing normally after a few minutes.

"Were you sleeping?" Paul asked quietly.

I smiled, "You know me, Paulie, I don't sleep."

As if on cue, I sneezed loudly. Paul gasped, "Blimey! I forgot you were sick! I'm sorry, Lia, I never should have called you."

"Paul, I can be sick any day of the week, helping you is more important," I stated, "I'd gladly get out of bed any day to help you."

I could almost hear Paul's grin, "Thanks, Lia. I knew I could count on you."

"What are sisters for?"

We both fell into a silence. It was a comfortable silence. I kept the phone pressed against my ear, waiting for the snores that would inevitably come. Eventually, they did, and I knew Paul was asleep.

"Sweet dreams, Paulie," I muttered, "Talk to you tomorrow."

With that note, I hung up the phone and shuffled back to my bedroom.


	62. Revolution To Riches

Paul was on my mind for the next week. He called me every night. He sounded better like he was back to the old Paul, but I still worried about him. The stress of what he was doing was getting to him and I wasn't there to help him.

Once I started feeling better, I was able to get up and do things to distract myself. That following Sunday, I got the best distraction of them all.

"I got it!" I exclaimed when there was a knock on the door.

I was the only one able to get it. Janice was in the shower while Molly was busy cooking biscuits. She missed her mother's cooking and was trying her best to copy it. Unfortunately, that meant the house smelled like burned biscuits all day. Whenever she did come out with a batch that wasn't burnt, Janice and I were the test subjects. More often than not, we ended up nearly puking. 

"Why aren't you dressed?" Ellen asked as soon as I opened the door.

I lifted an eyebrow, "I am dressed."

I was wearing my pajamas, but they covered my entire body. They were considered clothes even if I couldn't go out in public with them. Ellen sighed, "I mean in your stage outfit, Amelia."

"Why would I?" I replied, completely oblivious, "We're not supposed to wear them around the house."

Ellen ran a hand through her hair, "Amelia, you three will never get anywhere if you don't start keeping up with things."

"What things? Elly, you're confusing me."

"Remind me to purchase you a calendar," Ellen stared me dead in the eye, "You have a show with a rich family just outside of town. I've come to pick you up."

Suddenly, everything came back to me. Ellen had told us about this months ago, and we had completely forgotten. This family was third or fourth relatives to The Royal Family, and they would pay us heavily. That along with the publicity this would achieve created a huge leap for this group.

"Fucking hell!" I exclaimed, "Molly! Molly, we forgot the show!"

"The what?"

She came around the corner with a bowl of dough in her hands. When her eyes fell upon Ellen, she only got more confused, "We weren't expecting you today, Ellen, not that you're not welcome."

"You should have," Ellen replied, "You have a show with the Westminster's."

Molly paled, "Bloody hell."

"You have five minutes to get dressed and get your instruments before you're late."

Molly dropped the bowl on the counter and rushed to her room. I followed, only stopping at the bathroom to bang on the door.

"Jan!" I exclaimed, "Jan!"

She flung the door open, still dripping wet with a towel wrapped around her torso. A terrified look covered her face, "What's going on?"

"The show, we forgot about the show!"

"What show?"

"The Westminster show!"

Janice had the exact same reaction as Molly and me. She paled even further than usual before running off to her room. I did the same, vanishing into my room.

My head got stuck in my shirt as I tried to quickly yank it off. I tried to pull on my show shirt while pulling off my pajama bottoms only to trip and fall onto the mattress. Through some miracle, I managed to get dressed without losing a limb.

Molly, Janice, and I all appeared at the same time. Janice had her shirt on backward and Molly was still strapping on her suspenders. I stepped into my shoes without bothering to lace them.

"Peter has already loaded the drum kit," Ellen announced as we ran into the living room, "We're late, come on!"

Molly and Janice grabbed their guitars before we bolted out the door. Ellen calmly walked with the three huffing and puffing girls next to her. We made it to the van where Peter was shutting the trunk.

We all slid in. Ellen started the van before we even shut the door, and we were off. Peter shakily wrote on his notepad.

"To be musicians you must be responsible," Ellen lectured, "That means you have to keep track of when your shows are so you can arrive on time, preferably a little early. You three must become responsible if you ever wish to make it in this business."

Molly hid her face, "We're sorry, Elly. We'll do better next time."

"I expect no less."

Ellen didn't speak to us for the rest of the drive. She was angry, I could feel it in the very air around us. Eventually, she would forgive us, but only when we showed her just how responsible we could be.

We made it to the Westminster house just in time for the show. As soon as I saw it, I wondered if we had actually driven all the way to Buckingham Palace. The house was as grand as a castle and larger than life. It would take years to walk down every hall and enter every room.

The show was in the back garden. None of the guests had arrived yet, which wasn't surprising. We were supposed to arrive an hour early, and we were late for that. We were left with only twenty minutes to set up our instruments.

Molly and Janice tuned their guitars as I set up my kit. Molly sat next to me, humming to herself as she tuned. I smiled at her, "Have to admit, we're pretty fast when we need to be."

"We should have remembered," Molly sighed, "Ellen's pissed at us now."

"Ah, she'll get over it. We'll remember next time. Gotta learn somehow, I s'pose."

Molly frowned, "I still feel like shit."

"Come on, Molly, we're still kids," I told her, "Kids make mistakes, everyone does, really. We'll learn."

Molly looked up at me, "We're not kids though, Melly. You and I are twenty, and Janice isn't too far behind."

I stared at her for a moment. She was right, we weren't kids anymore. People still called us kids, and we sometimes still acted like kids, but we had long since passed the threshold of adulthood. It was difficult to believe that we were no longer the two fourteen-year-olds who tumbled down the stairs together.

"We'll get better," I smiled, "It's getting better all the time, Molly, and so are we. We'll show the world just how responsible we can be."

Molly nodded, "And we'll do it while rocking out."

"Precisely."

Molly giggled. I playfully bumped her shoulder, causing her to laugh louder. Janice glanced over at us curiously.

Janice was a close friend of mine, but she would never be what Molly was to me. Molly was my other half, the salt to my pepper, the peanut butter to my jelly, the shine to my sun. We were two halves of a whole, and nothing could change that. Janice was close as she could be, but Molly truly was my nearest and dearest friend.

When I had the kit assembled, I glanced back to see the crowd beginning to form. It was mostly people dressed in posh clothing with their noses turned in the air. It seemed as if, for every adult, there were two children or teenagers. It occurred to me that we weren't there to play for the adults; we were there for the children. 

That dissolved most of the stress we were feeling. We knew how to play for teens, they were our target audience. I wasn't sure if our style of music would be suited for posh adults such as these.

"When I Loved?" Molly asked.

Janice and I nodded. Molly started us off with the lyrics, closely followed by both guitars. I came in ten seconds later with the steady drum beat.

"When I loved you, the skies were blue," Molly and Janice harmonized, "When you loved me, I could clearly see, the world was new."

I watched them sing. Both were so in tune, they could have been the same person. We didn't even have to count the beat anymore. We were so used to it, we could probably play the entire show in our sleep.

Ellen and Peter stood among the crowd. Ellen smiled at us and nodded along to the song, all of her earlier anger seemingly dispersed. Peter, to my surprise, clapped along to the beat. I had barely ever seen him smile let alone clap and laugh.

The crowd was enjoying us as well. The younger part of the crowd danced on the lawn, laughing and singing along. Even the adults spared a few smiles, some of them mouthing along to the lyrics. If we could impress snobby people such as them, I knew we could make it anywhere.

My eyes weren't on the crowd, however, they were on Molly. If anyone asked, I would say I had to watch her to keep up with the beat, but that was a lie. I couldn't seem to look away. She moved hypnotically, like a magician telling me never to look away. She swayed along with the music, strumming her guitar with a beauty all her own. The only thing I could think was how lucky I was to have her in my life.

When the show was over, we all bowed simultaneously. The crowd clapped. We exited the stage, waving the entire way.

"That was gear!" I exclaimed.

Molly nodded, "Bloody brilliant, I'd say."

"I didn't think they would like us that much," Janice stated, "They don't seem like the rock and roll type."

I grinned, "That's why you never judge a book by its cover."

No matter how many shows we played, the thrill never went away. I always stepped off of the stage feeling like that was my first show. I felt the same never-ending energy as I did the first time I played with The Quarrymen. Music never lost its luster, and playing live was more thrilling than a roller coaster.

"Great job, girls," Ellen smiled as she walked up to us.

Peter trailed behind her. We all smiled. Molly awkwardly rubbed her neck, "Does this mean you're not angry anymore?"

"So long as you three learn to be responsible, I'll let this one slide," she winked.

We all beamed. Without question, we rushed forward to hug Ellen. She had gotten better at bracing herself for our dramatic hugs. She didn't even flinch when three girls threw their arms around her.

"We love you, Elly!" I exclaimed.

Ellen laughed, "I love you girls as well."

"The family wants to talk to you," Peter muttered, "The kids especially."

I had never noticed before then, but Peter had an American accent. It was distinctly New York. I recognized it from all the times I heard in on the telly. For a moment, I was shocked that I never noticed that before. Then again, he almost never talked, and, when he did, it was barely more than a whisper. 

The crowd had moved indoors by the time we looped around the small stage area. Ellen led us inside. When we stepped into the large ballroom, kids instantly hounded us.

"Bloody good show," one boy smiled at us.

A girl nodded, "Yes, I did enjoy it."

"Did you write all the songs?" one little boy asked.

I nodded, "All three of us did."

"I liked the first one especially," the first girl said, "I've got it on record, it's spectacular."

The first boy snapped his fingers, "So do I. Say, would you give us a sign?"

"An autograph?" Molly asked.

"Yeah, on the record."

"We'd love to," I said as Molly fell silent.

The children all ran up the stairs to retrieve their records. Molly, Janice, and I stood there dumbfounded. Molly's cheeks were steadily growing redder with every passing second. Janice looked like she might faint. 

"They actually want our autograph," Molly whispered.

Ellen smiled, "And they won't be the last. Soon, the whole world will want your autograph."

I felt myself beaming. I had been asked for autographs several times before, but they only wanted my last name. Everyone had asked me to put only my last name over Paul's picture. These kids wanted me for me, not for my brother. The joy that brought me was incomprehensible.

When the kids returned, we signed a total of eight records. The kids cheered, running off to show their treasures to their parents. When we were left alone once again, I flung my arms around Janice and Molly.

"This is it, ladies," I grinned, "We really are going to the toppermost of the poppermost."

Molly chuckled, "Isn't that John's thing?"

"I can steal it for the moment."

Janice giggled. We all stood there, beaming, as the children rushed back to ask more questions. To my absolute delight, not a single question was about The Beatles.


	63. Got To Get Her Into His Life

I often found myself wondering if I would ever find love. I saw it in so many people; John and Cynthia, Ringo and Maureen, and George every time he looks at his guitar. I even saw it in Paul whenever he looked at the bird he met at a concert.

I myself had never felt love before. It seemed like a concept I could never quite grasp. Love was always just out of reach for me. I questioned if I would ever be able to find it, or if I even wanted it at all. Sometimes, I even found myself questioning its existence. 

Love seemed like something that would tie me down. I had so many things I wanted to do; I didn't want to be tied down to a lover. A man would only make me stop doing what I loved, after all, that's the way the world worked. Part of me wanted to find love, but the dominant half knew it wouldn't be worth it in the long run. Love was a pain, not a pleasure. It was unnecessary to live, and yet, so many people said they couldn't live without it.

Paul was one of those people. He got his first girlfriend when he was thirteen, and broke up with her not even a month later. Since then, he'd had countless girlfriends, none lasting more than a year.

Until Jane Asher.

Jane Asher stepped into our lives without so much as a sound. She instantly dominated Paul's life, becoming such a huge part, I wasn't sure if they would ever be separated. Little did I know, one day, she would become such a huge part in my life that I wouldn't know what I did before she arrived.

"Know anything about her?" I asked Michael.

Michael shrugged, "Just that she's pretty. Paulie wouldn't tell me much of anything else."

We were sitting on the bus heading towards the restaurant Paul had chosen for dinner. He invited the two of us and Dad to meet his new girlfriend, who, at the time, none of us knew anything about. I didn't even know her name. She was like this mysterious figure that all of us doubted the existence of. Like Bigfoot or The Loch Ness Monster, but, as Paul said, much prettier.

"I'm surprised Paulie invited Da though," Michael commented.

"He said he wanted to start making things right," I replied, "I guess this is a start."

Had I been in his place, I would have procrastinated taking my date to meet Dad. Our relationship was still rocky, but it was improving ever so slowly. I had finally gotten to the point where I didn't do everything I could to avoid him, but I didn't do anything to be with him either.

The very thought of this dinner made me nervous. While Dad, Paul, and I were on good enough terms not to cause a scene that could change at any second. All Dad had to do was voice his dislike for Paul's new girlfriend, and we would be in yet another argument. Any chance of mending our relationship would be flushed down the toilet at that point.

"Come off it, Lia, there's nothing to worry about," Michael smiled at me, "Paul chose a public place for a reason."

I huffed, "Wouldn't put it past Dad to start somethin' anyway."

"And we'll stop it if he does. He's getting better, honest. You've just got to believe it."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

The bus pulled to a stop. Michael and I disembarked, nodding thanks to the driver. We headed down the street towards the restaurant.

We had gone to that restaurant many times as children. It had changed names, menus, and staff a million and one times since then, but it was still the same old building with the same warm feeling.

"There they are," Michael pointed to the back.

Paul was waving at us from a booth. Next to him, I saw a head of bright red hair. For a moment, I was taken aback. It was unusual to see a ginger in Liverpool. Most Liverpudlians had the same dull hair colors. This girl had hair as bright as her personality.

Michael and I weaved through the white clothed tables. The restaurant was fancy, but not overly so. We didn't feel uncomfortable in jeans and casual shirts. The only light in the restaurant came from candles dotting the table and the chandeliers reflecting off the glistening plates.

"'Ello, Paulie," Michael said as soon as we arrived.

Paul stood to give us both side hugs, "'Ello mates."

The girl sitting at the booth smiled up at us. For a moment, I wasn't sure what to say. She was beautiful, I knew that much. Her hair looked coarse, like a wool sweater, but soft all the same. Her face was a bit pudgy but not in an ugly way, in a cute way. Freckles were splashed across her cheeks. She looked a bit like a child, but as beautiful as an adult all the same.

"Lia, Mikey, this is Jane Asher," Paul introduced, "Jane, this is my brother Michael and my sister Amelia."

Michael shook her hand, "Glad to see you're real."

Paul elbowed him. Jane chuckled, "You didn't think I was real?"

Even her voice was pretty. I shook myself off and laughed, "Wouldn't be the first time Paul had an imaginary girlfriend."

"Bugger off," he sneered.

Jane simply laughed, "Sometimes I wonder that myself. It's a pleasure to meet you both."

"You as well."

Michael and I sat in the booth across from them. I took the inside; fully knowing I would have to scoot closer to Jane whenever Dad arrived. Michael had purposefully placed himself to where neither Paul nor I would have to sit next to our father.

"So, Jane, since you are, in fact, real, how did you meet Paul?" I asked.

Paul glared at me. Jane took it with a sense of humor, "Well, one night, he wished hard enough for a girlfriend and I jumped straight out of his imagination."

I glanced between her and Paul, "Oh, I like her."

Paul looked instantly relieved. Jane laughed heartily. She wasn't afraid to show her teeth, I noticed, nor was she afraid to laugh like a donkey. That only made me like her more.

"Really though, how did you meet?" Michael asked.

"I met her at one of our concerts," Paul grinned, "She caught my eye immediately."

Jane fingered her locks, "It's cause of my hair."

"Your hair is as pretty as you are," I commented.

Paul placed a playfully protective arm around Jane, "Don't go flirting with my girlfriend, Lia."

"Why?" I smirked, "Cause you know I'll steal her heart?"

We all laughed loudly. A few other patrons glared at us, but we didn't care. We were too wrapped up in our own happy world to care what they thought.

The laughter stopped like a wave. Paul was the first to stop talking. His face fell into a frown, which he quickly tried to cover up with a fake smile. Soon, it spread to Michael and me when we turned to look behind us.

Dad had just walked in. He spotted us in the back and beamed. For a moment, both Paul and I looked like we were about to storm out. I actually may have if Michael hadn't have stopped me.

"Ah, all of my children in one place, it makes an old man's heart happy," Dad smiled.

That was a very un-Dad thing to say. Paul and I exchanged nervous glances. I watched as he put on his happy face. It was obviously fake, but Dad was painfully oblivious. He glanced at Paul's smile and his face instantly brightened as if he thought everything was beginning to get better.

"Glad you could make it, Da," Paul made no effort to stand and hug him, "I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Jane."

Jane extended her hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McCartney."

"Please, call me Jim."

As he shook Jane's hand, Paul and I exchanged more looks. I could see his nerves quaking behind the mask he put on. Michael cut in, giving us both reassuring smiles.

Dad slid to sit next to Michael. I shot him a glare, but he didn't notice. We all opened our menus and gazed at the food. My eyes caught sight of a particularly delicious description of the house specialty salad.

"So," Dad put his menu down and gave a gentlemanly smile, "How did you two meet?"

Jane smiled, "I was at one of his concerts in France. We got to talking and, well, it grew from there."

Jane made sure to perfectly enunciate every syllable. She never once slurred, and she spoke as grammatically correct as Brian Epstein. Her accent was distinctly from London.

"You live in France?" Dad asked.

Jane shook her head, "No, I was there for a play I was in. I live in London with my parents and my brother."

"London is a fine city," Dad commented, "Are you an actress?"

"Yes, sir."

That explains it. Actors and actresses, as I have learned, have a habit of speaking clearly and precisely. They spoke as if every word was a work of art that simply could not be spoiled. Especially theater actors, they had to speak as clearly as possible in order to be heard correctly in the large theater.

When the waiter came around, we ordered our food. Dad nearly ordered for us, but Paul interrupted him. I shot him the second glare of the evening, and that was far from the last.

"So, Paulie, how is your band doing?" Dad asked.

Paul smiled, "Very well. We released an album this year and it was a hit! Brian's got us going on tours too. It's bloody brilliant, it is."

"They're all very good," Jane commented, "I have their album back home. Peter says they inspired him to go into the music business."

Dad lifted an eyebrow, "Peter?"

"My brother."

"That's lovely."

I watched this entire conversation unfold. Paul was having difficulty hiding how nervous he was, though he succeeded keeping it from Dad and Jane. Michael and I could see straight through him. He kept glancing at us as if asking for help.

So far, the dinner was going well. Dad had yet to say anything out of line, and Jane seemed to be enjoying herself. Only Paul and I seemed uncomfortable, though we tried to hide it.

"All of my children grew up with music," Dad told Jane, "I taught Paul how to play the trumpet, and all of them how to play the piano."

Jane smiled. Just as she was about to say something, Dad spoke once again, "Their mother helped of course. Mary was a blessing, and I miss her dearly."

You could feel the ice collecting in the air. The topic of Mum was not one we spoke about often, at least, not with Dad. He was absent for most of our childhood. Talking about Mum always led to that, which would inevitably cause an argument.

"Paul told me about her," Jane side-eyed Paul, "She sounds lovely."

Dad nodded, "She was. Such a beautiful woman. I only wish she-"

"Let's change the subject," Michael interjected, "We all love Mum, but it's a bit of a downer."

Paul shot him a grateful look. All of us were beginning to get agitated with that conversation, including Jane. She kept glancing at Paul as if asking if this were okay.

"Lia got a manager," Paul stated bluntly.

Dad turned to lift an eyebrow at me, "You did?"

"Yes, and we have three singles out," I beamed, "She's a bloody good manager."

Jane grinned, "You have a band?"

"Me and my two mates. Called Revolution."

"It's all female," Paul commented, "Bloody good, they are."

I smiled at him. Jane looked like she wanted to know more, but our food had arrived to interrupt us. The waiter placed each plate in front of us. As he did, I noticed Dad sighing and shaking his head.

"Something wrong, Dad?" Michael asked.

"I'm glad you're happy, Amelia, I am," Dad met my eyes, "I just don't think it's right."

I felt my blood run cold, "What?"

"You're a woman, Amelia, you should be thinking about getting a husband, a house, a family, not playing in a band. It's not right."

Instantly, the air around us turned ice cold. I saw Jane shiver in the corner of my eye and scoot closer to Paul. My vision became tinted with red as I glared at my Father. Paul, Michael, and I were just about to split our plates, but everyone froze like statues.

"You're joking," I bluntly stated.

He gazed at me, "Don't be angry, Amelia, it's just what I believe. The music business is a man's world, women should stay at home and take care of the family. That's what your mother did, you should follow in her footsteps."

I could feel Paul staring at me, but I didn't care. Every thought I had vanished from my mind. His words rattled around, bouncing through my cranium just like so many others. Memories of demeaning glares, eggs pelting my face, and a certain music producer's laughter echoed through my mind.

"Lia-" Michael began.

"I bloody knew it!" I hissed, "I shouldn't have come. Fucking hell."

I wadded up my napkin and dropped it next to my untouched salad. All four of my companions were staring at me. I turned to Jane and said, "It really was a pleasure meeting you, but I have to go before I do something we'll all regret."

"It's alright."

Before anyone could say otherwise, I escaped from under the table. As I stood, Dad grabbed my arm, "Amelia-"

"Don't," I glared at him, "I knew I shouldn't have come."

Dad kept a tight grip on me. I tried to stare him down, but it was no use. Paul cut in, "Dad, let her go."

His voice was stern. He was giving Dad the glare he saved for people he was mentally beating up. Dad let his hand drop, allowing me to straighten myself. I turned to glance at Jane.

"It really was a pleasure meeting you, and I'm sorry," I told her before turning to my Dad, "As for you, good luck getting out of this one, you arse."

I spun around and began to storm out of the restaurant. Nobody called out to me, nobody even tried to stop me. When I made it to the door, I glanced back to see Paul whispering harshly to Dad. Even Michael glared at him.

The bus stop wasn't far away, but I didn't bother to take it. My anger was overcoming me, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to stand sitting in a bus all the way home. Instead, I found an alley and began kicking an empty trash can.

I should have known something like this would happen. I was completely prepared to defend Paul, I never thought of preparing to defend myself. Something was bound to happen to sour the dinner. Everything was a damn ordeal in this family, of course we can't have one nice dinner!

All I wanted was to go back and pick a fight with him. I wanted to yell, scream, maybe even throw a few punches at the man I called Father, but I restrained myself. I left before I could do anything because this was Paul's dinner. I wasn't going to spoil it more than I already did.

Dad had crossed the line once again. I was willing to forgive him for kicking us out and ignoring us for three years, but this only added insult to injury. He was excited for Paul, proud even, then he turns around and tells me what I'm doing is wrong. He has the audacity to tell me to follow in my mother's footsteps when she was chained down to a life she didn't want because of him!

He had kept Mum at home, trapped in a boring life. She was left to raise three children alone, all because he was a dickhead who was gone more often than not. He dares to tell me to follow in my mother's footsteps when I found her several times crying for herself as well as her children.

"I hate him," I muttered, "He's not my father, and I hate him."

The words left a sour taste in my mouth, but I knew they were right. A father was someone who loved you and supported you no matter what, and he had never done that. He was constantly putting me down and making me believe I couldn't do anything.

"I hate him," I repeated.

'Hate doesn't exist, Amelia, remember that. You can never hate anyone.'

Mum's voice sounded as if she were standing right next to me. I jumped slightly but calmed as soon as I realized who was talking. Mum always seemed to speak to me in times of trouble. 

She had always taught us never to hate. She told us to never hate someone for something that could be fixed, no matter how bad it seemed. Dad had a chance to fix this, but I knew he never would. Mum's words kept rattling about in my mind until I stopped kicking the trash can and took a deep breath.

"Fine," I sighed, "I don't hate him, I strongly dislike him."


	64. When I'm Chapter Sixty-Four

My anger didn't subside for a week. For an entire week, everything I did was harsh all because I let my father get to me. Paul told me time and time again, I just had to block him out, but it was difficult. I couldn't let the things he said get to me, but, after growing up under his influences, it was difficult not to believe him. A daughter is supposed to trust her father above anyone else. A daughter shouldn't have to pick through what he says to find the truth hidden in the lies. A daughter shouldn't have to go home in tears after spending time with the man she was supposed to look up to.

Our shows were suffering because of my anger. I would beat the drums harder, and sometimes go off beat without realizing it. Molly would always send me a glare to warn me. Ellen decided that it was probably best to give us a bit of a vacation. We were given a week to calm down, more specifically, I was given a week to get my shit straight.

My anger didn't just affect me, it affected Molly and Janice as well. As long as I live, I will say that those two girls were the greatest friends anyone could ask for. Even though they were annoyed with me, they helped me out. Even though they were trying their best to help me, I could see my anger affecting them as well. Janice looked on the verge of tears and Molly was steadily growing angrier and angrier.

I realized that spending every day and night with them while I was like this was not the greatest idea. As their frustration grew, so did mine, it was a never-ending cycle. One of us had to step away, and I knew that had to be me.

"Where are you going?" Molly asked.

I shrugged my shirt on, "I'm going to go see if one of the lads will let me stay over a night or two."

"What's wrong with here?" Molly asked, "Sick of us already?"

She looked upset, but not exactly angry. She sounded both angry and frustrated, a combination which never ended well. I grabbed my bag and turned to her, "By golly, Miss Molly, I could never get sick of you."

Her cheeks became slightly rosier. She smiled a tad bit, making me smile slightly as well. It was good to know that not everything was bad. A step away from each other would be good. Sometimes, you had to take a break from even the greatest friends.

"Then, why are you leaving?" she asked.

"To take a break," I replied, "It's been a never-ending cycle of pissed off since I had dinner with Da. Got to take a break to make it better."

Molly frowned, "S'pose that makes sense. Still, wish you didn't have to leave."

"I'll be back, Mols," I smiled, "You wouldn't know what to do without me."

She laughed. I grabbed my camera off the bedside table and turned back towards the door frame. Molly was leaning in it, still staring at me, "Who're you going to stay with?"

"I was gonna go to Paul's place," I replied, "But he's in London with that Jane bird. John and Cynthia have a newborn, so they might not like that, and George is still at home with his parents."

"Ringo, then?" Molly asked.

I shrugged, "S'pose."

Something flashed across Molly's face. It was something I couldn't identify, but I could relate to on more than one occasion. Her eyes turned to stone as her jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought she was angry with me, but it was anything but. She quickly shook it off.

"Alright, then, have fun," she muttered.

Without another word, she vanished into her bedroom. I stared at the place she was for a moment, blinking rapidly, "Was it something I said?"

Molly was never one to be over-emotional, of the two of us she was the most level-headed. It was her who was able to calm my constant emotional swings. While I felt strongly and wildly, she felt normally and calmly. We were two exact opposites who couldn't have made a better pair.

I left the flat without so much of a word. Music radiated from Molly's bedroom. I identified the Patsy Cline album she only listened to when she was upset. I sighed deeply.

It wasn't terribly hot for mid-summer. People were able to walk around in jeans without breaking so much of a sweat. I, being the lawbreaker I am, wore high-waisted shorts.

Ringo's place was a fair distance away from my flat. I had to take the bus in order to save time. The bus stopped ten blocks from his house. In the end, I still had to walk far enough to make my feet begin to blister.

When I arrived on his street, I walked straight to his house. It was a house in a row of identical houses as if someone had cloned each and every building. The only differences were the front gardens. Some were filled with flowers, bushes, or even lawn ornaments. Others were bare. Each house had a small patch of grass no bigger than a coffee table.

It occurred to me that I actually had no idea which house was Ringo's. I had only ever been there once, for a birthday celebration several months back. It was dark then, and I wasn't paying attention to the garden details. I stopped in the middle of the street and huffed.

Just as I decided to go door-to-door, a loud slam shook me to the core. I spun around to see Ringo himself stumbling down a set of three stairs. He had a bundle of clothing and other items in his arms, and he looked a few shades too pale. His eyes were a bit red, which led me to believe he was about to cry. He stumbled a bit more, doing his best to gather the bundle in his arms before it fell apart. I hesitantly approached him.

"Uh, Ringo?" I called out.

He looked up, "Melly, what're you doing here?"

"I was going to ask if I could stay with you for a day or two," I rubbed the back of my neck.

Ringo shook his head, "I-I don't think that's going to work out too well. Mo kicked me out."

He sat on the curb looking defeated. I sighed deeply and sat next to him. This wasn't the first time I was there to comfort him. Each time, we seemed to conveniently find each other in a moment of darkness. It was as if fate was pushing us together.

"May I ask why?"

"We got into a fight," he sighed, "Threw a spanner in the works, I did."

I had never heard that saying, but I could guess what it meant. Whatever they were arguing about, it was his fault, or he believed it was. By the way he fell silent, I figured he didn't want to talk about it.

"Whatever happened, I'm sure you two will make up," I replied, "I've seen the way she looks at you, all you gotta do is bat your eyelashes and she'll be forgiving you in an instant."

Ringo sighed, "I dunno, Melly, she said she didn't want to see me again."

"Ringo, take it from me, people tend to say things they don't mean when they're angry," I patted his shoulder comfortingly, "Just stay away for a day or two, let her take a breath and think it over, and go talk to her with a fresh mind."

Ringo spun the largest ring he had, a golden band with a red jewel. His eyes were glued to the pavement, but I could tell that's not what he was looking at. Whatever he was seeing was in his head.

"You're right," he sighed, "Just take a step back, that's all we need."

I nodded, "Exactly. I'm doing the same, why don't we take a step back together?"

"Together it is, then."

We both smiled at each other. For a moment, we sat in silence, Ringo doing his best to keep his bundle together and my pack weighing heavily on my shoulders. The wind blew, sending my hair flying. He grabbed his hat to keep it on his head.

"Let's get out of town," Ringo suddenly suggested, "Take a breath in different breathing air."

I giggled at his expression. He always had this way with words where whatever he said sounded wrong but right all at the same time. The best part was, he never even noticed.

"Alright, where will we go?" I asked.

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "London. I've never been there as a tourist."

"Me neither. Let's go then, I'm sure there's a train."

Ringo leaped up. He spun around and offered his hand to me, causing him to drop nearly half of his bundle. I giggled as I helped him pick it up, "Perhaps we should get you a satchel or something."

"Good idea."

When his bundle was bundled once again, we set off down the road. All the way down the street, I could feel someone watching me, but I didn't see anyone. The road was seemingly abandoned except for Ringo and me.

We went to the nearest shop first to purchase a bag. He got one nearly identical to mine. After purchasing it and shoving his belongings in the bag, we headed towards the train station.

On the bus ride there, Ringo dug in his new satchel. I watched as he pulled out a pair of sunglasses. He shoved them on his face and pulled his hat over his mop top. When he noticed me watching him, he grinned his wonky grin, "Gotta keep the fans from recognizing me. Might think I've run off with you or something."

"You did, though," I replied.

"Not in that way."

I cackled, "Oh, Ringo, does that mean our plans to elope are canceled?"

I faked a few tears. Ringo did his best not to laugh, "Come off it, Melly, I'm serious. We could be mobbed or somethin'."

"Our love is strong enough to survive that," I playfully wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

He shrugged me off, unable to contain his laughter. I grinned madly. He reached into his bag once more and pulled out another hat. It was black suede and as loose as they come. Without warning, he slapped it on my head. The brim covered my eyes for a moment before I pushed it off.

"What was that for?" I asked, pushing my hair into the hat.

"You're recognizable too," he commented, "Don't want to be mobbed by crazy teenagers again."

I chuckled, "Yeah, didn't go so well last time, did it?"

"Not at all."

We both laughed. I shoved all of my hair up into the hat to where it looked like I was bald. That, in addition to the brim nearly covering my eyes, made me unrecognizable. I looked back at Ringo and smirked, "You wouldn't know it's me, would you?"

"I'm beginning to question that myself."

Once again, we laughed. It was remarkable how comfortable Ringo and I had become with each other. We were a lot alike in many ways, but different where it counts.

We arrived at the train station as the sun began to set. Both of us leaped off the bus and hurried in, pushing through bystanders as we did. A few people gave us annoyed glares, but not a single person knew who we were.

The train station was empty compared to usual. Very few people wandered about, and the ticket lines were practically empty. Seeing as how it was mid-week, this didn't surprise me.

Ringo and I waltzed right up to the ticket counter. The tired looking lady behind it glanced up at us, "Can I help you?"

"Two tickets to London, please," Ringo replied.

She sighed. We handed her the pounds for each ticket, and she printed them out. As soon as she shoved them in our hands, we were off, once again strutting through the train station like we had no cares in the world.

The train we took was so similar to the one I took when Revolution went to London, I thought it was the same one. It had the same carpet, the same seats, and the same pristine windows. It even had the same conductor welcoming us aboard.

Ringo and I found seats in an empty compartment. We sat across from each other in the seats closest to the windows. I watched the station slowly vanish as we left Liverpool behind.

The snap of a camera shutter turned my attention to Ringo. He was smiling at me, the camera still in front of his face. When he pulled it down, his smile became even wonkier.

"Did you get my good side?" I commented.

Ringo winked, "They're all good sides."

"You flatter me, Ringo."

He laughed. I pulled my camera from my bag and snapped a photo of him. He noticed and posed, his smile growing wider than ever before. Both of us were grinning like idiots, our morning troubles seemingly having washed away.

"We should make a book," Ringo suddenly stated, "Of our photographs."

I lifted an eyebrow, "Like a photo album?"

"Yes! A photo album."

I thought about it for a moment, "It'd be a good way to document our adventures. Let's do it."

Ringo beamed. I grinned as well. Thoughts of Dad, Molly's sudden anger, and even the pressure of being a musician had faded away to almost nothingness. All I knew was the joy Ringo and I both felt.

That trip would later be one of my brightest memories. It was the trip where I really and truly gained one of my lifelong best friends, and it was the trip where I began to realize something that had been hidden so deeply I didn't even recognize it. It was a feeling that could get me beaten, arrested, or even killed.


	65. Marvelous Misadventures of The Drummer

London had bad memories for me. I had only ever been there once, and the memories of that trip spoiled the entire city. All I could think was the feeling of arguing with Markus Beckham and how he made Molly cry. I wanted to find him and punch him, but I knew that would only make matters worse.

Ringo and I wandered down the streets, stopping every so often to take pictures. In order to start the photo album, we had to have pictures to go inside. Ringo stopped to take a picture of me jumping next to a pole, smiling like an idiot.

"Bet we look like a couple of tossers with cameras," I commented.

Ringo chuckled, "Artistic tossers."

"Aren't all artists tossers?"

Ringo laughed loudly. We turned the corner and came upon Buckingham Palace. The guards stood out front like red tin soldiers, never moving, and never blinking. As if scripted, Ringo and I both took pictures of the scene.

We walked along the fence, stopping every so often to tease a guard. We didn't even get so much as a sigh let alone a laugh. They were trained not to react, and that is what they did.

"Bloody good at their jobs, they are," I commented.

Ringo nodded, "Bet their feet get tired."

"Their entire bodies must feel like jelly at the end of the day."

After Buckingham Palace, we made our way towards Big Ben. I wanted to go up inside and look at the inner workings of the clock. Clocks had always fascinated me. I loved how they looked as well as how they worked. Every birthday and Christmas since I was fifteen, someone had gotten me a pocket watch or a clock. Every time, I was grateful.

"What should we call our book?" I asked.

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Our photo album," I replied, "You lads are going to be famous, and we're, hopefully, not far behind. It's bound to get published one day, and we need a name."

"Could just call it Our Photo Album."

I shook my head, "That's lame. We need a name that's totally gear! Something that speaks to people. Something that means us."

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. The two of us were deep in thought for a few minutes. I went over name after name, each one worse than the last. Finally, it was Ringo that came up with the title.

"How about 'The Marvelous Misadventures of The Drummers'?" Ringo asked, "Since it's about our bands, and we're both drummers."

I snapped my fingers, "Ringo, you're a bleeding genius."

Ringo beamed. I pulled a notepad out of my bag and wrote it down as Ringo looked over my shoulder. I quickly pulled his hat over his eyes, causing him to laugh.

We continued through London. This city held many bad memories for me, but I was beginning to replace them with memories better than any others. My time with Ringo was spent smiling and laughing. The two of us made memories we would always have to look back on whenever times became dark.

"Did ya tell Paul we were coming here?" Ringo asked.

I shook my head, "Nah. I'm sure he's around here somewhere, but I'm not going to go looking for him."

"No?"

"I see the wanker enough," I chuckled, "Love him, I do, but I get sick of him all the same."

Ringo laughed, "Yeah, me too. Eppy's got us together almost every day."

"Did you tell him?" I asked.

"I didn't tell anybody," Ringo scratched his chin, "Probably should have at least told Eppy."

I laughed, "He's going to be bloody pissed whenever we get back."

"Maybe I should call him."

Ringo looked genuinely worried. He was still such a fresh face in the band, his worries had yet to vanish. He had seen how quickly they gave Pete the boot and he knew they would give him the same just as quickly. What he didn't know was how much John, Paul, and George liked him. I could see it in the way they played together, even in the way they talked to each other. There was no way they would get rid of Ringo. I shook my head, "When's your next show?"

"Three nights from now," Ringo replied, "We took a bit of a break."

"There you go. He won't need you until then."

Ringo looked unconvinced but nodded anyway. I stopped to snap a photo of a pigeon resting on a lamp post. Ringo watched me, "Did you tell anyone?"

"I told Molly I was leaving the house," I replied, "Not that I was leaving Liverpool."

Ringo shoved his hands in his pockets, "Didja say you were coming to stay with me?"

"Yeah. She seemed right pissed off, but I can't figure out why."

A small smirk crossed Ringo's lips. He tried to hide it with an obvious fake cough, but I caught it all the same. I crossed my arms and glared at him, "Are ya going to tell me or do I have to pull it out of ya?"

"Can't imagine why she'd be angry," Ringo commented.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "You're lyin', I can smell it."

"I'm not lyin', Melly."

"You are. Spill it before I make you."

Ringo shook his head, "I just don't think she was angry, exactly."

"What'd you think she is, then?"

"Jealous," Ringo looked me dead in the eye.

For a moment, I wasn't sure what to say. He kept eye contact with me for a solid three minutes. Finally, I scoffed, "Why would she be jealous? It's not like I'm replacing her."

"Course not, and she knows that," a small smile played across Ringo's lips, "Just, there's no reason for her to be angry, she's not your Mum. There's only more explanation."

"Bloody hell, she was jealous," I muttered.

The look on her face was exactly the same one I had whenever she and John were dating. She was jealous, but she didn't know why, neither of us did. Perhaps she did think I was replacing her with Ringo. She was my best friend, and I could slowly feel Ringo taking that spot, but Molly was far from replaced. If anything, she moved on to become something even more special than a best friend. She took a place I never thought anyone would ever stand in. Molly Mackenzie was a lot of things, and replaceable was not one of them.

"You alright, Melly?" Ringo asked.

I ran a hand through her hair, "Why was she jealous? I'm not replacing her! She's special, and I can't replace her ever, she knows that."

"Maybe," Ringo replied, "You can't choose when to be jealous, it just, happens."

I had the sudden urge to call her, but I knew that was a bad idea. If she really were jealous, it could quickly turn to anger. It was best for me to take a few steps away for a while.

Even if I did call her, I wasn't sure what I would tell her. The fact that she was jealous just like I had been had to mean something, and that something could be a huge problem.

Molly and I had been together for five years. Five years of friendship. We spent nearly every day together for the majority of those five years. One of two things are bound to occur when that happens; you either grow to hate them feverishly or love them dearly. Sometimes, being with them so much makes you become blinded to the feelings you have. You feel them every day, and they don't seem out of the ordinary. The tiniest little buzz can go unnoticed when you feel it every single day.

"Bloody hell," I whispered.


	66. I've Seen That Face

I don't believe in love, I never have. The concept of soulmates and an undying love that will last past death was unbelievable. Love is just a trick of the mind to make someone feel a high.

I didn't believe in the romantic sense of the word. My own parents didn't love each other despite constantly saying they did. They were lying to themselves and those around them, and the same goes for everybody else who was 'in love'. Love isn't real, it never has been, and it never will be.

Love only exists in the form of family bonds and friendship. I love Paul and Michael with all my heart, and I know they love me too. I love John, George, Ringo, and Janice with everything I have, and I knew that love was requited. That was a real love, a love shared between people who mean the world to each other even if they aren't in love.

Molly was different. Something inside me told me she was. I loved her with all my heart, soul, being, and existence. Everything I had was put into loving her, and it had always been this way. I had always loved Molly like she was my better half. A soulmate, per say, but not romantically.

Now, I was questioning even that.

The love I feel for my friends is different from what I feel for Molly. Even the sibling love Paul, Michael, and I have is a different animal. When I'm with my friends or my brothers, I feel happier than ever before. I feel as if my joy won't wash away, and anything that happens will be fine specifically because I was with them.

With Molly, however, I felt different. It was a difference I had never experienced before. I felt like I never wanted to leave her. I wanted to curl up under a blanket by the fire together. I wanted to dance with her, I wanted to go on adventures with her, I wanted to adopt a dog together that we could call our child. Whenever we weren't together, I felt like something was missing. Like a rainbow had suddenly lost a color. 

It was something I could never identify, but I knew it had been there all along. The love I felt for Molly was completely different than the love I felt for Paul, Janice, George, Ringo, John, or anyone else. I loved them with all my heart, but Molly topped them all.

Slowly, it was dawning on me. Whenever we tumbled down the stairs, the ache in my chest wasn't from the fall, it was my heart fluttering. Every time I felt indescribably happy just by her looking at me.

"Bloody hell," I whispered.

I sat on my bed, my eyes glued to the blank wall in front of me. Everything was flying around in my mind, nearly overwhelming me. Ever since my conversation with Ringo, I've slowly come to a startling realization. Someone I had loved for seemingly all my life was more than I ever thought.

Everything I knew seemed like an illusion. I had been raised on false ideas and a definition of love that wasn't quite true. The entire world was caving in on me. I felt like everything I knew was false. 

It wasn't true, it couldn't be, I couldn't-no, impossible. That wasn't me, that wasn't Molly, it wasn't us! She was my nearest, dearest, and greatest friend, nothing else. I couldn't, we would both be in danger.

A soft knock on my door startled me, "Melly?"

"Oh, Jan, come in."

Janice opened the door. For some reason, she looked smaller than usual, like she was purposefully trying to make herself tiny. I had no doubts that she felt the obvious tension between Molly and me.

"It's time to go," she muttered, "To the show, I mean."

I shook myself, "Right, I forgot, thanks, Jan."

She left without a word. I quickly changed into my clothes and took a deep breath. For the time being, I would ignore it. Every feeling, every urge, and every longing, hidden away deep inside. I was still Amelia, she was still Molly, and we were still best friends.

Nothing more.

I met Janice and Molly out in the hall. We all smiled at each other. The smile Molly and I shared was different. Her cheeks were rosier than normal, and they only got redder whenever we made eye contact.

Without a single word to each other, we left. Molly held her guitar case close to her chest, purposefully moving the neck to where it blocked her face. Janice glanced between us but didn't say a single word.

We took the bus to the club. I sat behind Janice and Molly, which was unusual in itself. Usually, Molly and I would subconsciously sit next to each other. Janice would either squeeze in next to us or sit nearby.

Molly and I didn't say a word until we made it to the club. Instantly, I went to the drum set and pretended to set it up. I fiddled with knobs and levers that didn't need to be fiddled with.

This couldn't go on forever, I knew that much. Molly and I lived together, played together, and practically spent every day together. We wouldn't be able to survive without talking to each other. It was impossible for us to avoid each other forever. Deep down, I knew I didn't want to avoid her. I wanted everything to be exactly as it always has been, but something at the bottom of my heart, a tiny voice that was difficult to ignore, wanted so much more. 

I glanced over my shoulder to see Janice whispering to Molly. Janice looked confused and slightly agitated, but that wasn't unusual. Every word she said made Molly blush harder. I turned my gaze back to the drums.

"Melly?"

I turned my attention to the girl behind me. Molly came up, awkwardly holding her guitar. She cleared her throat, "I-I'm sorry I got mad at you for leaving with Ringo. I wasn't mad, exactly, everything was just piling up, all the stress and-well-I'm sorry."

She blushed harder than ever before. I couldn't stop a smirk from growing across my lips. Both of us knew very well that she was never angry, but neither of us wanted to confront that. If she wanted to brush it off as stress, I was more than willing.

"Come off it, Molly, it's alright," I stood and flung an arm around her, "Stress is one hell of a drug."

Molly nodded. I smiled at her. Before I knew what I was saying, the words popped out, "You know I could never replace you, right?"

"Course, I wasn't worried about that," she lied, "You would never be able to find another me."

She winked cheekily. I threw my head back and laughed, "By golly, Miss Molly, you're one of a kind."

The lights had dimmed to where her face was covered in shadows, prohibiting me from seeing her blush even more. She chuckled, "Well, Melly dear, let's get this show on the road."

"Jolly good."

Molly returned to the front of the stage. I watched her go, feeling my cheeks beginning to heat up. Just the mere thought of her made me happy. I quickly shook myself off and went to the stool.

Molly and I played better when we were on good terms. Our small conversation hadn't gotten rid of the feelings we both knew were present, but it made them seem not as bad as we thought. For the time being, we could ignore the elephant in the room and pretend nothing had changed. We were still the same girls that had been together since they were fourteen years old. 

Nothing had changed.

Everything would be alright so long as Molly was by my side. We would get through this, together, we always did. Nothing was too much for us to handle so long as we faced it together. That in itself only went to prove what we knew deep down inside.

Molly was more special than I ever could have known.


	67. Aubergine Studios

Paul sat on my bed, his guitar across his lap just waiting to be played. I sat next to him, my legs crossed, leaning forward in anticipation. He plucked a few strings to make the music bounce off of the walls. All the while, his eyes were hard in concentration. 

He showed up this morning, unannounced, and claimed that he was lonely. All of the lads were busy, or sick of each other, or both. Considering I had nothing better to do, I gratefully let him in. 

He was both a friend and a distraction, one which I desperately needed. Every time I had a moment to think, I was swarmed with thoughts of Molly. I wasn't sure what I was feeling, or even what I was thinking. Deep down, in the pit of my soul, I knew. A tiny part of me always knew, but I refused to acknowledge it. That's why a distraction was gratefully accepted. 

"I wrote one last night," Paul explained, "Still have to take it to John. It's for the new album."

The fact that they made one album was brilliant, but two was above and beyond. Revolution barely even had singles let alone an album. The Beatles, however, were building an empire all their own.

"What's it called?" I asked.

"The song or the album?"

"Both."

"The album's called With The Beatles," Paul explained, "Ringo came up with it. I haven't named the song yet."

I gazed at him patiently. He strummed random notes on the guitar, humming as he did. Finally, I sighed, "Are you gonna show me or not?"

"Alright."

He strummed rapidly. This was far from a slow song, it was classic rock and roll, just as they always did. They were not a slow band. Even the songs they deemed 'slow songs' were fast-paced.

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you," Paul sang, "Remember I'll always be true. And while I'm away, I'll write home every day, and send all my loving to you."

I smiled and tapped my fingers along to the beat. In my mind's eye, I could see the band playing that song on stage. I could picture John and Paul smiling at each other as they strummed with George just behind them, beaming the entire time. I could even see Ringo flinging his head around as he played the drums. An entire audience was watching, but Paul was only playing to one person. 

"What do you think?" Paul asked as soon as he finished.

I grinned, "Brilliant, as usual. I'm sure the lads will love to play it."

"I just need a title."

He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. After a few seconds of silence, I suggested, "How about All My Loving? You did repeat that line quite a few times."

"Brilliant! Thanks, Lia."

He strummed the first few chords once again. Paul had been writing love songs since we were children, he even wrote them before he experienced love. They were always loose, you could tell he had no idea what he was singing about. Recently, they had begun to grow stronger. His metaphors and imagery made me feel like he actually knew what he was talking about. I could feel a love for someone who was far away, and yet, close.

"Did you write this about Jane?" I asked suddenly.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Did you write it about Jane?" I repeated, "It's different than what you've written before. It's like you were writing to someone this time."

Paul's cheeks became tinted red. He looked away, gazing at his guitar strings as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. He cleared his throat, "Um, yes, of course, it was Jane. Who else would it be?"

"Could be about your guitar," I teased.

His tension vanished, "Nah. If anyone's going to write a love song to their guitar, it'll be Georgie."

We both cackled. There was a light knock on the door, interrupting our laughter. I moved to stand on my knees, "Come in!"

"Should have known it was you, Paulie," Molly commented.

She leaned against the doorframe, smiling as she did. I felt my joy double, and my anxiety run rampant. Even Paul smiled a bit brighter. I could sense him glancing between us, but he never said anything. Part of me wondered if he could sense the obvious tension between us. While Molly and I did a good job of ignoring it, that didn't mean it had vanished. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Cheesy love songs," Molly teased, "It's all you write."

Paul snapped his fingers, "Ah, but there's where you're wrong. I only write cheddar love songs."

"They sound more like gouda to me," I commented.

Molly shook her head, "Whatever they are, they're grate."

"You fetta brie-lieve it," I added.

All three of us broke down in laughter. Our laughter was so loud, we didn't hear the phone ringing in the kitchen. Luckily, Janice did. She appeared behind Molly ten minutes later to find us all in tears.

We were all so wrapped up in our laughter, we didn't notice Janice on the verge of hyperventilating. Her face was as red as a cherry, and her eyes were about to pop out of her head. She danced in a little circle.

"Mates!" Janice exclaimed, "Melly! Molly! Listen!"

I wiped my eyes, "What is it, Jan?"

Paul covered his mouth in order to calm his laughter. Molly managed to keep a straight face, but only for so long. Even I was on the verge of cracking up once again. Every time I looked at Molly, it only got worse.

"Ellen just called," Janice spoke quickly, "She got us a bloody record deal!"

The entire room fell silent. Molly and I stared at Janice, our eyes wide and our mouths gaping. I felt my muscles began to tremble as I soaked in what Janice had just told us. Slowly, the room became electrified. All of our eyes brightened simultaneously as we realized what had happened. Anything else was suddenly forgotten as we hyper-focused on the news Janice had just delivered.

"Are you for real?" I asked.

Janice nodded, "Absobloodylutely! We're going to London in the morning!"

"Blimey!" Molly exclaimed, "I can't bloody believe it, a record deal!"

I leaped up, completely forgetting Paul's presence. I ran to Janice and Molly and pulled them into an embrace. We all bounced around, laughing happily and cheering. None of us were surprised when we felt an extra body join the group.

"I'm so proud of you lasses!" Paul exclaimed.

He grabbed us each individually and spun us around. I latched onto Molly, completely forgetting any earlier tension. We both cheered loudly, pulling Janice back into the group hug.

"We're going to record a record," I breathed, "A real-life Lp! An album! Of our music!"

Molly laughed, "In London!"

We celebrated for a few more minutes. At the end, I was out of breath, but that didn't stop me from laughing. I fell back on my bed, my head thumping into the mattress and my hand knocking off my pillows. Molly, Janice, and Paul were soon to follow. Only half of our bodies fit, but that didn't matter. All I could think was how, soon, we would have our own album out. This was beyond a single, this was a real stepping stone on the path to a revolution.

All through that night, the very air was electrified with our pure energy. Every move created lightning bolts of excitement and tremors of anticipation. The flat was filled with three female squeals and one male laugh. 

"Ellen said to be ready by eight a.m.," Janice explained, "We're going to be on the first train to London."

"Mind if I tag along? It's a bit lonely at home," Paul winked.

Molly wrinkled her nose, "Can't you hang out with the lads?"

"We're all sick of each other, you know. I swear, Ringo's about to use our skulls as drums."

Molly, Janice, and I all laughed. I glanced at them, silently asking if it were okay. Our group was founded on the basis that everything would be done together, nothing could be done unless the decision was unanimous. If they didn't want Paul to come, he wouldn't come, simple as that, even if I did want him to join. Molly nodded her approval as Janice shrugged. I grinned, "Course, Paulie, you're always welcome with us."

"Knew I could count on you birds," he smiled, "Besides, I'd like to see this historic moment when my three favorite lasses record their first record."

I punched his shoulder. Molly looked especially proud while Janice turned red. I smiled at all of them, "This is it, ladies, we're hitting the big times!"

***

"We seem to spend an awful lot of time in trains," Janice commented.

We were just minutes from London. I could even see the outline of Kings Cross Station. It was a foggy morning, making the world seem like it was blanketed by a cloud. Every breath was thick and every person squinted in order to see what was in front of them.

"It's growing on me," Molly replied, "That, however, is not."

She pointed at the fake beard on Paul's face. I glanced over my paper, gazing at the crooked beard. The color didn't even match his hair. He had stuck on a light brown beard, almost the color of Janice's hair. It clashed severely with his dark hair. Paul grinned, "It's growing on me."

"Technically it's stuck to you," I replied, "You couldn't grow a beard to save your life."

"One day, you'll eat those words."

I rolled my eyes. Molly crossed her arms and chuckled, "Didja have to wear the beard, though?"

"It's the only way to hide in plain sight," Paul replied, "Can't let the fans know I'm with you."

I faked hurt, "And I thought you loved us."

"Come off it, Lia, you know I do."

We all laughed. The train pulled into the station, rolling to a stop at the proper platform. We all gathered our belongings. Ellen and Peter appeared at the door, having returned from the kitchen car. Ellen smiled at us all, "Well, girls, this is it. It's time to go meet your new producer."

Our producer. Those words made my heart soar. We were really and truly getting somewhere. As John would say, we were going to the toppermost of the poppermost.

Ellen led us through the train. Molly and Janice had their guitars and struggled not to hit anybody with them. I took Molly's bag as Paul took Janice's. Peter took up the rear with his and Ellen's belongings.

There was a cab waiting for us on the curb. Ellen and Janice took the front, leaving Molly, Peter, Paul, and I to fit in the back. As soon as we put the luggage in the trunk, we stared at the three-person seat.

"Well, someone is going to have to take the floor," Paul said.

Peter gulped, "I-I'll ride in the trunk."

"There's no room, Pete," I replied, "I'll take the floor, it wouldn't be the first time."

Paul belted out laughing. Memories of Hamburg flashed through my mind, with me riding on the floor of the cabs. Paul would always 'accidentally' kick me. I sighed deeply, sliding in at Molly's feet.

"Keep your legs to yourself," I glared at my brother.

Paul smirked, "No promises, mate."

"Sod off."

Paul kicked me twice in the trip to the studio. Each time, I punched him in the knee, only making him laugh. Molly kept trying to get in between us to keep me from starting a real fight with him. We made it to the studio without me ripping off his leg.

I fell out first, landing on my hands and knees with a hard thud. Molly came out behind me, "You alright, Melly?"

"Besides the bruises on my sides, yeah," I shot Paul a glare, "Wanker."

He smiled cheekily, "Tosser."

"Be nice you two," Ellen gave us pointed glares, "We need to make a good impression. Mitch Michigan is a very important producer."

Paul lifted his hands, "You won't even know I'm here."

"I know, and it annoys me," I replied.

"You said I could come."

I glared at him, doing my best to hide the sparkle in my eyes, "And I regret it awfully."

"Your eyes tell another story."

We ended up grinning at each other. Janice stepped out of the car, becoming paler with every move she made. She was trembling harder than Peter and looked just as terrified. Those two were so alike, they would make the perfect couple. Molly and I both had bets on when the two would get together. I said never, they were both too awkward, but Molly gave it two years. 

"Mitch Michigan?" Janice asked, "You mean, he's a man?"

Ellen smiled, "There's no need to worry, Janice. There won't be a repeat of Beckham."

Anger bubbled in my stomach but I quickly covered it up. This was different. Just because Markus Beckham was a bigoted arse doesn't mean every producer, or every man for that matter, is. I was prepared for another fight, but I was also prepared to be pleasantly surprised.

Molly and Janice stuck close as we followed Ellen into the studio. Paul strolled behind us, looking around like he was nothing more than a tourist. When we arrived in the lobby, a woman was waiting on one of the green leather couches.

She was beautiful in many different ways. She had the same luxurious skin as Ellen and the same dark eyes. She was a tad paler than Ellen, but not too much. Her hair was covered by a bright green scarf. It was uncommon to see that in England, but I found it beautiful. Tiny jewels hung off the ends like ornaments on a Christmas tree. 

"Welcome," she spoke with a thick British accent, "I suppose you are Ellen Marie?"

Ellen nodded, "Yes, we're here to see Mitch Michigan."

"Well, you have succeeded."

The woman stood and smiled at us. I barely noticed that she was taller than any of us, including Paul. She was the tallest woman I had ever met, but I didn't even notice. I was too focused on the fact that she was a woman producer.

"You're Mitch Michigan?" I asked.

She smiled, "Well, Michelle Michigan, actually. Mitch is just a nickname."

"That you use on your records?" Molly asked.

Mitch shook her head, "As I'm sure you've realized, there are times when it works better to have people believe you're a man."

Molly and I exchanged looks. We both knew exactly what she was talking about, and that was what we were fighting against. Had we been men, we would have already soared to the top, just like Paul and the lads were doing. Everything was easier to men, women had to work twice as hard. Michelle worked in the background, she didn't have to show her face or her obvious femininity. It worked even better that her name easily transformed into Mitch. If she were ever confronted about it, she could easily say it was just a nickname.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Ellen stuck her hand out, "Well, face to face that is."

Mitch laughed and shook her hand, "You as well. Though, I thought you said this was an all-female group?"

"It is."

"Then, who is this gentleman?"

Mitch gestured to Paul. He was admiring a potted plant with ornaments hanging off the leaves. When he heard gentleman, he looked back at Mitch and shot her a sparkling smile. I recognized that smile, and it made my nose curl up.

"That's Paul McBeardy," I replied, "He's my brother."

Paul winked at her, "I could be a bird, if you want me too."

"Paul, sod off, that doesn't even make sense!"

Molly cleared her throat, "Sorry about them. I'm Molly Mackenzie, this is Amelia McCartney, and this is Janice Hallieford."

Mitch shook each of our hands individually. I noticed tough calluses on her hands, and her nails were nearly bitten to a stub. Seeing that made me feel more comfortable. It made her seem more human and less like a music producer whom I had to do everything to impress.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Mitch smiled, "Ellen has spoken highly of you."

Janice, as usual, began to blush. I beamed and Molly smiled tenderly. Mitch clasped her hands, "While I have listened to your singles, I would like to hear you in the studio and see how you work together, that way we can best figure out how to put together a record."

Ellen was practically glowing at this point, and I'm sure the rest of us weren't too far behind. I felt like dancing, but I kept myself together for the sake of presentation. Molly subconsciously held my shoulder. I wasn't sure if she was trying to keep me down or keep herself up. I blamed the buzz on my skin on the fact that we were about to record an LP, not on Molly's touch. 

Mitch led us through the halls of the recording studio. It was unlike any other studio I've been in, which isn't saying much, as I've only been in two. For starters, it was decorated more like a home than a studio. The walls had photographs of Mitch and her friends and family. Several bands decorated the wall. I recognized a few people; one of which being Buddy Holly.

"You recorded with Buddy Holly?" I gasped.

Mitch smiled, "Not personally, no. I used to be the assistant to his producer, and we became close friends."

Molly and I exchanged excited looks. The hall towards the studio was filled with photographs, both in and out of frames. Mitch was in most of them. Others were of people I didn't know.

The studio itself had a homely air. One corner was filled with a stack of pillows that reached my height. There were armchairs and bean bags around the room as well as a circle couch in the corner. Posters of bands and individual musicians decorated the walls, as well as more photographs. There were a few tables with music equipment and the like on it. I noticed a lava lamp by a psychedelic guitar.

"This is a lovely studio," Ellen commented, inspecting the lava lamp.

Mitch smiled, "I like to make it seem like a second home."

"You succeeded," I replied, "I feel at home already."

I found the drum set tucked away in its own plywood half-room. Wood formed a semicircle around the kit in order to provide the best-recorded sound possible. Each drum was painted a different color, giving it the look of a rainbow. On the very front, a peace symbol was drawn.

"I will admit, I was a bit of a hippie back in America," Mitch stated, "Or a Flower Child if you will."

Janice brightened, "So's me Mum. I like to think I am, a little bit."

"I can already tell we're going to get along perfectly."

Janice seemed to release any anxiety she had right then and there. Her shoulders relaxed as she heaved a deep breath. Mitch simply smiled. She moved to talk to Ellen as Molly, Janice, and I got set up. Paul came over to the drum set with me. He seemed invested in the various colors, "This is nothing like the sets back home."

"You're right, it's better."

"Wonder if the paint will affect the sound," Paul tapped his fingers on one of the drums.

I pushed him off and spun the drumstick in my fingers. He smirked, fully knowing what I was doing. I drummed the first verse of Love Me Do, making him laugh. The sound came out just as it would on a normal drum kit.

"I'm surprised you know that," Paul chuckled.

I winked, "Number one fan, remember?"

Paul laughed loudly. We were interrupted by Mitch clapping her hands, "Alright, ladies, I'd like to hear you play. Ellen and I will go up to the recording booth while you three play. Mister McCartney, would you care to join us?"

Paul's eyes sparkled, "Please, call me Paul, and I think I'll stay down here with the birds."

He winked at me, causing me to roll my eyes. Ellen shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

"Very well, remember, not a sound," Mitch smiled at Paul.

Paul grinned, "You won't even know I'm here."

"Because that worked out so well last time," I said sarcastically.

Paul shot me a playful glare. Both of us ended up grinning. As Ellen and Mitch retreated to the recording booth, Paul fell into the pillow tower. I barely noticed as he buried himself completely.

Molly sat cross-legged on the floor, her guitar on her lap and a microphone just inches away. Janice was standing nearby. All of us had headphones just like those we used at Beckham's studios. It brought back painful memories, but that didn't phase us. This place felt better than Beckham's studios, it felt more like a home, and Mitch was kinder than ever. Working with a woman producer meant many things, one of which being we would never be demeaned because of our gender.

Molly, Janice, and I played our second single Earth and Stars. I expected to have to run through it again, mainly on my account, as I was getting used to the drums. Surprisingly, the new drum set felt better than my own. I felt like this kit was more mine than any other, as if I had been playing it for years. We ran through the first song without any difficulties.

"Beautiful," Mitch clapped as she and Ellen returned to the studio, "Absolutely splendid. I must say, you are better than I expected."

Molly, Janice, and I all exchanged happy looks. Mitch pulled up a chair and sat down, "If you girls agree, I would love to sign you."

"Yes!" we all exclaimed.

"We would love that!" I continued, doing my best to stay in my seat.

Mitch grinned, "Good. I've never produced a full female group before, and, I must say, I am excited. Now, as for the first album, we'll need ten songs, and no more than five of those can be covers."

We began to discuss the technicalities of the covers. Peter, who I didn't notice come into the room, wrote down every word. In the end, it was decided that we would write five new songs and do five covers. Mitch left it to us to decide what we wanted to do.

"You have a month before recording," Mitch explained, "Come in with your songs at the ready, and we'll make your first album."

My excitement was unparalleled that day. It was the first true stepping stone in our revolution. Recording and releasing that album was what truly launched our career. In a way, that album was the first battle we won.

"I look forward to working with you," Mitch said.

Molly grinned, "And we look forward to working with you."

Handshakes were exchanged. As Ellen spoke to Mitch one last time, I glanced around the room. The only male in sight was Peter. Normally, that wouldn't be unusual, if my brother hadn't have tagged along.

"Eh, any of you seen McBeardy?" I asked.

Molly glanced around and shrugged, "He was here a few minutes ago."

"Maybe he went to the bathroom," Janice suggested.

"I didn't see him leave."

I glanced over at the mound of pillows. It was stirring ever so slightly, barely enough for anybody to notice, but I had gotten good at finding Paul after years of playing hide-and-seek. I rolled my eyes and walked to the end of the pile, "Hey, McBeardy, it's time to go home."

"Are you always going to call me that?" he asked, his head popping up from the mound of pillows.

I smirked, "Until you take off that ridiculous beard, yes."

"The beard is a part of me, Lia, I can't just take it off."

"It's already coming off, and it's crooked."

A corner of his fake beard was rolling in on itself near his ear. He scratched it, only making the beard peel off more. I rolled my eyes, "Come on, let's go."

Paul laughed, causing me to grin. He climbed out of the pillow mound and followed us to the car. As we stepped outside, he flung his arms around Molly and Janice.

"You birds are bloody brilliant, I'd say," Paul grinned, "Can't wait to hear your first album."

Janice looked like she was about to faint. Molly, having grown accustomed to his behavior, shoved him off, "Maybe we'll kick you out of the charts."

"Is that a challenge?"

Molly grinned devilishly, "Perhaps."

"We're all friends here," I raised my hands, "There's no need to fight."

"We'll just see who tops the charts, won't we?" Paul winked at Molly, causing her to snort.

We all chuckled and went to the cab. All of my bad memories of London and recording studios vanished completely. In its place came memories of parading with Ringo, laughing with Paul, Molly, and Janice, and meeting the producer that would become one of my closest friends. London was no longer tainted for me, in fact, it was the city where some of my greatest memories were stored.


	68. The Beginning of A Historic Partnership

I witnessed history more than once. From two lads meeting to the shot heard around the world. I witnessed wars, concerts, speeches, and even a few tiny details that would one day become historic. I was even involved in few, such as the day we were called into Ellen's office.

Molly, Janice, and I left the house early in the morning. She had interrupted our early morning songwriting. As we walked, I had the notepad open in my hands and a pen poised between my fingers.

"What rhymes with distance?" I asked.

Janice furrowed her eyebrows, "Instance?"

"Perfect."

I scratched that down. Molly gently pushed my elbow to guide me around the corner. Sparks shot up my bare skin and tickled my heart, making it leap and dance in my ribcage. I tried to hide my shivers. Molly quickly retracted her hand but didn't acknowledge what had happened.

So far we had three and a half songs written of five. All we needed were two and a half more, but we were hitting writer's block. All I could think of were songs I already knew but worded slightly differently. I had even plunged into my poetry archives for inspiration, but none came. We were drawing a blank when we needed it the least.

When we arrived at Ellen's place, I shoved the notepad into my pocket. We took the lift up in silence. The nervous anticipation coated the air. None of us knew what to expect. Whatever Ellen had up her sleeve, I was sure it was good. She was filled with surprises and each and every one of them had been good, so far. We stepped into her office and were met with a surprise.

"What're you lads doing here?" I asked.

Paul, John, George, and Ringo were all lazing about the office. Paul and John occupied two of the leather seats, both looking like they were about to fall asleep. Ringo was playing with Peter's typewriter as George inspected a sculpture in the corner.

"Ask Eppy," John replied, "Dragging us out of bed at this bloody time, fucking hell."

Waking John up was never a fun experience. I had only ever seen one person succeed without getting his head bit off, and that was Paul, back in Hamburg. John was always in a grumpy mood when he woke up naturally, let alone when someone forced him awake. Had there been any sharp objects nearby, I was sure John wouldn't hesitate in using them. Once, I had drawn the short straw and had to wake him up. The result was a bruise the size of Liverpool covering my stomach. 

"It's nearly nine," Janice mumbled.

John shot her a look that screamed murder. Janice gulped and slunk back, hiding halfway behind me. I rolled my eyes. I had become accustomed to this behavior, especially after sleeping in the same room as him for six months.

"Why'd he bring you here?" I asked, ignoring John's sour mood.

Paul took over, "Dunno. He just showed up and told us to get dressed, said we were going to an important meeting."

"I dunno why he thinks we need to be here," John spat, "He vanished in there twenty minutes ago, left us in here. Rubbish, I say."

"He's talking to some lady. Ellen, I think her name was," Ringo furrowed his eyebrows.

Obviously, they had been introduced. I suspected Ellen wanted to meet them all personally, but I couldn't figure out why. Whatever she was planning, she wasn't alone. Having her and Brian plotting in the office together made me feel on edge. 

George glanced at us, "Say, what're you birds doing here?"

"Ellen is our manager," Molly replied, "She called us here, guess it has something to do with you lads."

Paul cocked his head, "Do you need babysitters?"

"Bugger off, Paul," I replied, "We're not that much younger than you."

Ringo grinned, "You're a fair bit younger than me, I'd say."

"Not you too."

He laughed with Paul not too far behind. John grabbed the pillow he was sitting on and threw it at Ringo, nearly knocking a painting off the wall. Just as I turned to lecture him, the door opened.

"I would prefer it if you kept my office intact, thank you," Ellen said as she stepped out.

John didn't reply. Paul winked at her, "Pleasure to see you again, Ellen."

"You as well, Paul," she turned to us, "Girls, may I speak with you a moment?"

Brian stepped out from behind her, his smile brighter than the moon. He caught my eye and winked, causing me to lift an eyebrow. Ellen gestured for us to follow her into her office. We did, with me shutting the door behind us.

"Care to tell us what's going on?" I asked.

Janice and Molly occupied the two seats in front of Ellen's desk. I took to sitting on Molly's armrest. She used me as a leaning pole, sending more shivers up my spine. I ignored this feeling and stared at Ellen.

"Brian and I were talking," she was smiling brightly, "This Saturday, The Beatles are playing a show for The Queen and The Royal Family. They are in need of an opener."

Molly raised her eyebrows, "You want us to open for The Beatles?"

The feeling of pride I had for the lads quickly vanished and was covered with confusion as well as frustration. We had already told Brian we wanted to step out from under The Beatles' shadows, and yet, here he is asking for us to be an opener for the very band we're trying to step away from. It seemed like a slight to us at the time. Looking back on it, that partnership put a boost in our career. We wouldn't have made it as far as we did without the boost of Beatlemania.

"Yes, and I know it is not ideal," Ellen clasped her hands together, "But, it's necessary. If you girls are ever going to get anywhere, you need to be shown. An album and a few singles aren't enough. You need to get where the public can see you, and what better way than at some of the largest concerts in Britain?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, "We're already tied to The Beatles as is, people are going to start thinking we're the same bloody band."

"They won't. You are two separate entities, and the public will know this, but they also see your connection. In this business, it isn't bad to have a few connections, one of which is a connection to The Beatles."

"We're going somewhere, Elly, and we can do it on our own," I argued, "I love the lads, honestly I do, we're just not them, we don't need their help."

Ellen shook her head, "You're not getting their help, you're getting the help of their fan base. Like it or not, girls, you're fighting a war, and you can't fight a war if those you're fighting for can't see you. The Beatles are steadily becoming Britain's most popular band. If you open for them, their audience will see you first. Those teenage girls will see that they can do anything boys can do. Every good army has a few allies, The Beatles could be one of yours."

Molly, Janice, and I exchanged looks. In truth, I would love to open for the lads. As much as I wanted to keep Revolution and The Beatles separate, I didn't want to leave them. Just as I said on the day I quit, I would never leave, this was just another example.

Opening for them was our best chance at becoming something while not being in their shadows. We would always be tied to The Beatles, that much was certain, we might as well use it. While the situation didn't seem ideal at the time, we couldn't focus on the now when planning for the future. In the long run, it would benefit us, especially when it came to reaching every young girls ear we possibly could.

"She's right, Melly," Molly looked up at me, "We won't be in their shadows if we open for them, necessarily. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't think we can do this alone, we need a bit of a boost."

I furrowed my eyebrows. She was right, of course. I took a deep breath and released all of my opposition. This was happening whether I liked it or not, I might as well accept it. While on the outside I seemed as if I didn't like it, deep down, I was actually rather excited. The Beatles and Revolution had been with each other every step of the way, this was just another step we took together.

"Alright," I sighed, "Let's do it."

Ellen smiled. As soon as I uttered those words, history was made. The Beatles made music history, they formed the foundation for every band after them. They broke boundaries and Revolution was right by their side.

Fate has plans for everyone. Ever since that day I quit The Beatles, our fate has been intertwined. As soon as Revolution was founded, both bands had a fate woven together by the universe. We were destined to break walls and cross boundaries together. The Beatles helped us, and we helped The Beatles. Neither bands were in the others shadows. Both went together as equals, as partners. It took me a long time to realize that we didn't have to step away completely in order to be our own band. If anything, being closer to The Beatles made us even more of our own. Like Ellen said, every army needs a few strong allies. 

Ellen opened the door to her office and gestured for us to step outside. We obeyed. I leaned against the wall as Molly and Janice both sat on the end of Peter's desk. The lads and Brian looked up at us hopefully. Ellen mad eye contact with Brian and nodded slightly.

"Wonderful," he smiled, "Boys, meet your new opening band."

Paul glanced at us and lifted an eyebrow, "You're willing to open for us?"

"Must say, that's a surprise," John shook his head, "Thought you birds were doing everything you could to step away from us."

I shook my head, "Course not. You lads are our friends, we could never step away from you. Remember?"

John smiled. He didn't have to say anything for me to know he was thinking of what I said the day I quit. I would never leave them, and they would never leave me, that much was certain.

"Well, I'm excited," Ringo smiled, "Can't wait to play the same show together."

Molly smiled, "Ditto, Ringo."

"Brilliant," Brian smiled, "You girls won't be disappointed. Together, we'll take both bands right to the top!"

John smirked, "To the toppermost of the poppermost!"

***

At first, I had mixed feelings about opening for The Beatles. I was both overjoyed and upset. All of my hopes for building Revolution on our own had faded slightly. While we still had complete control of the band, and we were in no way a part of The Beatles, I was scared the audience would think we were.

The other part of me knew this was inevitable. No matter how hard we tried, The Beatles and Revolution would always be tied together. Members from both bands were seen together more often than not, and anyone who remembers the time before Pete knew I was one of the original Beatles. If that wasn't enough, the mere sibling connection would keep us bound for all eternity. Our opening for them just gave us a chance to use it. We were in no way being put down, if anything, we were being lifted up. I realize that now, we never should have tried to step away from The Beatles, we should have started off working to lift each other higher.

"I've got to say, I'm glad they got you as the opener," Ringo commented.

We were on set at The Royal Albert Hall. Ringo and I had taken to setting up the drum kit. We were going to use the same one, the only exception being the middle drum. After I used it, the drum with our band title would be replaced with The Beatles. Since we would both be using the same overall kit, we decided to put it up together. Both of us were picky on who touched our drums.

"Could've gotten a lame band," George commented, "Or a bunch of tossers."

He sat nearby, tuning his guitar. I smiled, "I s'pose I'm glad too. I always did like watching your shows."

"Considering you used to be a part of them," George chuckled under his breath.

Both Ringo and I laughed. None of us would admit it, but we were all happy to be spending time together. I saw them often, but I saw each of them individually. All seven of us spending time as a group was a welcome opportunity. It strengthened our friendships even if we didn't realize it.

Ringo and George left after Brian called them back into the dressing room. That left me alone on the stage tightening the last of the drum set. People bustled about, checking amps and microphones, ropes and levers, and even each other. A thick red curtain blocked my view of the rest of the theater, but I could hear the crowds filling in. Their chattering voices reached my ears. I could hear laughing, talking, coughing, and the sounds of heels clicking on the tiled floor. Most of all, I could feel their excitement.

The crowds were here to see The Beatles, not Revolution, but I knew that would change one day. With every passing minute of this new arrangement, my confidence in it grew. This was truly our biggest leap yet. Not only would we be playing more shows at bigger venues, but we would get our voices out there with a little help from our friends.

Ellen appeared moments later with Molly just behind her. Both looked nervous, but Ellen hid it well. She managed to keep her limbs steady and her chin up despite facing our biggest show yet.

"Amelia, have you seen Janice? We can't find her anywhere and you go on in ten minutes," Ellen asked.

I shrugged, "I dunno, she's probably hidden somewhere. Pre-show jitters, you know."

"I'll find her. You two get ready."

She vanished backstage once again. I stood up and went over to Molly, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders, "By golly, Miss Molly, what's got you down?"

She nervously plucked the strings of her guitar, "This is our biggest show yet. We're playing for The Royal Family in The Royal Albert fucking Hall! This is huge!"

"And you're nervous?"

"I'm terrified."

I rubbed her shoulder, "It's just like any other show. We'll play some songs, we'll crack some jokes, and we'll get off feeling better than ever before. Just because the audience is different doesn't mean the show will be."

"But The Queen-"

"The Queen is just another person," I replied, "She might have a crown, but she's still human, just like everyone else we've ever played with. If it helps matters, just picture the crowd in their knickers."

Molly snorted before belting out laughing, "Just the thought of The Queen of bloody England showing up in her knickers, Christ, I can't keep a straight face."

Both of us dissolved into waves of laughter. We straightened when Ellen appeared with a relatively calm looking Janice behind her. Ellen always was the best at eliminating stage anxiety, even in someone as anxious as Janice. Sometimes, I swore she was magical.

"Alright, one minute left," she clasped her hands and smiled at us, "You girls are going to do wonderful, I'm sure of it."

"Thanks, Elly, we couldn't have done this without you," Molly nodded.

Ellen smiled at all of us. We all separated to our stage positions, with me perching on the stool behind the girls. The drums were on a higher platform than the rest of the stage. It was an odd positioning for drums, usually, all platforms were even, but that's what made these shows special.

Just as I was preparing to start playing, I heard someone whistling to my left. The lads were hidden behind a curtain. Paul had his suit jacket halfway on, and John's hair wasn't brushed. Ringo was missing his shoes and George had a biscuit in his lips. They all smiled at me a held up a paper that said 'break a leg'. My smile grew wide as I gave them a thumbs up.

The curtain rose, and with it, came my confidence. The crowds cheered, even though we weren't the band they came to see. Lights shining on my face made the crowd look like nothing more than silhouettes, but I could make out a glittering crown in one of the balcony booths.

As soon as we began playing, I felt no different than I did whenever we played at the club back home. We still had a cheering crowd, and we still had each other. It was the same music, just a bigger audience.

We played as perfectly as ever. Any stage fright Molly and Janice were feeling had washed away. Even the anxiety I didn't know I had vanished into nothing. We were our true selves on stage, nobody could take that away from us.

The show was over just as quickly as it began. We all stood up and bowed, grinning at the cheering crowd. As we began to exit the stage, the curtain dropped and the stage was prepared for The Beatles.

We were ushered off by a stagehand. On our way to our dressing room, we passed the lads, who were being ushered in the opposite direction by Brian. I caught George's eye. He winked, and I chuckled.

"Break a leg, lads!" I called.

John laughed, "We'll knock 'em dead, come on, laddies!"

They got on stage, laughing all the way. I couldn't see the curtain rise, but I knew it did simply by the screams from the audience. We heard the first chord just as we were shoved in our dressing room.

"Wonderful show, positively brilliant!" Ellen exclaimed as soon as the door shut behind us.

Molly laughed, "It's was amazing!"

"Totally gear!" I added.

Janice fell onto the couch, smiling the entire way. I sat in one of the spinning stools in front of our mirrors. Molly sat next to Janice, winded and excited.

"You girls are heading to the top," Ellen said, "This is just the start."

I grinned, "Oh, Ellen, we're doing so much more than that."

This was just the start of something so much bigger than any of us could realize. It was history, it was a battle, it was a bloody revolution! Two bands, seemingly different, banded together to lead a revolution that would go down in history. No gender roles, no bias, society had no say in what we did. It wasn't just Molly, Janice, and I that led the revolution, no, Paul, John, George, and Ringo did as well. They fought right alongside us in the musical revolution.


	69. Go The Distance

"Maybe we should move to London," I suggested.

Molly glanced over the book she was reading. Once again, we were on a train back to Liverpool. We spent an awful lot of our lives on trains, to the point where it felt like we should just live on the train. I was beginning to get sick of something I once enjoyed.

"Is this because Paul's moving there?" Molly asked.

I shook my head, "Course not, he's his own bloody person. It's cause our recording studio is there. We'd spend less time on a train, I'm getting sick of it."

"It's not that bad."

Janice and I both stared at Molly. Finally, she sighed, "Yeah, it is that bad, I could go without seeing another train in my entire life."

"Maybe we should move to London," Janice muttered.

It would be difficult, moving from the town I had grown up in. Most of my friends and family were there, save for Paul. He had recently moved into a London flat with Jane. I suspected that the other lads weren't too far behind, considering their recording studio was in London as well.

"We don't have to do it immediately," Molly replied, "We did just finish the album, Mitch won't need us back for quite some time."

I shrugged, "Still, it's somethin' to think about."

Moving to London was something I had wanted to do ever since I went there with Ringo. It was a beautiful city with many opportunities for people like us. Moving to London would be an adventure. I grew up in Liverpool, and with that came a certain attachment to the gray city that smelled like fish. The prospect of moving to a city as colorful and luminous as London gave me an excitement only felt when faced with a new adventure. 

We all fell into a silence. As the train pulled into the station, I gazed out the windows at the passersby. They all were so invested in their own lives, nobody stopped to think about their fellow people walking next to them. A few bumped into each other or sent each other angry glares. 

"Come along, girls, we've got to hurry," Ellen announced as soon as we met her in the hall.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "To get home?"

"To get to the photo shoot," Ellen replied, "You need a cover for your album, and I have arranged a photo shoot right here in Liverpool."

Any exhaustion Molly and Janice had melted away and was replaced by pure excitement. They were looking forward to posing for a camera, whereas I simply sighed. This was yet another big milestone for us, but I was too tired to care. Late nights recording and my constant insomnia were catching up to me, I felt like I was going to collapse.

As it happened, I fell asleep during the cab ride to the photo studio. My head lulled onto Molly's shoulder, but she didn't care. I was half asleep when I felt her position herself to where I would be more comfortable. Just as we hit a pothole, I was thrown into a deep sleep.

Whenever I dreamed, I dreamed vividly. I could remember almost every detail for weeks to come. Sometimes, I could even control my dreams. I was getting better at lucid dreaming, and that helped me control the nightmares that used to plague me as a child.

That dream was simple, it was one I had often. Molly, Janice, and I were playing at The Cavern Club with the lads. Our bands had merged for that night only to have an all-out jam session. All of my best friends were there, doing what we loved together, and I couldn't be happier. Every time I had that dream, I woke with a smile on my face.

"Wonder what she's dreaming about?" a disembodied voice echoed through the cavern.

I stopped playing and glanced at the ceiling. It was distinctly Molly's voice, I couldn't mistake it. Molly's voice was warm, like a night spent in front of the fire with hot cocoa. Her voice sounded like home. Everything about her felt like home.

"Dunno, but she seems happy," Janice's voice echoed, "She's smiling a lot."

"I didn't know people could smile in their sleep."

My dream self-beamed even brighter after that. Ringo was on the second drumset next to me. He playfully reached over and hit my drum on the beat, causing me to turn my attention to him. Both of us laughed.

"We're here, girls," Ellen's voice found its way into my ears.

"Melly," the cavern began to shake, "Melly, wake up."

I placed my drumsticks down and saluted, "It's been a pleasure, mates, until next time."

The dream versions vanished, replaced by the real versions of Molly and Janice. Molly was practically holding me in her lap at this point. I quickly jumped up and rubbed my eyes, "Bloody hell, are we there already?"

"You slept for nearly an hour," Molly replied, "What were you dreaming about?"

I smiled, "Oh, nothing, just playing me drums."

Molly looked skeptical but didn't pester me further. Ellen stepped out and led us into the photo studio with Peter trembling beside of her. I glanced up at the studio and was hit with a familiar feeling.

The last time I walked through those doors, I was holding my Mum's hand. She was leading Paul and me into the studio with Michael on her hip. We were going for our spring photo shoot, just like we did every year before. That was the last year we did it, and it held strong memories for me. Specifically, I could vividly picture Mum trying to get me to smile by making silly faces behind the camera.

This time was different. I felt myself subconsciously reaching for Mum's hand, only to find Molly's. She looked at me weirdly before asking, "You alright, Melly?"

"Fine, just, memories," I released her hand.

She shrugged it off. We stepped into the studio to find it was exactly the same as when I had been there all those years ago. It had the same suede armchairs, the same crooked photographs, and the same leathered old lady slowly typing on her typewriter.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Her voice sounded like the stereotypical old witch. Every fairy tale ever told was composed of parents doing their best withered old hag voice to entertain their children, and this woman did it naturally.

"We have an appointment," Ellen replied, "Under Marie."

The woman looked through a calendar, "Ah, yes, she'll see you now, go on back."

She jerked her bony thumb towards the back hall. Ellen went first, closely followed by the three of us. I walked along the wall, trailing my fingers over the bumpy wallpaper. Childhood memories washed over me like waves. I remembered waiting for the photographer to set up the background. Paul, Michael, and I would make constellations out of the bumps in the wall, all of us bored out of our minds. I remember Mum listening intently to our stories, sometimes adding input of her own.

The photographer was older than I remember, but, then again, so was I. Her hazelnut hair had turned silver with old age, and her skin had just begun to sag. Despite this, she still held the camera with a steady hand. When she saw us, she smiled, "Ah, yes, I've been expecting you. You are the band, yes?"

"Yes. These are the girls," Ellen gestured to us.

Molly gave a small wave as I simply smiled. The woman glanced at me and blinked, "Have we met before?"

"Yes, actually," I replied, "My Mum used to bring me and my brothers here for spring photos. Years ago."

"How could I forget? You and your brothers were the cutest set of kids that ever came in here."

I laughed. Both of us knew that we were the only kids that came in here, this place was mostly for adults. The woman smiled, showing off her yellowing teeth, "It's lovely to see you again, my, how you've grown."

I didn't know how to reply. Ellen cleared her throat and asked, "Aren't we doing outdoor photographs?"

"Yes, of course, that is what you requested," the woman looked slightly annoyed, "I have it all set up out back, come along."

Through a curtain, we were lead to the back of the studio. It opened to a small road that no cars ever passed on. In the middle of the road, a motorbike was set up. It could stand all on its own and only fit one person, maybe two.

"Alright, girls, get on," the woman ordered.

I lifted an eyebrow, "That can barely fit two people."

"Adds to the uniqueness."

Molly, Janice, and I all exchanged annoyed glances. The woman took to positioning us. She was right, we could all fit on the motorbike if we were creative enough. Molly sat on the seat and acted as if she were driving it, only turning her head to smile at the camera. Janice sat on the seat just behind her, nearly being crushed between Molly and the backend. The backend was a large box where the motor and other essential equipment resided. The woman pushed me to sit on it with my legs crossed and my arms in the air.

"Give me happy, like you're excited to go on the trip you've been dreaming about for years," the woman lifted her camera.

We all smiled brightly. The woman stood at such an angle to us that she could get all of us in the picture while it looked like we were driving away. As a result, I was the furthest to the front while Molly was towards the back, even though, in reality, it was reversed.

The woman took several photographs. We repositioned several times. Once, all of us were shoved on the seat. Another, Janice was sitting on the front of the bike like a child sits on the handlebars of their friend's bike. After an hour, we had several different choices and three exhausted musicians.

"It'll be ready in about a week," the woman told Ellen.

Ellen smiled, "Thank you."

She nodded and vanished back into the studio. Ellen walked over to where we were all sitting in the dirt. I was on my back and staring at the sky. The white outfits Ellen had made us wear were turning brown with dirt, but she didn't complain. she knew our exhaustion, and I'm sure she felt it too. Given a few seconds of silence, I probably would've fallen asleep.

"Are we done yet?" I moaned.

Ellen shook her head, "Yes, for today, at least."

"Bloody hell, finally."

"Can we go home?" Molly asked, "We're all exhausted."

"Of course. You girls did great today."

We didn't reply. We all shuffled out to the cab, nearly falling asleep as we did. The sun was beginning to set, casting orange rays across Liverpool. We had been up for a full twelve hours at that point, having had to get up early for last minute recording and an early train. None of us were used to that. While I had gotten accustomed to long hours and early morning back in Hamburg, it had been a long time since I last did something like that.

As soon as we arrived at our flat, we all shuffled into our rooms. I didn't even bother changing. I simply fell into my bed and into oblivion. For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep instantly. My head had barely hit the pillow before I was sucked into a deep sleep. That didn't last long, however, because my eyes snapped open at three that morning and refused to shut.

"Fucking hell," I muttered, "Not this shit again."


	70. We Play Marbles

I pulled my jacket closer to my chest and shivered. Autumn was setting in, and the world was becoming colder. Before we knew it, winter would roll up and we would all be buried beneath several meters of snow. As much as I loved snow, I was beginning to get sick of it.

A few children laughed, skipping past me and chasing a ball. I smiled slightly. They were innocent and carefree, not a single responsibility to be seen. Best of all, they were still oblivious to the hatred of the world. At times, I found myself wishing to be a child again, but then I turn my eyes towards the future and remember the wonderful things yet to come.

I enjoyed visiting John and Cynthia. Cynthia was always welcoming. She always had a cup of tea ready as if she sensed my arrival. John always met me with a cheeky comment and a grin. This time, I knocked on the door and a familiar voice called, "Come in."

"Georgie, what're you doing here?" I asked as I stepped in.

He and Ringo were sitting on the floor in the living room playing marbles. From the looks of it, Ringo was winning. George had his signature pouty face just as he did every time he lost. It made me chuckle under my breath.

"S'posed to be a band meeting," George huffed, "John and Paul left us, the wankers."

Ringo rolled his head to look over at me, "Went to write songs, they did."

"Well, s'pose they have to write them sometime."

"They could wait until we're not here," George frowned, "Paul's staying with John, anyway, not like they're runnin' out of time."

When George was sour over something, there was no talking him out of it, no matter what you said. Ringo and I exchanged looks and shrugged. At least he was distracted with marbles.

"What're you doing here?" George asked.

"Came to pick up Jules," I replied, "Cyn asked me to babysit while she went to visit her sister. Thought I'd take him to the park."

Ringo grinned, "Say, can we come? It's gettin' boring here."

"Sure."

Ringo began to pick up the marbles as George went to get his coat. I vanished into the back hall where I heard guitar music. John and Paul were in John's room, on his bed. They were side by side, perfect reflections of each other. Paul, being a lefty, had his guitar neck pointed in a different direction. It was like they were looking in a mirror.

I didn't stop to talk to them, fully knowing they were too busy. Once they started writing, there was no getting through to them until they finished. Instead, I went to Julian's room where Cynthia was rocking him. She was fully dressed and ready to go.

"'Ello, Cyn, sorry I'm late," I said.

Cynthia smiled at me, "You're not that late, Melly. I thank you for watching him."

She stood and placed Julian in my arms. I took the baby gratefully, smiling down and him. He smiled back, causing me to laugh. 

He was the first baby I had known since Michael. Michael and I were babies around the same time, so I can't really count that. Julian was my first true baby experience, and I loved every second of it. He was as sweet as Cynthia and as playful as John. His eyes sparkled and his laughter would echo in my mind for years to come. 

"It's my pleasure," I replied, "Always happy to spend some time with Jules."

Cynthia shoved a few items into a baby bag and placed it on the back of the stroller. I had already asked her about taking Julian to the park, and she was fully behind it. She claimed it was good for him to soak up as much sunshine as possible, despite it being overcast outside.

"He'll need to eat in an hour or so," she explained, "I've got the bottle prepared, it's on the side of the bag. And, if he gets fussy, he likes he stuffed walrus, it's in the bag too. And an extra sweater, just in case, he's little and might get cold easily. Oh, and-"

"Cyn, calm down," I interrupted, "I've got it handled, there's no need to worry."

She took a deep breath. Bending over to kiss Julian's forehead, she smiled, "Mummy will be back, darling. Be good for Auntie Melly."

Julian cooed, tapping Cynthia's nose with an affectionate hand. Cynthia stood straight and smiled at me once again, "Thanks, Melly."

"No problem. Have fun!"

She nodded and left, leaving the door to the nursery wide open. George and Ringo appeared. Both had their shoes and coats on and were ready to go. I gently placed Julian in his stroller.

We left the building and turned to go to the park. The nearest one was my favorite park, the one with the cupid statue in the fountain. All of the trees were changing color. It made the gray city look colorful. Soon, that color would vanish underneath mountains of fluffy white ice. 

"He's such a happy baby," I commented as we walked along the park paths, "Mikey used to cry all the bloody time. Not Jules."

George cracked a smile, "Bet you and Paulie did too."

"Paul still does. I, however, was a darling child that never put up a fuss."

Ringo shook his head, "I cried all the time."

We all laughed. George bent down and picked up an extra large leaf. It had just fallen, as was a dark red color. He handed it to Julian who thought it was the greatest thing in the world. He began to fling it around like a flag, giggling the entire time. I looped around the stroller and snapped a picture of him with the camera I had dangling from my neck. Ringo laughed, "One for the album, eh?"

"Course, aren't they all?"

George lifted an eyebrow. Ringo began to explain the idea of our photo album to him as I handed Julian another leaf. He giggled and held it in his other hand. He flung both leaves around, laughing the entire time. 

"Brian was talking about making a Beatles Christmas Show," George suddenly said, "With acts and skits and bands and stuff."

I smiled, "Gear. This Christmas?"

"Yeah, in London. Said he'd ask Ellen if you birds wanted to play too."

"I can already tell you she'll say yes. After all, we're your opening act."

Both lads chuckled. George picked up another leaf and handed it to Julian. He was beginning to get a large collection of multi-colored leaves. Some he squished, others he flung around.

"Isn't your album coming out soon?" Ringo asked.

I nodded, "A week from now."

"What's it called?" George asked.

"Distance. The name was Molly's idea, after a song we wrote for it."

Ringo grinned, "That's bloody amazing, it is, can't wait to hear."

"Oh, you'll have to," I smirked, "This number one fan thing goes both ways."

George laughed. Ringo winked at me, "Course, can't be a true fan if I don't have all the records, now can I?"

We all dissolved into laughter. We wandered around for a little longer before Julian began to cry. I pulled off the path and sat down beneath a large tree. George and Ringo followed suit. I began to feed Julian, which proved to be a difficult task due to his constant movement.

"Bloody hell, Julian, stop moving," I said.

Julian spat out the bottle, "Hell!"

All of us froze. We stared down at the baby who wasn't even a year old. For a moment, I thought I was just hearing things until he said it again.

"Hell!" Julian cooed, reaching for a leaf.

I smacked my forehead, "Oh, Cynthia's going to kill me."

George was practically rolling, he was laughing so hard. Even Ringo was smiling, "It's not just you, you can't tell me John doesn't say it too."

"Probably," I replied, "But he said it with me! He'll go back to Cynthia cursing like a sailor, and I'll never see him again."

"Aw, Cyn'll know it's not your fault," Ringo tried.

George wiped his face. He looked up at me and was about to say something, but he dissolved into laughter once again. I glared at him, "Not helping, Harrison!"

"Hell!" Julian laughed.

I looked down at the baby, "No no, Julian, that's a bad word. I shouldn't have said that."

"Hell!"

"Julian!"

"Hell!"

"Julian, stop!" I exclaimed, "Cyn will kill me."

Ringo was laughing at this point as well. Both lads were in the grass, laughing so hard their faces were turning red. I glared at them, "You're not helping here!"

Ringo rubbed his eyes, "There's nothin' to help. If this kid's gonna say it, he's gonna say it, you can't stop him."

"It's not like he knows any other words," George added.

"Why couldn't it have been Mama? Or Dada? Or a normal first word?" I asked the sky, "Why did it have to be-"

"Hell!" Julian interrupted.

I rubbed my temples, "That's right, Julian, hell."


	71. The First Distance

To the top, laddies, that's what he'd say. Whenever we were feeling unlucky, like our careers were going nowhere, John would pop out and tell us exactly where we were going; to the toppermost of the poppermost. Even now, years after I quit the band and formed my own, I found myself repeating those very lines over and over in my head.

Distance, the first LP by Liverpool's very own Revolution, had finally hit the shelves. It wasn't an instant success, but it wasn't an instant flop either. In the first week, we sold many copies across the country. I suspected that most people bought our records because of our connection to The Beatles, but I didn't care. What matters is that they bought them, and they listened to them. That made our music reach more ears, and it made us more likable. Sometimes, being connected to the biggest band in history wasn't all bad.

With an album came an album party. The Saturday after it was released, Ellen arranged a celebration at one of Liverpool's fanciest ballrooms. It was usually used for weddings and the like, but, today, it would house a bunch of teenaged rockers and their friends.

Ellen handled everything, including the guest list. She invited producers, managers, press officers, and the like. She even invited Markus Beckham just for us to rub our success in his face, but he declined. When she told us about it, she said we could invite a few friends. Of course, my mind instantly jumped to the lads. I rang Paul, John, George, and Ringo that night and invited them. All accepted.

I was excited about the party, but the attire made me wonder if it was worth it. I stood in front of the mirror, frowning at the white dress Ellen had given me to wear. She insisted that this was a formal event and I had to dress like a respectable young lady. When I argued, she blatantly said I had no choice. That left me to wear my most despised article of clothing to a party I was rather looking forward to. It wasn't the first time I wore a dress, and it was far from the last.

"I bloody hate dresses," I grumbled as I stepped out of my bedroom.

Janice and Molly were both wearing their own dresses. Janice wore a short purple dress that brought out her eyes as well as the clips in her hair. Molly wasn't too far behind with her baby blue dress. Both wore heels while I opted for flats, fully knowing Ellen would criticize me, but I thought it was better than breaking my ankle.

"But you look beautiful," Molly replied.

I smiled, "Thank you, but that doesn't stop me from hating it."

"It's not that bad," Janice stated, "It spins nicely."

As if to accentuate her point, she spun around, causing her skirt to billow out and expose her delicates. When she stopped, she noticed me glaring at her.

"I'm not going to bloody spin," I sighed, "Anyways, you two look positively gorgeous."

Janice, as usual, blushed. Molly beamed, soaking in my compliment like a sponge soaks in water. She grabbed her purse from the kitchen island and flung it over her shoulder, "Alright, girls, let's go to the party!"

We all looped elbows and began our parade down to the curb. As we always did, we took the lift, having seen enough of the smelly stairs that reminded me too much of my old school. The lift played annoying music and was ever so slow, but it was better than the smell of bleach and spray paint.

Peter was standing by a dark red car at the curb. He looked different in a suit than his usual messy button-up and khakis. His usually curly hair was brushed back for once, and his black suit was ironed to perfection. Had it not been for his constant trembling, I would have thought Ellen replaced Peter with his better-looking twin.

"G-Good evening, girls," Peter stuttered, "Uh, you look beautiful, Janice."

Both blushed heavily. Molly and I exchanged glances. Peter quickly cleared his throat, "Um, you all look beautiful, I mean, as usual."

"Yeah, yeah, we all know who you like best," I teased, "Where's Ellen, mate?"

Peter blushed at my comment but quickly pushed it aside, "She went early to the hall, said she wanted to make sure everything is in order."

"That sounds like Ellen. Always the particular one," Molly laughed, sliding into the backseat.

I slid in after her and shut the door. Janice took the front seat with Peter. She chuckled a bit, "That's what makes her a good manager."

"Good?" I asked, "Bloody well brilliant, she is, the best of the best, I'd say."

Molly laughed, "Ellen Marie, Queen of The Managers."

Everyone in the car laughed, even Peter. It occurred to me that that was the first time I ever heard him make a sound without stuttering. I wondered if he was actually beginning to warm up to us.

"We're a bit early," Peter mumbled as we pulled up to the hall.

I opened the door, "That's alright, Pete. As my Aunt Milly used to say, it's better to be fashionably early than disrespectfully late."

Molly practically pushed me out of the car. I stumbled out, laughing the entire time. Only then did I notice the few reporters standing outside of the hall. They didn't notice us at first, which was good, as Janice nearly lost her skirt stepping out of the car.

"Be careful, Janice," Peter caught her arm as she nearly fell.

She blushed harder than ever before. Both quickly released each other as if nothing happened, but Molly and I noticed. We both exchanged knowing glances.

Peter, surprisingly, took the lead. We followed him to the large glass doors where the reporters were waiting to get in. As soon as they saw us, we were hounded with questions and tape recorders.

"How do you feel releasing your first album?" one reporter asked.

"Was it very hard for you?"

"How is it working with The Beatles?"

"What is it you're wearing tonight?"

"Are you dating anyone?"

"No questions, please," Peter said as if he was reading from a script, "There'll be a press conference later tonight."

He pushed through the crowd with a confidence I didn't expect to see in Peter. Part of me suspected that Ellen had made him practice. He managed to get us inside without any of the reporters following.

The hall itself was to the left of the main lobby. It was a grand ballroom that seemed to jump straight out of a fairytale. The ornamental tiles were polished to the point where I could perfectly see every detail of my reflection. A glass chandelier hung from the ceiling. It took up most of the painted ceiling, blocking many angels and clouds from view.

Golden pillars lined the walls. Between the pillars, ornamentally designed white wallpaper hung. The middle of the room was bare and acting as a dance floor. Tables lined the walls and were covered by white tablecloths. In the back, a table was lined with finger foods and refreshments. Waiters in red tuxedos stood at attention like guards at Buckingham Palace.

Ellen was organizing silverware on one of the tables while a waiter stood behind her helplessly. He looked like he wanted to stop her but lacked the courage to do so. As usual, Ellen had taken over the job. She was always a bit controlling, sometimes it got annoying, but usually, it came in handy.

"Elly, you know that's his job, right?" I asked, jerking my thumb at the waiter.

Ellen looked up at me, "You're early."

"No, I'm Amelia," I replied.

"The silverware wasn't on the right sides," Ellen sighed, "It has to be perfect. There are some very important people showing up tonight. I'd like to make a good impression."

She gazed at me pointedly. I threw my hands up, "I haven't even done anything!"

"Yet," Molly added, earning an elbow to the gut.

"I expect you all to be on your best behavior," Ellen stated, "This is a party, yes, but it is also a prestigious event. We must make a good impression."

"Right oh, Elly," I fake-saluted, "We'll be perfectly modeled citizens, you'd never know we're twenty-something-year-old rockers."

Ellen looked like she was about to criticize my sarcasm, but Molly cut in, "What Amelia means is, we know how important this is. We promise we will be on our best behavior."

Ellen smiled at us, "Of course you will."

Molly patted her shoulder. Janice's mother showed up after that, and she excitedly went off to meet her. Molly went to get some champagne while I was left to study the flowers sitting on each table. That didn't last long, however, as a few familiar faces walked in.

"Lia!"

I turned around to see Paul waving at me from across the hall. Jane was on his arm, looking as beautiful as ever. John and Cynthia were just behind them with Julian nowhere in sight. John had his arm wrapped around Cynthia. He was trying to hide his squinting. Without his glasses, his was practically blind, but he never wore them for the sake of looking cool. By the way he held Cynthia's shoulder, I knew he was using her as a seeing-eye wife. Both boys wore matching black suits. Jane was in a lavish pink dress while Cynthia had opted for a red evening gown. All looked positively lovely.

"Lads," I smiled, "Jane, Cyn, glad you could make it."

Paul pulled me into a hug, grinning all the way, "How could we miss it? My baby sister made her first album, I'm so proud."

He pretended to shed a tear like a mother watching her child leave for kindergarten. In response, I playfully punched his shoulder, "Come off it, Paulie, stop acting like such a Mum."

"It's not in his nature," John cheekily replied, "Ole Macca's destined to be a Mum one day."

Paul rolled his eyes. John and I both laughed heartily with Cynthia and Jane giggling under their breath. My eyes landed on Jane and I grinned cheekily. Looping around Paul, I flung my arm around her shoulder and placed my other hand over my heart, "Oh, Jane, my love, it has been too long since we've seen each other!"

Jane was doing her best to hold in her laughter. We had seen each other several times since the disastrous dinner with Dad. Ever since, it has been a running joke with us that I was going to steal Paul's girlfriend, even though neither of us had any interest in it. Still, it was a funny joke that spread to our entire friend group.

"Oh, how I've missed you so," Jane finally said, her laughter getting the better of her.

Paul chuckled and pulled me off of her, "Sod off, Lia, she's mine."

"Jealous, are ya?" I winked, "Scared I'll steal your girl?"

John laughed, "That's a new low, Macca, making your girl queer."

Everybody howled with laughter. I felt a tinge in my heart, something upsetting, but I couldn't quite identify it. I quickly covered it up with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Molly asked.

She had two flutes of champagne in her hands. As she sipped one, she handed me the other. I gratefully took it.

"Melly's turning Paul's girl queer," John replied, "They're gonna run off and elope together."

Once again, everybody laughed. Molly feigned surprise and threw an arm over my shoulder, "Oh, but she's mine. We've already eloped twice."

I felt a buzz run over my skin, but I ignored it as I ignored all similar feelings. Everybody laughed harder than ever before. We were laughing so hard, we didn't notice Ringo and Maureen walk up with confused expressions.

"Sorry, Mel, but I only have eyes for Paulie," Jane winked at me before kissing Paul's cheek.

He gave me a winning grin. I rolled my eyes, causing more laughter. I was the one to notice the confused looking Ringo and Maureen. Ringo came up beside of me and asked, "What's so funny?"

"I'll tell you later," I replied, "It's a long story."

I nodded at Maureen, "Lovely to see you again, Mo."

"You too, Melly," she replied, "Congratulations on the album."

"Thanks. It was a pain in the arse, but worth every beat."

Maureen smiled as Ringo pulled her off to get their own champagne. John and Cynthia were close behind as Paul and Jane went off to dance. The party had practically begun, even though not all of the guests had arrived.

"Ey, there's Georgie," Molly tapped my shoulder and pointed.

George was walking in with some bird I didn't know attached to his arm. Behind him, Brian walked in with a girl with ginger hair just like Jane's. I waved at George.

"Georgie, glad you could come," I pulled him into a side hug.

He nodded, "Wouldn't miss it, especially with free champagne."

"Bloody good it is, too."

The girl hanging off his arm lightly tugged his sleeve. He looked at her and she raised her eyebrows. Quickly, he cleared his throat, "Right, sorry, this is my girl Eloise Lancaster. Eloise, these are my mates Amelia McCartney and Molly Mackenzie."

"I've seen your shows before," Eloise shook our hands.

"Have you?" Molly smiled, "Did you like them?"

"Loved them. Never seen a girl group before you. It's great, really."

George smiled, "Come on, Lou, let's get some champagne."

"Lovely meeting you."

We watched as the two waltzed over to the champagne table. On the way there, George and Ringo bumped shoulders. Paul waved at his mate as Jane spun him around the dance floor. The entire hall was filled with smiles. 

"Don't drink too much!" Brian called after him.

"It's not George you should worry about," I replied, jerking my thumb towards John and Paul, "They're going to get plastered."

Brian shook her head, "I'll stop them in time. Congratulations on your album, by the way, I knew you girls could do it."

"You helped, Bri," Molly stated.

I nodded, "If it hadn't have been for you, I would have never quit, and neither band would be where we are today."

Brian smiled, his cheeks becoming slightly redder. The woman next to him was smiling brightly, almost like her smile was painted on. She bounced slightly on her heels as she looked us over. I lifted an eyebrow at her enthusiasm. Usually, this sort of enthusiasm wasn't directed at me, rather, to someone near me. It was the sort of excitement a fan had when coming face to face with the person they enjoyed. 

"So, Bri, who's your girl?" I asked.

Brian cleared his throat, "This is my assistant, Moxie."

"Oh, I've met you before, sort of," Moxie shook our hands, her excitement showing in her abrupt shakes. 

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "You did?"

"Well, seen you, is more like it," Moxie replied, "I've been to plenty of your shows. I'm a huge fan."

My smile mirrored Molly's. We were both practically beaming at this point. Moxie looked like she wanted to ask us thousands of questions, but she restrained herself. Her face was becoming as red as her hair. 

"Thanks, that means a lot, Moxie," I commented.

"My pleasure. I love your music, and you're the first girl group I've ever seen live. It's wonderful, really, you're starting something great."

"How about a drink, Moxie?" Brian asked.

"Love to."

The two sauntered off to the table, never once making contact. I leaned towards Molly and whispered, "What kind of couple doesn't make contact?"

"I don't think they're a couple," Molly whispered back, "Just work together, I s'pose."

"Hm, makes sense. Bri doesn't seem like the dating sort."

"I dunno. Maybe he just hasn't met the right lass."

We both leaned against the wall and drank our champagne. Every so often, Ellen would call us over to meet some producer or another important person. After we finished drinking, Molly left to go get food, leaving me alone with the wall.

"Care to dance?"

Paul had moved to stand next to me, a flute of champagne in his hands and a playful look in his eyes. He had already become a bit tipsy, it showed in his sloppy grin. I lifted an eyebrow, "Don't you have a girlfriend to dance with?"

"She and Cyn seem to be getting along great," Paul gestured to the table across the hall.

Jane, Cynthia, and John were all sitting together. Cynthia and Jane were intensely talking together. John had his arm around Cynthia and was looking around without anything in mind.

"Besides," Paul grinned, "We're celebrating you and the band, what's a better celebration than dancing?"

I smiled, "Alright, but no awkward slow dances."

"Course not, you're my sister, Lia."

We both laughed. I followed him out to the dance floor. Ringo and Maureen were dancing not too far from us. Ringo winked at me, a gesture which I returned. Paul and I danced to the upbeat music just out of arm's reach of each other. I found myself enjoying it.

"I've got to say, I'm proud of you, Amelia," Paul smiled at me.

I spun around, "Thanks, Paulie, it means a lot."

"Just don't go kicking us out of the charts, you know," he grinned cheekily.

I smirked, "I smell a challenge."

Paul laughed. We both happened to glance over and see Ringo's awkward dancing. He looked more like a drunk boxer than a dancer. Both of us broke out into laughter.

Paul eventually left to return to Jane. I found Molly and Janice sitting at a table with Peter and Ellen. To my surprise, Mitch was there too.

"Mitch, I didn't see you come in," I fell in the chair next to Molly.

Mitch smiled, "I was a bit late."

"We were a bit early," Molly replied, "You made it, that's what matters."

"I couldn't miss this party, now could I?"

I laughed, "Course not, this wouldn't be possible without you."

Mitch smiled. I took a sip of my champagne as Ellen stood. She tapped a knife to her glass and called for the attention of the entire hall. Surprisingly, it worked, the entire hall fell silent and all eyes turned to her.

"I propose a toast," Ellen raised her flute, "To Revolution and their very first LP."

I stood up and raised my glass, "And I propose a toast to Ellen Marie and Michelle Michigan, without whom, this would never have happened."

Everybody else raised their glasses and cheered. We all touched the edges and downed our drinks. Molly, Janice, and I dissolved into a fit of giggles when Peter hiccuped after drinking the bubbly liquid.

"I still can't believe we have our very own album," Molly whispered to where only I could hear her, "It's bloody amazing."

I smiled, "By golly, Miss Molly, just you wait. This is only the beginning."


	72. Vacation Time

Each band had a new album out, both were looking forward to a Christmas show and a trip to America, but the members were tuckered out. It seemed like the appropriate time for a vacation, and where better than the lovely Greece? Wonderful beaches, beautiful architecture, and kind people. It was the first vacation we all took together as a group, but it certainly wasn't the last.

We all pooled our money and rented a house on the coast. Altogether, it was John, Cynthia, Paul, Jane, Ringo, Maureen, George, Molly, Janice, and me. We all purchased a house large enough for each of us to have a bedroom if we shared. One of the rooms was outfitted with two bunk beds. George, being the only male without a partner, bunked with Molly, Janice, and me. The rest all paired off with their significant others and took the other bedrooms.

The Greek beaches were ten times better than the Liverpool beaches. There was no fishy smell or rude sailors whistling at every girl that passed. Most were practically deserted, due to winter fast approaching. It was the perfect place for The Beatles and friends to hide away from the growing Beatlemania.

"It's weird being at a beach with no fishy smell," I commented.

George, Jane, Molly, and I all sat in the sand. Molly and Jane were building a sandcastle together as George and I watched. I was digging my toes in the sand and letting the waves wash over my feet.

"I dunno, I like it," George replied, "I was beginning to hate fish."

Molly snorted, "Beginning? I've never liked it."

"You didn't grow up with the smell."

Molly shrugged. It occurred to me that was the first time I had ever seen her in a bathing suit. She wore a striped one piece that covered all of her torso and slightly down her thighs. It was quite beautiful.

Ever since my trip with Ringo, I was noticing more about Molly. The little things she did suddenly became huge in my eyes. Every time she subconsciously twirled her hair or tugged at the bottom of her ear, I found myself smiling wistfully. I noticed her little lip bite every time she was about to say something funny and the way she moved her fingers whenever she was distracted and needed to fidget. Every time she spoke, I found myself entranced by the way she moved her lips, and it was difficult to look away. 

"Greece is lovely," Jane said, "Perhaps we could go inland and look at the historical sites. I hear there is a temple to Athena not too far from here."

I grinned, "That'd be gear."

"Boring, if you ask me," George replied, "I got enough history in school."

"Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it," I chided.

He rolled his eyes. I chuckled slightly, shaking my head and looking out over the ocean. Paul and John were far out in the water, both balancing on boards they had rented from a nearby shop. Ringo and Maureen were halfway between us and them, seemingly having a race. Cynthia was fast asleep on a blanket nearby. Janice was sitting next to her, reading a book.

It was a peaceful time. For a moment, everything was alright. No press, no crazy fans, and no shows to get to. We could all finally lean back and take a deep breath, knowing we've accomplished what we set out to do.

George left when Paul and John returned to shore. They all met up closer to Cynthia, making sure to keep their voices down to keep from waking her. Janice looked up at them for a moment before returning to her book. Why she wanted to read on a beautiful day such as this, I couldn't figure out.

"Melly!" Ringo suddenly called, "Melly, come here!"

Jane, Molly, and I all glanced up. Ringo was a few meters away with the other lads. He held a camera and was beckoning to me. I shrugged and went over there.

"What?"

Ringo handed the camera to me, "We need a photographer."

I watched as Paul helped Ringo climb onto John's shoulders. John and Paul both stood across from each other. George stood on their knees. Each used the other as a pole to hold onto, except Ringo, he kept his hands on his hips. All produced the biggest smiles they possibly could.

"This is ridiculous," I commented.

John groaned, "We can't hold it much longer, take the fucking picture already!"

"Alright, don't get your knickers in a twist."

I held the camera to my eye and snapped the photo. As soon as I dropped my arms, the lads all fell down. George landed on his bottom behind Paul. Ringo managed to slide off and land on his feet, turning to help George up.

"Wait, Melly, one more," John grinned.

I lifted an eyebrow. Before I could ask any questions, John whisked me up into his arms. I yelped at first, but the yell quickly dissolved into laughter. Paul grabbed my legs as George grabbed my middle. John held a tight grip on my upper body. Ringo handed the camera to Maureen before lying on the beach in front of us. We all smiled as Maureen snapped a photo.

"Jolly good, thank you, Mo," Paul said, winking at her.

Maureen laughed, "My pleasure."

Ringo flung an arm around her and took the camera. Paul dropped my legs first, allowing me to stand upright. I giggled, straightening my bathing suit, "A little warning next time would be appreciated."

"Where's the fun in that?" John chuckled.

I shook my head. I went to sit by Molly and Jane once again, but Molly had gone off to talk to Janice. Jane was standing and admiring the castle they had made together. I came up beside of her and said, "Fit for The Queen."

"I dunno, seems a little small," George commented, coming up on her other side.

"I think it's jolly good," Jane replied, "Maybe fit for a sand queen."

"Queen of the ocean, perhaps, if she's a midget," I stated.

We all laughed. Our laughter was interrupted by a high-pitched scream. I thought one of us was in danger, specifically Molly, but I turned to see her and Janice upright and totally fine. Janice was latched onto Molly, her face draining of all color.

A group of teenagers was running towards us from the road. They were falling down the sand dunes to get to us, all in their frenzy. Simultaneously, we all realized, Beatlemania had followed us to Greece.

"Run!" Paul shouted.

Jane looked like she was going to dart to him, but the fans had separated us from the rest of the group. They all ran towards the South end of the beach while we had to go North. With every step we took, we put more and more distance between us and the house.

George ran faster than Jane and I. He looked both scared and excited. The prospect of having girls chasing after him was thrilling, even I had to admit I was a bit energized by the mob chasing us. Jane, however, was anything but. She looked legitimately terrified.

"This way!" George exclaimed.

He darted up some stairs and over a crosswalk. A few cars honked at us as we ran, but we paid no attention to them. All we cared about was escaping the mob of teenagers behind us.

George led us to a souvenir shop. He bolted inside, only stopping at the cash register, "Is there a back exit? We're running from some crazy teens."

The terrified-looking man pointed towards a small hallway. George nodded before bolting off with Jane close behind. I saluted the man before following them.

We ended up in an alleyway between four different shops. The hills were sprawling out behind the buildings, showing bleach white houses and stone pathways. It would be easy to get lost in those hills, especially if you were three visiting Brits.

"Do you know where you're going?" I asked, following George around a corner.

He laughed, "Away."

"Away where?"

"I dunno, just away!"

We could still hear the screams of the fans, and they were getting closer. It's like they had caught the scent of cigarette smoke and biscuits straight out of the oven. They had latched onto George, and they weren't letting go.

George darted around another corner. He came upon an empty dumpster that only vaguely smelled like rotting meat. Sucking in a deep breath, he didn't hesitate to jump in. I was close behind him. Jane was the only one who hesitated.

"Come on, they're getting closer!" we both exclaimed.

Jane cringed before diving in. We shut the lid on top of us and held our breaths. The stampeding teenagers shook the entire dumpster, nearly sending Jane into my lap. I plugged my ears to avoid an oncoming headache due to several high-pitched screams. When the sound had faded away, we all released a deep breath.

"Wasn't this trip supposed to be hidden from the fanbase?" Jane asked.

We were all a bit winded. Our heavy breathing quickly warmed the dumpster and made the smell worse. Despite all of that, we couldn't get out until we were sure they were gone. I could still hear the distant screams.

"Yeah," George replied, "They always find out, it seems, no matter what we do."

I kicked a stray banana peel away, "Crazy is as crazy does, I s'pose. If they want something bad enough, they'll get it."

"It's bloody annoying, it is," George huffed.

"Come on, Georgie, you can't say you weren't a little bit happy to have girls chasing you for once," I smirked.

George frowned, "Not when they're bloody insane! They're gonna kill us one day, you know."

I shook my head. The screams had completely died out, but we still waited twenty minutes just to be sure. When I lifted the dumpster lid, I looked around before giving the all clear. We all jumped out.

"I bet Paul is worried," Jane muttered as we made our way through the alleys.

I shrugged, "He'll be fine, Jane, this isn't the first time."

"You should've seen him last time we got chased," George commented, "You would've thought he was one of the girls, 'cause of his screams."

I covered my mouth to keep my laughter from echoing through the alleys. We kept to the back alleys all we could to keep from being spotted once again. George led the way, even though he had no idea where he was going.

"It's this way," he said, though he sounded uncertain.

I crossed my arms and sighed, "We're fucking lost, George, admit it."

"We're not lost, Amelia, I know exactly where we are."

"Do you now? Mind telling me?"

He shot me a glare, "Sod off, McCartney."

"Get lost, Harrison," I smirked, "Oh, wait..."

"We're not bloody lost!"

He stomped onto the street. We were met with a barren road and unfamiliar buildings. Even the beach had vanished, and we were surrounded by buildings and trees. Everything was unfamiliar. We were lost in a foreign country without any means of getting home and the sun was steadily sinking behind the horizon. To sum it up; we were royally screwed. 

"It's getting dark," Jane muttered.

"I can see that, Jane," George spat.

Jane looked upset. I placed a hand on her elbow and shook my head. George may be the quiet one, but he had a temper when provoked. Generally, it had nothing to do with the people around him, but the situation he found himself upset over.

"George, we need to stop and ask for directions," I said.

George sighed, "How do you expect we do that? We can't even spell the name of our house let alone pronounce it."

"We can bloody try, can't we?"

Jane looked like she was steadily becoming more uneasy. Being out in a city we didn't know, at night, without any form of communication was a bit unnerving, especially when the pack of teenagers could still be hunting for us.

It was time to call an end to our hunt. Without warning anyone, I stomped off to a nearby building. The sign was in Greek. Due to the racks of clothing inside, I could guess exactly what kind of store it was.

"Hello, do you speak English?" I asked the woman behind the counter.

She nodded, "Yes, may I help you?"

"My friends and I are a bit lost," I said as George and Jane came inside, "Would you mind pointing us in the direction of our rental house? We don't actually know the name of it."

"It's a big blue rental house," Jane put in, "In a row of similar houses."

"On the beach," George added.

The woman snapped her fingers, "Ah, the Seaside Hide houses. Yes, quite famous around here. If you'll follow this road to the first stop sign and take a left, you'll hit the beach. From there, go left, and you'll come across it eventually."

"Thank you so much," I smiled.

She nodded. George, Jane, and I stepped out into the night air and followed her directions. We walked in a close line. Jane even went so far as to grab George's arm. He let her and looked over at me as if expecting me to follow. I crossed my arms and sneered, causing him to chuckle slightly.

The woman had directed us perfectly. Within twenty minutes, we found our way back to the house. It was the only one with the lights still on. The curtains were drawn, but I could see a few people moving around. One of them was pacing.

"Jane!"

Paul practically covered Jane with his hug. Molly latched onto my shoulders and muttered, "I was so worried about you."

"Aw, Mols, I'm alright," I placed my arm around her waist, "It's Georgie we had to worry about, they were after him."

George simply shook his head. He still looked pissed off, though I knew none of that anger was directed at anyone in the room. Everybody was in the living room with worried looks on their faces. As soon as we stepped in, those looks were replaced with relieved expressions, especially Paul and Molly. The two looked on a verge of a fit when we walked in. Ringo stood up and patted George's arm, "Glad to see you're alright, mates, we were worried sick."

When Paul stopped hugging Jane he came up behind me and grabbed my shoulders. I yelped slightly. Patting his arm, I sighed, "Your fans are fucking insane."

"You've got that right," John replied, "Nutters, the lot of them."

Paul released me, "I'm just glad you three are safe."

"We would've been back a lot sooner if someone," I glared at George, "Hadn't have gotten us lost."

George frowned, "It's not my bloody fault, these streets are fucking confusing."

"Calm down, George, we don't blame you," Jane said.

George didn't reply. He fell to sit next to Ringo, who patted his shoulder comfortingly. He shook his friend off, choosing instead to sulk.

To the world, George was the quiet Beatle who felt little to no emotion, but those who were close to him knew otherwise. He felt emotions strongly, he just knew how to control them, most of the time. Sometimes, in instances such as this, he would throw a temper tantrum. All of us, George included, would look back at laugh at his tantrums. One can't even call them tantrums, he never yelled, he only sulked.

"The point is, you're safe," Cynthia commented, smiling at us all.

I took a deep breath, "Yeah, but I could go for some whiskey right about now."

"Drinks all around, then," John cheered.


	73. London Bound Musicians

The biggest fight of my life was ignoring the feelings I had for Molly. I wasn't even sure what they were, but I knew they weren't good. Whether it was love, lust, infatuation, or a simple confusion, I didn't know. The laws were very strict, whatever I was feeling, I knew it would break them. For my safety and, more importantly, Molly's, I had to hide whatever was going on inside of my heart.

I managed to ignore the feelings, whatever they were, nearly every day. I succeeded in acting like nothing had changed despite the huge difference inside. Everything would be going fine until Molly does something like fall asleep with her head in my lap.

I did my best to act like this was nothing out of the ordinary. We had fallen asleep on each other countless times, we even slept in the same bed for the better half of three years. This wasn't new, and yet, it felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. I had to resist the urge to play with her hair or rub her back. Instead, I leaned my head on my fist and gazed out of the train.

Janice was sitting on Molly's other side, absorbed in a book. Ellen and Peter were across the car from us. We were all bound for London for The Beatles Christmas Show. It was supposed to go on for sixteen days, but we would be there for a month. Between rehearsals, costume fittings, and set building, we would do good to fit everything into one month.

"You two seem to do that a lot," Ellen gestured with her eyes to Molly.

Molly was practically cuddling with my arm at that point. She had her legs curled up on her seat, and her hair was covering her face. I smiled, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks.

"We're very close," I replied, smiling, "Nearly six years of friendship, we should be."

Ellen's eyes widened, "That long?"

I nodded. She glanced between us before smiling, "Friendships like that are hard to find."

"Yeah, I'm very lucky."

Janice glanced over her book at us. The two of us made eye contact and I smiled, "Especially since I found two."

Janice began to blush and hid her face behind her book. Both of us knew she could never be what Molly was to me, but she was damn close. Looking back, I had tons of friends, but only a little more than a handful made it as far as Janice did.

We pulled into the ever familiar Kings Cross Station just minutes later. I shook Molly awake as Ellen and Peter began to pull our bags down from the overhang. Molly blinked rapidly before sitting up and rubbing her eyes, "Are we there?"

"Revolution in London once again," I smiled, "Seems like we come here a lot."

Janice took her bag from Peter, "Maybe we should just move here. We'd save a lot on train tickets."

"And our recording studio is here," I added.

Ellen furrowed her brow. She didn't say anything against it or for it, she seemed to be contemplating it. Molly and I both took our bags from Peter.

"We'd have a lot more opportunities here," Molly added.

Janice rubbed the back of her neck, "My Mum moved here, and my Aunt's here, I did want to follow them."

She spoke quietly, which wasn't unusual for Janice. We had all grown accustomed to straining to hear her. It had become a habit for all of us to lean closer whenever she was talking.

"Precisely, we're not the first, and we're sure as hell not the last," I stated, "Paul moved a few weeks ago, and John and Cyn just bought a flat. George and Ringo are sure to follow."

Molly nodded, "Our studio's here, our friends are here, it seems like a brilliant idea."

We made our way into the hall, still talking amongst ourselves. Ellen looked deep in thought. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed, "I will admit, I was contemplating it myself. It does seem like the logical step, and the most financially sound."

"Train tickets aren't cheap," Molly stated.

"Alright," Ellen turned to us and smiled, "The show first, then we'll make all the necessary arrangements to move to London."

I raised both of my hands and grinned. Molly high-fived one as Janice slapped the other. We all grinned broadly, having won exactly what we wanted.

We had all been contemplating it for awhile. Liverpool didn't have everything we needed, it didn't even have a decent recording studio. London was a beautiful city with many opportunities for a band like us. Mitch and her recording studio were there, and she already said she wanted to do another album with us. It was only fitting that we moved to London.

Ellen called a cab, and it was waiting for us at the curb. To my surprise, it was a large van rather than the usual small car. There was plenty of trunk space for a drum kit, two guitars, and five different amps. All of us worked together to load the van, including the driver. In the end, Molly, Janice, and I had to hold suitcases in our laps.

"We're going to stop at the apartment for an hour or so, and then on to the studio," Ellen told us, reading a schedule she had pulled out of her pants pocket.

Molly, Janice, and I all exchanged glances. Even the cab driver looked at her oddly before focusing on the road. The only one who didn't seem phased was Peter.

"Did you hear me?" Ellen looked back at us.

Molly nodded as I blinked, "Erm, apartment?"

Growing up in Liverpool, you don't hear much outside of the Liverpudlian slang. The only experience I had with outside slang was with Ellen, Peter, and a few people I had run across in London. While I knew exactly what an apartment was, I still took the opportunity to give Ellen grief. 

"Sorry, a flat," Ellen sighed, "Eleven years in this country, and I still haven't gotten used to the slang."

Peter chuckled, "I've been here since I was ten and I-I still don't know what cheeky Nandos means."

Molly and I both busted out in laughter. I leaned forward and clapped Peter's shoulder, ignoring his obvious discomfort, "Neither do we, Pete."

"Never heard that in my life," Molly stated.

Janice simply shrugged. We pulled up to the flat building a few minutes later. The street was seemingly abandoned, which was good. I suppose the fans hadn't figured out who exactly was staying in that building yet. Once they figured it out, they would be swarming the building to try and get information on where their idols were residing. I didn't even know where Brian had the lads staying, but the fans wouldn't believe me. They were so infatuated with The Beatles that they were excited to see someone who once stood in the same room as their idols. That meant they enjoyed mobbing the opening band and close family and friends of the band members. Both of which I was. 

Ellen grabbed a luggage trolley from inside and we began to load. In the end, we had to carry most of our stuff because my drums took up most of the trolley. Peter pushed it into the lift with a red face and straining muscles.

"We need a bloody roadie," I said as the lift closed.

Ellen sighed, "Perhaps we can get one for the tour."

Our flat was on the top floor. It took three minutes for the lift to get there. The elevator music was stripping away pieces of my consciousness as we climbed. When we finally reached the top, we all pushed to the end of the hall where our home for the next month resided.

The flat was by no means large. It had two bedrooms, and the living room and kitchen were connected just like our flat back in Liverpool. There was a small concrete balcony carved into the exterior of the building and accessible through a sliding glass door. With only one bathroom, the flat was not fit for five people, but we would make do.

"I am sorry, this is all our funds could account for," Ellen sighed.

I threw an arm around Janice and Molly, "It's no problem, Elly, we've slept in far worse."

"Remember the hotel room on our first trip to London?" Molly asked.

"The floor smelled like piss, I should know, I slept on it."

We all laughed. Peter abandoned the luggage trolley in the corner and ran to the bathroom. Ellen took a long look around the room before nodding. Before she could say anything, we vanished into the back bedroom.

The bedroom we would take residence in was smaller than my childhood bedroom. It had one queen bed with a trundle underneath. Impressionist paintings hung off the dark blue walls, and lacy white curtains covered the small windows. In the middle of the floor, a jet black rug clashed with the brown shag carpet beneath it.

"Dibs on the trundle," Janice muttered, falling onto the pulled out trundle bed.

Molly smirked, "Never know Jan to call dibs on something."

"Who are you and what have you done with Jan?" I asked.

Janice smirked at us. We all ditched our luggage in various corners of the room. Molly fell onto the bed and stretched out, "I could go for a nice nap."

"You slept on the way up here," I commented.

"One can never get too much sleep."

I rolled my eyes. Molly pulled the covers around her and rolled onto her side to face the wall. Janice wasn't too far behind her.

We all had to wake up early in order to make it to London in time for the first rehearsals. The night before, I got little to no sleep, and I was the only one out of the three of us who was wide awake. I turned to leave just as Janice's snores began to quietly radiate from her trundle. I looked back at them once more before rolling my eyes and shutting the door.

Peter was sitting on the couch with a magazine open in his lap. I could hear the shower going, making me believe that's where Ellen was. We still had about an hour until we had to be at the studio for first rehearsals, it gave us all a bit of breathing time.

I stepped out onto the balcony and took in the scene. London was blanketed in pristine white snow, the only gaps being on shoveled streets. Each rooftop was the same, perfectly white in a blue and green world. I could see dots of people walking down the streets, their hats slowly being covered by snow. Never once did they look up to see the sun sparkling against the gray sky. 

A breeze blew past me, making me shiver and pull my coat closer over my body. It was a beautiful scene, and I didn't feel like leaving it, even if the wind was telling me otherwise. It blew my hair in all directions. Snowflakes settled in my locks like crystal hair clips. I took a deep breath, feeling the chill freeze my lungs. When I exhaled, my breath made tiny clouds in the frigid winter air.

"Oi! Melly!"

I glanced around. The balcony was empty except for me, and the voice seemed a fair distance away. The voice was as distinctive as ever, but I didn't believe it was who I thought it was. He was supposed to be in the studio, preparing for rehearsals. My first instinct was to look at the ground, but the voice corrected me, "Over here, you twit!"

John was waving at me from five balconies away. I took me a moment to recognize him because he was so far away, and his hat covered his hair. I saw the glint of sunlight reflect off his glasses, causing me to break out into a grin.

"Johnny Boy!" I exclaimed, "Fancy running into you here."

He laughed, "Didn't know you were staying in the same building as us."

"Me neither. Seems like we keep running into each other in the oddest places."

John was about to reply, but he turned to look at his door. Had I been closer, I'm sure I would have heard yet another familiar voice.

"I'm talking to Melly, you git," John replied.

Another familiar lad stepped out. I recognized the head of dark brown hair similar to my own. George glanced over John's shoulder and smiled, "'Ello, Melly!"

"'Ello, Georgie!" I replied.

Another lad stepped out. The head of dark brown hair bounced behind John and peered over his shoulder. Even from this distance, I could see Paul's smile, "Oi, Lia, didn't think you were supposed to get in until tomorrow."

"Elly likes to be early for being early, I s'pose. Besides, we have to rehearse too," I shouted back.

John groaned loudly, "We're going to lose our bloody voices shoutin' like this."

"Come to our place, Lia, we'll continue this here," Paul shouted.

"Be right over!"

They vanished into their flat. I did the same, running straight into Ellen. Her wet hair was hanging in loose threads and she wore a bathrobe. The air around her seemed a bit humid, but that could have been my imagination. She was drying the tips of her hair with a towel while she relayed a letter to Peter. He was typing it out furiously, only stopping when Ellen did.

"Who were you shouting at?" she asked.

I grinned, "Paul, John, and George. Didja know we were in the same building as them?"

"I guessed," Ellen replied, "Brian wanted all of the acts to be in relatively the same area. This building was his idea."

"That sounds like Bri."

I headed towards the door, but Ellen stopped me, "Where are you going?"

"To the lads' flat. We're going to lose our voices by shouting so much."

"Alright, just be back fifteen minutes before we have to go so you can get dressed."

I winked, "Right oh, Elly."

Without another word, I left the flat. I stuck my hands in my pockets and whistled as I made my way down to the lads' flat. They were on the exact opposite side of the building than us. When I arrived at their door, I found it cracked open and waiting for me.

"I was freezing my bloody arse off," I stated as soon as I stepped in.

John glanced around the corner, "You don't look arse-less."

"Says the blind man."

Paul snorted and began howling in laughter. John punched him in the shoulder, but his grin gave him away. I fell to sit on their couch and hid my bare feet under my legs. Their flat was significantly colder than ours, but they didn't seem to mind. John had his sleeves rolled up all the way to his elbows and Paul was in a t-shirt. I seemed to be the only one still shivering. 

"Have ya seen the script yet, Lia?" Paul asked, falling to sit next to me.

I shook my head. John grabbed some papers from a nearby desk and shoved them towards me, "You're in for a surprise, you are."

"Doubt it," I replied, "Nothing really surprises me anymore."

John and Paul exchanged glances, both breaking out into knowing grins. I flipped through the pages and scanned the words typed out on them. Most were lists of what bands would be playing at what time and what songs they would be singing. For the sixteen days that we would be playing, each night had Revolution listed to play just before The Beatles. We had different songs each night, beginning with our three singles. To my surprise, between the concerts, there were skits written up.

"We're doing bloody skits?" I asked.

John nodded, "A few each night. Bloody ridiculous, it is."

"Aw, it'll be fun," Paul jabbed John's side with his finger, "We've all got a bit of an actor in us."

I shook my head, "Speak for yourself, I can't act to save my life."

George came in at that point with Ringo just behind him. Ringo overheard me and said, "We're acting?"

"The skits, Ritch," John replied, "We're doing bloody skits."

George frowned, "That's not music."

"It's like a mini play. Come off it, Georgie, it'll be fun," Paul tried.

Paul and Ringo were the only ones excited for this. Eventually, John joined them, after Paul's constant prodding. They all seemed excited to play a game of pretend on stage and wear ridiculous costumes. One of their skits even had them acting out a bit of Shakespeare, which none of us knew.

George and I were the only ones who were hesitant. He fell to sit next to me and I handed him a few papers. Both of us studied the list, soaking in what we would have to do.

Acting was like lying, and I was the worst liar ever to set foot on the planet. Only once had I ever succeeded in lying, and that didn't last long. I knew I would make a fool of myself on stage, and that would reflect badly on the band. Even George was beginning to pale as we read through the script.

Revolution had two skits while The Beatles had three. Both bands participated in two joint skits in addition to their solo skits. There was another piece that involved us attached to wires on the ceiling and flying around as The Beatles did their thing on the ground.

"I regret agreeing to do this," I muttered.

George didn't pull his eyes from the paper, "It won't be that bad."

"Maybe not for you lads," I replied, "I'm going to make a bloody fool of myself."

Paul overheard me. He fell back to sit next to me and throw an arm around my shoulders, "You'll do great, Lia, chin up."

He tried to push my chin up, but I jerked my head away. He rolled his eyes as John laughed, "If Melly's gonna sulk, let her, she's got to do it one way or another."

"It won't be that bad, Mel," Ringo smiled at me, "Like a big game of pretend."

I sighed deeply, "I was never good at those."

"Me neither," George muttered, though nobody but I heard him.

***

Six hours, that's how long we'd been at the studio. Not a single minute was left untouched. Our hours were filled with darting from room to room; getting fitted with clothes, rehearsing our scripts, rehearsing our music numbers, and listening to people talk about exactly how this show will go down.

"Amelia, pay attention."

I jumped back into my consciousness. The head director, a man by the name of Victor, was glaring at me from the end of the stage. Molly and Janice, who were standing to my left, glanced at me worriedly. I cleared my throat and said, "Sorry, sorry, where were we?"

"The knights are confronted by the village dames," Victor replied, "That's you."

I stepped forward to stand next to Paul. He, John, George, and Ringo were all in a line with foam helmets on their heads. Ringo was leaning his head against George. Both looked half asleep. Even Paul was swaying on his feet.

It was nearly midnight, and we had all had our fill. Early mornings and late nights were bound to catch up with us eventually, plus we had exerted more energy that we had in the first place.

"I, erm," I coughed, "I thank thee, kind knights for your-your-your um-"

I took another step forward and nearly tripped over my own feet. John lurched forward and grabbed my shoulders, managing to keep me upright. I mumbled thanks as John spun to look at the director, "Bloody hell, we're all exhausted, can't you see that?"

"We must finish this rehearsal," the director replied.

"We have a week and a half for your fucking rehearsals! We're going home. Come on, lads, lasses."

John grabbed Paul's collar and my sleeve, tugging us towards the exit. I stumbled and would have fallen if it weren't for Molly suddenly coming up on my other side. John released me.

"Rehearsal isn't over!" Victor called after us.

"Yes, it bloody well is!" John replied.

I could hear one manager apologizing while the other said we were right. A small smile crept across my lips as I realized Ellen was sticking up for us. She truly was the best.

Molly, Janice, and I all followed the lads outside. Two cars were waiting to take us to the same place. Ringo decided to carpool with us, and we all ended up squished in the back. Halfway through the ride, we had all fallen asleep on each other. Molly was leaning on my shoulder while I leaned on Ringo as he leaned on the door. Janice rested across our laps. 

I barely processed any of the trip between the studio and the flat. I vaguely realized Ellen telling us it would all be alright as we shuffled into the flat. As soon as I entered the bedroom, I collapsed and fell asleep with Molly landing right next to me.


	74. Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

The rehearsals for The Beatles Christmas Show were beginning to remind me of Hamburg. What with late nights, excessively long hours, exhausted musicians, and crazy employers, it was practically history repeating itself. Every musician, whether they were a Beatle, a Rebel, or somewhere in-between, was exhausted day after day. Our only salvation was Ellen and Brian. They managed to keep the directors and producers in line when it came to looking out for our health as well as our careers. They did their best to make sure we ate properly, were fully hydrated, and we were home in time to get a full eight-hour sleep. It was times like that when I was most grateful for the two managers.

After three days, the effects were beginning to show. It began with Paul. He no longer had a constant charming smile or a sparkle in his eye. Instead, he was sluggish and went around mumbling at everyone. John was constantly snapping at people while George and Janice had become even more reserved than usual. Ringo seemed relatively normal, except for the dark circles forming beneath his eyes that were beginning to make him look like a raccoon. Molly looked like she was going to cry at everything, and I was on the verge of burning the entire bloody building down.

Had we followed Victor's orders and gone in for another twelve-hour rehearsal day, there wouldn't have been any bands to play. Some of us would have stormed out while others were hospitalized for extreme exhaustion. Our saving grace came in the form of Brian Epstein and Ellen Marie. The two managers banded together to convince the head director that we needed a day off. We still had three days to rehearse, and the sets and costumes were already made. They managed to convince the director to let us all go home and rest for a full day.

I woke up late in the afternoon. The first thing I registered was the heavyweight against me. I began to panic before I realized it was Molly. In her sleep, she had moved to where her stomach was pressed into my side. One of her arms was draped across me and her head was on my shoulder blade.

As soon as I realized it was Molly, I relaxed for a moment before panicking further. My skin tingled with goosebumps. This wasn't the first time I had woken up like this, and it definitely wasn't the last. Ever since my London trip with Ringo, I wasn't sure how to handle myself around Molly, especially when she touched me. I had to ignore whatever was going on inside of me, and it was difficult when we were always so close.

I quickly slid out from under her. She grumbled in her sleep but didn't wake up. I went under the blanket and ended up at the bottom of the bed. Sunlight streamed in over the curtains and illuminated her outline. I gulped before shakily trying to get out of bed without stepping on Janice.

I made it out into the hall without either of them waking up. When I shut the door behind me, I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding. I sulked out into the living room to find Peter fast asleep on the couch. Not wanting to disturb him, I went to sit on the balcony after grabbing my coat.

With every day that passed, I became more and more terrified of myself. I had to ignore it, I had to pretend that nothing had changed despite the monumental change in my heart. Molly was still my best mate, my soulmate, really. Fate had made us with intentions of us falling down the stairs together that day in 1957. The universe had made plans for us to be close, for us to make a band, and for us to be together until the end of time. What I didn't know is that fate had plans beyond that.

I was terrified that I would put Molly in danger. What I felt was illegal. We could be imprisoned, tortured, or even killed. I had to ignore it for her, for both of us, really.

The thing is, I wasn't sure if I could always ignore it. It was hard to ignore the tingles I felt whenever she touched me or the way my heart leaped whenever she smiled. I couldn't pretend I wouldn't do anything to make sure she was happy. I couldn't ignore how she made me feel something I had never felt before. Molly made me feel happy, safe, excited, adventurous, and, most of all, Molly made me feel loved. She made me feel like I would always have someone to love me even when there was nobody else left in the world. If everyone I knew dropped dead right then and there, I would still have Molly, no matter what.

I told myself, if I ignored it, it would go away. Eventually, I would go back to loving Molly like a friend and nothing more. I wouldn't long for her touch or feel empty when she wasn't there. If I ignored it, everything would go back to the way it was before.

I had to ignore the fact that I was falling in love with Molly Mackenzie.

It was a dangerous thing to love someone of the same gender. It was the sixties, and society had a set of guidelines that everybody had to follow. I broke almost every one of them, the biggest being the stigma against homosexuality. It was outlawed in England at the time, and anyone who broke that law was sent to jail and then a mental hospital. They were subjected to torture just because of who they loved.

If this got out, Molly and I would be subjected to exactly that. We would be imprisoned, electrocuted, and put through hell. I couldn't let that happen, especially not to Molly. If I had to endure a lifetime of internal hell just to keep her safe, I would. After all, that's what love is.

Nobody ever questioned whether or not I was queer. I didn't even question it myself. I had never been interested in getting a boyfriend during school. All of my friends had boyfriends or girlfriends by the time they were thirteen while I had yet to have a single relationship. Some had even lost their virginity and I still hadn't kissed anyone. Yet, nobody ever questioned it. I simply went through my life without even thinking about it.

I never thought love existed. I had only ever seen it between a man and a woman, and that didn't seem real. My parents were supposed to show me what love was, but they proved to me that it didn't exist. They loved each other, but not in that sense. I had watched my own brother get into a steady relationship only to sleep around with any bird he could find. Even one of my closest friends got married, but he didn't seem happy. They loved each other, but they weren't happy, necessarily. They were both lacking something that love could never give them, at least, that's how I saw it. Because I had seen how terrible their love was, I didn't think it existed, therefore I didn't want it. Never did I think that I could fall in love with someone of the same gender.

What I felt might not even be love. I had never felt it, so I could easily be identifying it wrong. Every book I read told me that love was putting someone before yourself. Love was wanting to keep that person safe and happy even if it killed you. Love was when home went from being a place to a person.

Molly was my home. I felt happy when I was with her. She made me feel different than anyone else ever could. I felt loved when I was with the lads or Janice or even Ellen. I felt loved when I was on stage. When I was with Molly, I felt like she would never stop loving me. She was always making sure I was alright; whether that be slipping me sleeping pills or handing me a handkerchief, she was always there. In return, I was always making sure she was safe. From fighting sexist producers to catching her when she trips. We were always with each other, and we had always loved each other from the very moment we fell down those stairs.

Never did we think it was anything more than platonic. Molly might not even feel what I did, she could still think things were as normal as they ever had been. I could be falling head over heels in love with her and she might not even bat an eyelash. I dreaded the day when I had to watch her get married to a man when I was hopelessly in love with her.

Yet, at the same time, I longed for it. If Molly were to marry a man, she would be safe. Nobody would question if she were queer. She would be seen as a model citizen. It would hurt for me to see her go home every night to love someone else, but she would be safe.

I had to hide it, I had to ignore it. I couldn't put Molly in danger. It would kill me inside, but I had to do it, for Molly. All I wanted was for her to be safe and happy. If that was with a man, then, so be it. I would suffer the hell of hiding my love away if it meant keeping her safe. 

Times like that, I wished my mother were still around. She would know exactly what to say. She would hold me in her arms and tell me everything would be alright. Even with me breaking the law, she would still love me, and she would help me through it.

"Melly?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Janice was meekly standing in the doorway, a scarf nearly covering her entire face and two cups of steaming liquid in her hands. When I jumped, so did she, but she managed to keep the cups from spilling.

"Christ, Jan, you scared the living hell of out me," I shook my head.

Janice gulped, "I-I'm sorry, you didn't answer the first time."

"No, I'm sorry, I got wrapped up in my thoughts."

Janice sat down next to me and handed me one of the cups. I took a sip and sighed at the taste. Janice made the greatest hot chocolate, I swear she had some sort of superpower when it came to making that drink.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Janice asked meekly.

I glanced at her and smiled, "It's not much to talk about. Just thinking of rehearsals and the like."

Janice nodded understandingly. Janice was a great friend, she was always there even if she was more scared than the person she was trying to comfort, but she was never good with words. When it came to talking someone off a bridge, Janice was the one that broke down in tears and forgot to speak.

"Your hot chocolate is the greatest," I smiled, "I'd marry it if I could."

Janice blushed a deep shade of red, "My Grandmum taught me to make it."

"She did a bloody good job, this is amazing."

Her blush deepened. We sat in silence for a moment, sipping our hot chocolate and watching the pale white world. A few snowflakes landed in Janice's hair, making it seem like she had crystals clipped onto her hair. 

"I didn't wake you, did I?" I asked.

Janice shook her head, "No. I don't like sleeping late."

I chuckled. Out of the three of us, Janice was the early bird, I was the night owl, and Molly was the only one with a decent sleep schedule. We all fit together to symbolize each type of person.

"I'm surprised Molly is still asleep," Janice mumbled.

I cracked a grin, "I'm not. She'll sleep until she's caught up, and that'll be awhile."

"So, it's just us today?"

I nodded. Janice smiled slightly before sipping her drink. Janice and I had been alone together plenty of times, but we had never had any true quality time spent together. Usually, we barely had a few minutes alone together before Molly joined us. I had never minded it until just then when I realized Janice was actually happy to spend time with me.

"Say, let's do something today," I glanced at Janice and smiled, "I need to get some Christmas shopping done, care to join me?"

Janice lifted an eyebrow, "Aren't we supposed to stay in the flat today?"

"That's exactly why we're not going to."

Janice smiled and shrugged, "Alright, let's do it."

We finished our hot chocolate and vanished into the flat to change. Molly remained asleep as we grabbed a change of clothes and vanished. Janice changed first, quickly followed by me. I slipped on my favorite sweater as well as a good pair of jeans. We both slapped on hats that would, hopefully, keep people from recognizing us. Janice kept her scarf wrapped over her mouth, making her even less recognizable. I decided that was a good idea and did the same.

The two of us left the flat without anyone being the wiser. Janice giggled as we made our way to the lift. I shushed her. We couldn't be found out, or else we would be pushed back into our rooms. If Ellen found out, she would skin us. We were supposed to stay in the flat and rest, not escape and go on London adventures.

We stepped into the empty lift and hit the button. Just as the doors were closing, a hand shot out to catch them. Janice gasped as Brian stepped in.

"Do you ladies mind if I join you?" Brian asked.

It occurred to me that he didn't recognize us. With the scarves and the hats, he couldn't see enough of our facial features to recognize us. That, and he looked exhausted. Both his exhaustion and our disguises worked together to help us hide in plain sight.

I simply shook my head. He stepped in and smiled at us before hitting the door close button. Janice shrunk away from him, hiding behind me. I glanced at her and gave her a supporting look, but it didn't help her. She looked like she was going to faint.

Brian didn't say another word to us. He kept glancing up as if he recognized us, but couldn't put two and two together. His exhaustion had blurred his senses. Whenever the doors opened he stepped out and nodded to us, "Have a good day, ladies."

I didn't dare reply for fear of him recognizing my voice. Janice kept a tight grip on my arm as we left the building. She only released me whenever we made it around the corner.

"I can't believe he didn't recognize us," Janice's voice was muffled by her scarf.

I grinned, "He's exhaustion got the better of him. I'm surprised he was even up."

Janice shook her head. We made our way down the streets without a particular direction in mind. We wandered through the snow-covered city, nodding hello to a few people who passed.

"Where are we going?" Janice finally asked.

I shrugged, "I dunno. Didn't really think of that."

Janice gazed at the ground. I thought for a moment before an idea popped into my head, "I've got it, let's go to Carnaby Street."

"What?"

"I read about it in a paper once," I furrowed my eyebrows, "It's s'posed to have cool shops and stuff. We could check it out."

Janice shrugged. We stopped to ask for directions and we were on our way. We trudged through the snow with the optimism of two people out for a bit of fun.

Carnaby Street was exactly as I had envisioned it. The buildings were all sorts of colors as were the people. I saw clothing I had never seen before. That turned out to be the local hangout of every hip Londoner.

My problems all melted away as I spent the day with Janice. We purchased several Christmas gifts, the funniest being the eyelash sculpter I got Paul as a joke. By the end of the day, we had gone into each and every psychedelic shop on that street and seen every psychedelic person inside.

"That was bloody brilliant," I grinned as we returned to our building, "A great day, I'd say."

Janice smiled, "I had loads of fun."

"Me too, Jan, me too."

We arrived at our door and silently opened it. Our hope was to slip into the flat while everyone else was still asleep. The sun was going down, shining directly through the glass doors. The room was overly bright. Whenever we shut the front door, the curtain was abruptly drawn.

Ellen was sitting on the couch and glaring at us like a disappointed Mum. Molly was right beside of her looking upset as well. Both looked like they wanted to ground us.

"Shit," I muttered.

Ellen's glare hardened, "That's right, Amelia."

I cringed at her use of my name. It felt like she shoved daggers into my heart. I wanted to apologize, but I knew she would only ignore me. Molly cocked her head, "Where have you been and why didn't you bother to take me?"


	75. The Show Goes On

Rehearsing had finally come to an end, and it was time for the real show. For sixteen nights, we would do the show. It would start with a small band playing followed by a few others. Mixed in would be our skits, finally ending with a Beatles performance. Revolution would play for fifteen minutes before their performance as the opening act.

Stage fright had never been my thing. Even when I first started playing live, I was never truly terrified to get on stage. I had a bit of nerve, yes, but it wasn't anything that would paralyze me. Paul and I had that in common; we were as relaxed walking on stage as we would be at home. 

That's why it was often left up to me to calm the nerves of my fellow musicians. I found myself talking to one of the earlier acts, a lass by the name of Cilla Black. She was one of John's friends and Brian's other clients, and a remarkable singer all her own. I found her in the hall having a mild panic attack.

"It's just like playing at a club," I told her, "Just picture the audience in their knickers and you'll be alright."

Cilla laughed, "I've tried that, it just makes me laugh while I sing."

"Alright, then, imagine that they're not there. You're only performing for yourself and not a crowd of a few hundred people."

Cilla furrowed her brows. She nodded, "I-I can try."

Her name made me imagine raven colored hair, but, instead, she had a head of hair almost identical to Jane's. It was bright red and looked soft but coarse all at the same time. She was the fourth redhead I had ever known.

"You'll do great, Cilla," I grinned, "I've heard you sing before. You're bloody brilliant, you are."

I had only met her during that show, but I had seen her sing during rehearsals. She was quite good. It was nice to finally meet another female performer.

"That means a lot coming from you," Cilla replied.

I patted her back comfortingly. I was just about to say something else when one hurried voice interrupted us.

"Amelia!"

Ellen stopped in front of us with a clipboard in her hand. She was not one to get frazzled, but the stress of this show was getting to her. She had forgotten to brush her hair that morning and her glasses were dirty. Usually, Ellen never forgot anything. 

"Elly, you look a right mess," I stated, "Are you alright?"

Ellen rubbed her temples, "I would be if you were where you were supposed to be."

I frowned. We were supposed to stay in our dressing room, but I couldn't handle that. I needed to move around before a show. It kept my limbs limber and my mind awake.

"You forgot to brush your hair," I pointed out.

Ellen sighed, "I'm aware of that."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

She could sense my genuine worry. It was unlike Ellen to let a single hair out of line, let alone forget to brush it. She took a deep breath, "Just stressed. I'm fine, Amelia. Come on, now, they need you on stage."

I nodded and followed her to the dressing room after waving to Cilla. Janice and Molly were in their kingdom dames costumes for the skit we were rehearsing with the lads on the first night. My costume was draped across a shutter room divider. I stepped behind and changed, leaving on a pair of shorts underneath without Ellen knowing.

The dresses for this skit seemed to have jumped straight out of a fairytale. The top was a loose shirt fitted with a fake corset. It zipped in the back. The skirt was coarse like a burlap sack, and we had bonnets was had to wear despite our hair being styled before the show. The entire costume was itchy, and I knew I would be scratching for the next month. 

"Come on, girls, time to go," Ellen rushed.

Even her voice sounded stressed. She needed a break, but that was impossible until this show was over, and that wouldn't be until the beginning of January. Molly, Janice, and I followed her out of the room without a single word.

We were all a bit worried about her. We had never seen her stressed before, I didn't even think it was possible. She seemed like the most collected person in the world, and yet, here she was nearly pulling her hair out.

She left us all in a line behind the stage. One of the early acts were just finishing up their number. The last song was nearing an end.

"Ready, ladies?" I asked, trying to lift their spirits.

Molly grinned, "Course, I can't wait."

Janice, however, looked like she was going to throw up. Molly and I had stage anxiety covered, we almost never felt it. Janice had yet to learn how to deal with it.

"It'll be alright, Jan," I placed a hand on her shoulder, "You'll do brilliantly."

Janice couldn't form any words. She simply stared ahead, her face becoming tinged with green. Molly held her other arm, "It's just like any other show."

"We're not playing music," Janice mumbled, "I don't remember my lines."

"Jan, you don't have any lines," I told her.

The director had anticipated this. Originally, Janice was the only one with lines as Brian thought she might be the best actress. After the first rehearsal, however, that idea was quickly changed. Only three people were in the audience, but Janice was unable to speak and forgot everything she was supposed to do. The director instantly changed the script to give Molly and me the dialogue. During this skit, I had three lines while Molly had one.

"Just follow Melly and me and you'll do fine," Molly cupped her cheek, "Brilliant, even."

Janice produced a shaky smile. I began to have legitimate concerns that she would faint on stage. It was then that four lads dressed as medieval knights came around the corner.

I took one look at them and busted out laughing. They all wore identical foam helmets and foam breastplates. Each carried a paper mache javelin and had a horse costume around their hips. Their legs went down into the costume to act as the horse's legs while fake silver legs hung off the sides. John and George both looked disgruntled while Ringo looked highly amused. Paul had a cocky grin on his lips as he watched me cackle.

"You lads look amazing," I commented, snorting loudly.

John gave me a death glare, "Sod off, Amelia."

"Whatever you say, your knightness," I bowed sarcastically.

Even Paul was laughing at that point. The three of us, Molly included, were doing our best to contain our laughter. John looked like he was about to strangle us, but a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"This is ridiculous," George muttered.

Paul grinned, "I think we look good."

"You lads look beautiful," Molly commented, "Horse and all."

Paul playfully slapped his horse head. The act before us left the stage to a bunch of clapping. The director came around the corner and cleared his throat, "Alright, girls, you go out first. Remember your lines.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we're not as dumb as you think, Vic," I stated.

Victor frowned, "Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say, Vic."

I led the other two girls out onto the stage. We went out in a line with Janice at the end, She held a tight grip on Molly's sleeve. We all lined up on the back wall as the lights changed. They went from overhead lights to spotlights. I kicked the hem of my skirt out of my boot as the spotlight illuminated us.

"We three dames of the kingdom of names," I stepped forward, "Live in fear every day of a dragon coming to steal us away."

Molly stepped forward, "Oh! Look! The dragon is here, we must feel fear!"

The crowd laughed as a fake dragon fell on a string from the ceiling. I sighed deeply. This skit was the most ridiculous in the entire show, and yet, we had to go through with it. Molly faked a scream and stepped back while I simply looked up at it and scoffed, "Bloody annoying this dragon is."

The crowd laughed once again. I stepped back as the lads ran onto the stage, galloping to make it seem like the horse was doing all the work. The crowd began to scream at the top of their lungs. Against the stage directions, I plugged my fingers into my ears and winced.

"We three knights will slay the dragon of plight," Paul announced.

I frowned, "Bloody ridiculous."

Molly nodded. Paul and John began to beat the fake dragon with their fake javelins while Ringo and George ran around them. All looked to be having a grand time despite being pissed off just moments earlier. Even John was laughing, and I was half expecting him to burn the costume.

When the dragon was in pieces, the lads all lined up. The crowd screamed once again. Molly nudged me, and I quickly jumped forward.

"We thank thee knights for slaying the dreaded beast," I said, "I must invite you to a feast."

John held up a hand, "We need no thanks, dame of the kingdom. We only do what we need in the name of freedom."

I rolled my eyes and Paul snickered. These lines were terrible, and the rhymes only made them worse. It was ridiculous, but I was having a great time.

"Food would be good," George said, "But we must be on our way, for more kingdoms need our help, and more places need us to stay."

That one didn't even make sense. George furrowed his brow as if trying to understand what he was saying. I giggled, causing Paul to break out into laughter. The entire crowd laughed at our break in character.

"We invite thee to stay at the village inn where people and friends dance and drink gin," Molly stated.

Paul winked at her, "I bet you would like that, fair village dame, for us to stay and bask in our fame."

Molly stared at him for a moment before both broke out into a fit of giggles. I could see Victor nearly pulling his hair out backstage, even though he didn't have any. Ellen was simply smiling with a frowning Brian behind her.

"Don't look forlorn, for we must go away, we'll visit this kingdom another day," John grinned.

He grabbed my chin and shook my head. I could barely contain my fits of laughter as he did. He was grinning the entire time. When he released me, the lads all galloped off the stage, bowing to their fans. The crowd screamed as we quickly followed them.

As soon as we were backstage, all of us dissolved into fits of laughter. I wiped the tears from my eyes and said, "That was ridiculous."

"It'll only get worser," Ringo replied.

John grinned, "We've still got three more skits tonight."

All of us exchanged glances before laughing even harder. I was sure my face was as red as a cherry as I nearly fell onto the floor in a fit of laughter. Despite the long hours, ridiculous skits, and annoying directors, that show is one of my greatest memories.


	76. The Last Show and The Second Move

During the course of sixteen shows, we only got three nights off. Each night Molly, Janice, and I used to search for flats. Ringo told me he was doing the same, and I was sure George wouldn't be too far behind. Soon, all of us would live in London together to be near each other as well as our jobs. It seemed like the perfect dream.

"I dunno, seems a bit cramped to me," I stated, looking at a photo of the first flat we looked at.

My hands were shuffling through a stack of polaroids sitting on the table in our dressing room. We have twenty minutes until we were needed on stage for our first skit, which required the three of us to be hanging by wires from the ceiling. Janice, Molly, and I had been in our dressing room for what seemed like hours getting into costumes and harnesses. 

"I like this one," Molly pulled one of the polaroids from the bottom of the stack and handed it to me.

We had looked at five different flats the day before and taken pictures of all of them. The one she handed me had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a large living room, and a medium sized balcony. It even had a fireplace. Janice looked over my shoulder and nodded.

One of the stagehands was helping get my harness on as Ellen helped Molly and Peter helped Janice. The stagehand pulled the strap and made me jump as the harness tightened quickly.

"Fucking hell, I'm not a bloody straw!" I exclaimed, "You're going to snap my bones!"

The stagehand cringed before loosening the harness a bit. Ellen shot me a warning glare, and I quickly closed my mouth. It was the last show, and Ellen was about to strangle us all. One hair out of line, and I would be skinned alive.

All of us were at our wit's end. It took a tremendous amount of willpower for me not to smack the director every time he told me what to do. Even Molly, the level-headed Molly, snapped at the stagehand. We were all about to collapse.

Luckily, after tonight, we were done with The Christmas Show. We would be free to do whatever we pleased until the next performance, or until the tour. There had been talk of a Beatles world tour with Revolution as their opening band. I had overheard Ellen and Brian whispering that morning. The prospect of touring the world was both exciting and terrifying. A world tour was officially the toppermost of the poppermost, and we hadn't even left Europe yet. It would be like going from a tricycle to a motorbike.

"Alright, let's go get you three on the wires," Ellen said, doing her best to smile.

We all glared at her. As much as I loved Ellen, she was getting on my nerves. Looking back on it, it wasn't Ellen, it was the show. Everything was getting on my nerves, making me want to punch everyone who so much as looked at me.

The stagehand led us around backstage and towards the wires. Those wires would lift us up to the ceiling and move us around as the director wished. Molly, Janice, and I stood in a perfect line as the stagehands began to strap us in.

"You three look lovely."

Paul came around the corner, smirking the entire time. He was dressed like a knight, just like in our first skit. He looked at me and did his best to suppress his laughter, but it came out in the form of snorts.

"Sod off, Paul."

Victor had us dressed as the sun, the moon, and a star. Janice was the sun. Her dress was bright orange, and she wore an orange veil. Sunbeams made of styrofoam flapped under her arms and around her torso making her look more like an orange spider than a sun.

Molly was the moon. She wore a silver dress with a hoop skirt that made her look like she was walking around wearing a giant cup around her waist. We could barely get close enough to touch her.

I was the lone star. My costume wasn't as elaborate as Janice or Molly's, in fact, it was quite the opposite. My costume was a lame fabric star. My arms and legs were four of the points while my head was the fifth. I looked like I was wearing a bodysuit made of a yellow blanket.

"Come on, starshine, you look lovely," he winked.

I glared, "Bugger off before I cripple ya!"

He couldn't hold back his laughter this time. Even Molly chuckled, but quickly stopped once I glared at her. I wanted to go home, not dangle several meters above ground in a kids costume. Leaving the ground at any point was undesirable, let alone leaving the ground to dangle over a stage and recite stupid lines written by a want-to-be poet. 

My disdain turned to amusement when John, Ringo, and George came around the corner. George was dressed in a large white shirt and a nightcap. He carried a lantern and a scowl, glaring at us as if daring us to say something.

Ringo stood next to him in a lion's costume. He looked thoroughly amused. He bounced with every step like an excited puppy, and he bore his signature wonky grin. It was impossible to be upset with Ringo around, he always had a way to make people happy without really ever doing anything.

The real attraction was John. His pranced in like a drunken fantasy, wearing a dress and two braids made out of yarn. One would expect him to look livid, but he looked to be enjoying himself. He looked at me and winked, causing me to belt out in laughter. Tears began to stream down my face as John did a little spin.

"Don't I make a lovely bird?" John asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

I couldn't speak through my laughter. Molly managed to calm herself long enough to say, "You're a better bird than any of us, Johnny."

"It's Johnette now," Paul stated.

John grinned. I would have fallen to the floor laughing if it weren't for the wires holding me upright. We all looked so ridiculous, one couldn't help but laugh. Just days ago, we all would have fought against the costumes we were forced to wear, but the exhaustion had gotten to us. Even John, who was the first to fight against anything, willingly put on a dress. The stress and the exhaustion had all pushed us over the edge.

"Bloody hell, Lia, calm down before you give yourself an asthma attack," Paul stated.

I had gone off the deep end. Everything was hilarious, and the world was just one giant circus. I even laughed at Paul's concerns. Molly patted my back and sighed, "She needs sleep."

Paul shook his head. Victor appeared moments later, clapping his hands and saying, "It's time! It's time! Get on stage, it's time!"

He gestured towards the stage entrance. The lights had dimmed to allow the lads to go on stage without being seen. I waved as they left, just coming off of my laughter high.

"Ready?" the stagehand asked us.

We all nodded. The wires tightened and we soared up to the ceiling. The lads had started their skit, and it would be our turn next. The motors and gears moved us over the stage and we waited. The gears made noises, but not loud enough for the audience to realize. I vaguely noticed that mine made more of a grinding sound than Janice and Molly's, but I shrugged it off as my imagination. 

The lads reenacted a part of Pyramus and Thisbe as we moved around. When they were finished, it was our turn. I stuck all of my limbs straight out. The wire spun around like I was a revolving star. Janice spun as well as the spotlight turned on us and the lads.

"I am the moon!" Molly announced, "The life beneath me doth tremble in my presence."

To accentuate her point, the lads began to tremble and slowly step backward. Paul tripped over his own foot, landing with a hard thud on his back. My hands flew to my mouth to withhold my laughter, not that the audience would be able to hear it above their own. John knelt next to Paul as George continued with the scene.

"Erm, dearest lady of the moon, tell me, what do you see?" he called out.

Molly placed a hand over her eyes as if searching, "I see my friend the sun and my child the star."

I snorted loudly, causing the entire audience to break out in laughter. Molly glared at me, her eyes sparkling.

"I'm older than you," I whispered.

She sneered, "Two months, Melly, two months."

"The sun is too bright for me to look at," John said, "If her beauty is anything like yours, well-er-she must be a pretty good looking bird, yeah?"

The audience howled. Tears were pouring down my face once again. John had forgotten his lines and improvised in the best way possible. I felt my stomach ache with the need to laugh, but I held it in for the sake of presentation.

"Verily so," Molly replied.

I cleared my throat and steadied my voice, "May I cut in here and say, 'ello!"

I waved down at the lads. They waved back enthusiastically. At this point, all of us had forgotten whatever we were supposed to do and were improvising. I could see Victor nearly pulling out his hair backstage. Ellen looked like she was going to faint. The crowd, however, were eating it up. They were howling with laughter, and screaming their lungs off. It was obvious that they were enjoying it more than the crew backstage.

"Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight," Paul raised his hands as if reciting an epic poem, "I wish I may, I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight."

I clasped my hands together and looked down at him, "What is it you wish, dear mortal?"

"Tell me, what do the heavens look like?"

He had gotten us back on track. Victor watched him hopefully as I recited my next line, "One day you will see, just as I do, that the heavens are alive with music and love. One day, you will arrive and lay your eyes upon the most beautiful place ever created."

"But wait!" George interrupted, "We can see the heavens right now if we have the right-uh-thingy."

Once again, we had lost it. I was on the verge of a giggle fit. Molly took over, "Dear man, what you think you see is not heaven, but the sky. Heaven is far beyond what mankind can see. It is a world of light, love, and music that can only be reached in the next phase of existence."

"One day we will be there," Paul recited, "But that day is a long time away."

The audience began to clap as the lights dimmed. The lads quickly exited the stage. Our wires were brought backward so we could be released backstage and get ready for our performance. Just as I was going through a bunch of lights and wires, I stopped.

I watched and Molly and Janice were lowered to the ground. Through the cries and cheers of the crowd, I could hear the whirring of gears. I knew I should be moving, but I wasn't.

The whirring got louder. I reached around and jerked on the wire in an effort to get it to move. The whirring stopped completely and the wire dropped about a meter. I screamed, but nobody could hear me. The wire caught me before I could hit the ground, or even get into the view of the audience.

"Ellen!" I cried, "Ellen, I'm stuck!"

Nobody could hear me. I could see the lights come back on and the next act come out. We had fifteen minutes until Revolution had to play. I pulled on the wire some more in a desperate effort to move it, but nothing happened. I was left to dangle among wires and lights where no one could see me.

After my third jerk, the harness moved. I flipped upside down and couldn't get right side up again. Had the head of the costume been separated from the body, it would have landed on the drummer beneath me.

"Ellen!" I cried.

Three bodies appeared to the side of the stage. A worried looking Ellen was followed by a panicking Victor and a terrified Molly. They all looked up at me in confusion and fear. I waved at them. They said something, but I couldn't understand them, I couldn't even read their lips. Janice appeared behind Molly, but couldn't get far due to Molly's skirt. They all seemed to be in a panicked conversation, but I couldn't hear them or read their lips.

Molly vanished moments later. I wanted to cry out to her, but I restrained myself. The only imminent danger I was in was the wire breaking, and it seemed sturdy. There was no reason to be afraid, and yet, I was. Perhaps it was all the blood rushing to my head or the idea that, if the wire were to snap, I would fall head-first into the drum kit beneath me that terrified me. 

Molly reappeared with a giant pad of paper in her hands. She held it up. I had to wait for the spotlight to move to just the right position for me to read it.

'Motor broke, trying to fix it'

Had the blood not been rushing to my head, I'm sure I would have shouted a string of profanities. Ellen had vanished behind the stage once again. Victor looked on the verge of a meltdown. Molly gazed up at me and, despite the darkness surrounding me, we connected eyes. She lifted an eyebrow, asking if I was alright. I nodded.

My vision was beginning to get spotty whenever the band got off the stage. For a moment, everything went dark. I realized it was time for Revolution to come on stage, but that was impossible with the drummer stuck on the ceiling in a ridiculous star costume. I was beginning to sweat despite the chilly auditorium. All of the blood had gone to my head, making my vision almost completely vanish. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Brian came out onto the stage. He held a microphone and looked as charming as ever. As he stepped out, he shot a glance up at me but was careful to make sure the audience didn't realize. They still didn't know I was stuck up here. If they found out, the media would never let us live this down.

"Due to technical difficulties, there has been a small change in the program," Brian smiled, "We are skipping the next act and going straight to The Beatles."

The crowd roared. I tried to ignore the ache in my heart as they did. They were cheering for The Beatles, not because Revolution had to back down. I had to keep reminding myself that they were here to see The Beatles, not Revolution. We weren't there, not yet.

Brian left the stage to a crowd of screaming teenagers. I held my head, my palms over my ears and my fingers digging into my eyes. My head felt like it was going to explode and my eyes were going to pop out of my head. If I couldn't get upright soon, I was sure I would pass out, or worse. My mind flashed back to high school health courses and the teacher warning us about hanging upside down. It could cause a brain hemorrhage or a stroke. For a moment, I became legitimately afraid that I would die right then and there.

The logical part of my brain told me that was impossible. There was only half an hour left in the show, it would take at least a full day for this to kill me. Once the show was over, they would get a ladder to get me down, or a crane, or something. They would get me down as fast as possible. I knew at least three people that wouldn't shut up until I was safe on the ground.

The screams heightened. I glanced down, or up depending on how you look at it, to see the lads running out onto the stage. They all spared a glance at me with Paul looking the most worried. I gave him a weak thumbs up and hoped he couldn't see the pain in my eyes.

"'Ello!" John cried.

Paul waved as Ringo and George got set up. They all stood in their designated places, just as they did for practice. I was right above Ringo. He glanced up, his eyebrows knitting together. I gave him a thumbs up, despite the woozy feeling developing in my head.

"It won't be long, yeah," they began to play.

Stars were beginning to fly across my vision. I did my best to look alright because the lads kept glancing up at me. I didn't want to make them worry in the middle of a big show. After the first song, I became so woozy, my vision practically vanished. I felt my body go limp as I blacked out. The very last thing I thought was how dumb I was for agreeing to this in the first place.

***

"Lia, come on, wake up."

I groaned. The first thing I registered was that I was lying on something soft and that I was horizontal. Somebody was touching my face and somebody else was holding my hand.

"That's it, come on, Lia," Paul's voice registered in my consciousness.

I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the fog. Paul came into focus first. He was the one patting my cheek and calling my name. Molly was holding my hand, and, surprisingly, didn't release it when I woke up. Her face was a mask of worry, just like Paul's.

Janice, Ringo, George, John, Ellen, and Brian were all behind Paul. They were all crowded together and looking down at me. All I could see were worried faces. Molly sat on the edge of the couch by my side and squeezed my hand.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, "I feel like shit."

Instantly, everybody looked relieved. They all took a step back, except for Molly and Paul. Molly didn't move while Paul sat on the armrest by my head. I was lying on the couch in our dressing room. It took a few minutes for everything to come into focus. I tried to lift my head, but Ellen gently pushed me back down, "Don't move, Amelia, you need to rest."

"Got to get the blood all out of your noggin'," Ringo winked.

I groaned, "I am never doing that again."

"It was quite the show," John commented, "You really did look like a star, all bright and sparkly."

I glared at him. Brian shot him a look to tell him to shut up. At the time, I didn't want to do anything but lie there in silence. Ellen placed her palm against my forehead and frowned, "You're still a bit warm."

"What did you expect? I was stuck on the ceiling in a bleeding blanket, course I'm hot."

Paul chuckled, "Cheeky as ever. She'll be fine."

I turned to shoot him a glare but fell back down when I began to feel dizzy. Molly squeezed my hand and Ellen released a resigned sigh, "I'm sorry that happened, Amelia."

I frowned, "I'm gonna cripple those bloody stagehands."

"They didn't do anything wrong, the motor broke down."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "If the motor broke, how did you get me down?"

"You shoulda seen it, Mel," Ringo grinned, "They got the ladder and had to cut the wires with a chainsaw. You were as red as a beet, you were."

Once again, I released a loud groan. Ellen clapped her hands, causing me to wince. I could see both Molly and Paul send me worried glances. It made my heart smile to know they were truly worried about me. It made me feel special, in a sense, even though I'd seen it in action before. Paul always was a protective brother, and Molly had a bit of her mother in her in the same way.

"Let's let Amelia rest for a bit," Ellen said, "Come on, out, all of you."

Paul frowned and glanced at me, "I can stay, if you like."

It made me smile to know Paul cared so much, "It's alright, Paulie, I don't want to bore you. I'll be fine."

Molly looked like she wanted to object to, but Paul dragged her out. They were the last ones to leave the room. Both shot me worried glances, but I showed them a confident smile. Paul turned off the lights before gently shutting the door.

"Oh, bloody hell," I muttered, pressing my fists into my eyes and trying to ignore a pounding headache that never seemed to fully go away.


	77. The Beginning of The Invasion

"How you feelin', Melly?"

Ringo glanced sideways at me. The two of us walked out of my building and onto the London streets. Molly, Janice, and I had just moved there, and I wasn't sure if I would ever get used to the lack of fish smell filling the air. In a way, I didn't want to, I like London so much more. It had happier people, brighter skies, taller buildings, and more opportunities for musicians like me. I never wanted the honeymoon phase to end and for London to become just another Liverpool to me. 

"Like I never want my feet to leave the ground ever again," I replied, "I'm alright, s'pose."

Ringo grinned, "No more headaches?"

After the episode at The Astoria, I had headaches for the next week. Each one seemed to be worse than the last whenever they were supposed to be getting better. I shook my head, "Nope. I'm alright."

Ringo nodded his approval. I kicked a snowbank causing white ice to fall over the pavement. A bit landed on Ringo's shoe, and he shook it off with a chuckle. We were heading to the closest park to meet Paul, and then go on to the recording studio.

As it turns out, Ringo and Maureen got a flat in the same building as Molly, Janice, and me. It was completely coincidental. I ran into Ringo in the lobby yesterday and we both had a laugh. When he invited me to go with him to the studio, I jumped at the chance to leave the flat.

I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand living in the same house as Molly. It wasn't that I was getting sick of her, quite the opposite actually. Every time I saw her, I had to hold back everything swelling up in my heart. All of the illegal feelings had to be hidden away, and it was difficult when I saw her every bloody day.

A year ago, I would have jumped at the chance to own a flat with Molly. I did, actually, and I knew I would again. Had I known then what I know now, I would have thought things through a bit more. Ignoring your feelings for someone is a lot easier when you don't see them all day every day.

I was terrified that I was going to blurt out my feelings for her at any second and put both of us in danger. As soon as the words were spoken, I couldn't take them back. If I told her that I loved her, it would be real. I can deny it now, but not as soon as it's out in the world. Eventually, the authorities would get wind of it and we'll all have to pay. Molly and I would be subjected to horrors I don't want to think about, and both bands can kiss stardom goodbye.

Thus, I left the flat whenever I could. I had thought about asking Paul, Ringo, or John if I could stay over a night or two. It would give me a break long enough to sort through my thoughts and bottle them up. If they asked why I could always claim Molly and I had gotten into a fight.

"Melly, look,"

I turned to Ringo just in time to hear a camera's shutter snap. He pulled his camera from his eye and grinned, his cigarette hanging in the corner of his mouth. I smirked, "Do I look good?"

He shrugged. I playfully slapped his shoulder, giggling all the way. Ringo's grin only widened.

The park we went to was beautiful, when it wasn't winter. All of the trees had lost their leaves and the grass was covered with snow. It was a winter wasteland with nothing but snow and ice for as far as the eye could see. Children built snowmen and made snow angels while other Londoners skated on the frozen lake. Ringo and I waved at a group of kids as we passed.

"Ever been skating?" Ringo asked.

"Once," I replied, "When I was a kid, Mum and Da took us skating. I fell."

Ringo chuckled, "Me too. Never liked it since."

I nodded in agreement. My nose throbbed at the painful memory of my face smacking into the ice. I could still hear Paul giggling and Mum calling my name as my nose began to bleed.

We came upon a frozen fountain. The water coming out of the statue was frozen in mid-fall. We could see coins stuck underneath the ice in the basin. Ringo sat on the edge and I grinned, pulling my camera up to snap a picture.

"This is where Paul said to meet," I stated, sitting next to Ringo.

He took a puff of his cigarette, "Walking late, he is."

"What?"

Ringo glanced at me, "Paul. He's late."

I furrowed my eyebrows and stared at him before breaking into laughter. Ringo chuckled uncomfortably, unsure why I was laughing. I patted his shoulder and shook my head.

"Ringo, my friend, you sure have a way with words."

He was still confused. He took another puff of his cigarette before stamping it out on the ground. I glanced up to see snow beginning to fall. Pulling my hood over my head, I shivered.

There were many differences between Liverpool and London, but the weather wasn't one of them. Both got more snow than buildings, and the snow fell for four months of the year. It fell in perfect blankets, coating both cities in white wool.

After growing up with snow, I had begun to hate it, but I don't think I could live without it. Winter wasn't winter until snow covered the ground. I can't imagine a Christmas without building snowmen while the sunset or having a snowball fight in our pajamas. While it was annoying to have to shovel the driveway, it was worth it to see the beauty a snow-covered world produced.

"There he is," Ringo gestured down the path to his left.

I peered over his shoulder to see a lad bundled from head to toe waving at us. Paul never was one for the cold, neither of us were. Ringo and I both waved back at him.

"Bloody hell, I'm freezing," Paul's voice was muffled through the scarf around his mouth.

I looked him up and down, "You look like a pillow."

"A Paullow," Ringo added.

He and I chuckled as Paul sighed, "I'm wearing three layers, and I'm still freezing my arse off."

"Let's go get warm, then," I stood, "I could go for a nice cup of tea right about now."

Paul shivered next to me, "Won't do me much good."

"Ah, but it'll be delicious."

Ringo, Paul, and I made our way down the streets. I had never been to their recording studios, and I was excited to see them. Each lad had told me about it, Paul said it wasn't as homey as Aubergine Studios, but it was a close second. I was especially excited to meet the producer they had told me so much about, George Martin.

"How's your head, Lia?" Paul asked.

I tapped on the side, "Back to normal, I'd say."

"So, still wonky," Ringo added.

Paul snorted as I glared at Ringo. He grinned. I rolled my eyes and huffed, only making Paul laugh louder. Usually, I would be all for all of us breaking down into fits of laughter, but it was exactly that which gave us away.

The first thing we heard was a set of dainty gasps. We glanced behind us to see a mob of about sixteen teenagers frozen just feet from us. We had just walked past them as Paul was laughing. One girl squealed loudly, "It's Paul and Ringo!"

"Not again," Paul muttered before sprinting away.

Ringo and I were at his heels. The teens chased after us, screaming all the way. Paul and Ringo were sprinting. Paul had his eyes locked on the road ahead, his body moving in perfect alignment with itself. Ringo, however, was as graceful a runner as he was a dancer. His limbs flailed about as he ran with a terrified look on his face. I had to focus on breathing instead of laughing, so I looked away.

I fell behind the two men. I was smaller than Paul, one would think I would go faster, but he took broader steps. Ringo was practically leaping with every step he took. Perhaps my subconscious thought I could block the two lads from the hoard of crazy teenagers behind us. The only problem; there was only one of me and sixteen of them.

My foot caught the edge of the pavement, sending me slamming to the ground. Paul noticed first and turned to help me. The teens were quickly catching up to us.

"Go on without me!" I shouted.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Quit being so dramatic!"

He and Ringo each grabbed one of my arms and hauled me up. I struggled to regain my footing for a moment, but I quickly managed to continue sprinting right alongside them.

We were beginning to lose them. We twisted around enough corners and took enough shortcuts to shake them off. Paul seemed to know exactly where we were going. Ringo and I simply followed him, both terrified and excited at the same time.

There was something riveting about being chased by a mob of fans. They loved us, well, they loved Paul and Ringo, enough to chase them around the city. They were crazy, but they loved The Beatles with every fiber of their being. That was something to be proud of, even if it could get dangerous.

Perhaps that is what made The Beatles so special. They made music that would last for centuries, but it was the love they instilled in the world that truly made them magnificent. The fans could get a little crazy, yes, but their love was enough to fill the whole universe twice over. That right there was something special. 

We came upon a large white building with a fence all the way around it. Paul darted to the gate and threw it open. Ringo tripped on the way in with me falling right over him. Both of us tumbled onto the pavement as Paul slammed the gate shut. He pulled the lock just as the teens came around the corner.

"Paul!" they screamed, "Ringo! I love you!"

Paul smiled at them, "Love you too. Got to record, bye lovelies."

He winked before turning and sneering. He offered a hand to help me up. I gratefully took it, dusting myself off whenever I was upright. After Ringo was up, Paul gestured for us to follow him into the studio.

"Glad we made it out of that one alive," I stated, grinning the entire time.

Ringo snorted, "Might not be so lucky next time."

"Aw, come on, Rings," Paul clapped his shoulder, "We're bein' chased by fans. It's bloody amazing."

"Terrifying, more like it."

"Bit of both, maybe?" I put in.

Paul shrugged. We entered the building. Paul led us through the small white halls and into a recording room. We entered a wooden door and arrived at the top of some stairs. Paul and Ringo started down them while I looked over the studio.

There were instruments of all sorts strewn around the room. John and George were already there, sitting across from each other and playing their guitars. John was having a giggling fit as an older man stood over them. Brian was nearby, smiling the entire time.

"What's so funny?" Paul asked, sitting on a stool next to John.

John shook his head, "Nothin', Macca, just Georgie."

George grinned. I descended the stairs and looked around the room some more. It wasn't homey at all. The walls were bare, and only one rug was hidden beneath the piano. The place reminded me a bit of a hospital with the white walls and smell of cleaning supplies, though faint. Mostly, the smell of wood polish. It was tinged with lemon, making me forever associate EMI Studios and George Martin with lemon.

"That's a nice set of drums," I came up beside of Ringo and tapped the cymbal.

Ringo, sitting on the stool, grinned, "I like them."

"And who are you?"

I glanced up. The first time I saw George Martin, my first thought was of a wax figure. He had wax-like features and hair that didn't seem real. It seemed as if someone had molded him from lumps of wax and put fake hair and glass eyes in his head. Even his facial expressions didn't seem that real, more like a sculptor was trying too hard to get the smile just right.

"That's my sister, Eleanor," Paul teased.

He peered around George Martin and wrinkled his nose. I sneered, "Bugger off, James, you wanker."

"Tosser," he replied before vanishing behind his producer.

"You're not his sister?" George Martin asked.

I smiled, "I am, sometimes I wish I wasn't."

"Hey!"

Paul glared at me, but I simply laughed, "The name's Amelia McCartney, but my friends call me Melly."

"Or smelly, take your pick," John added.

I glared at him, causing him to laugh. George Martin stuck his hand out and smiled, "Ah, yes, Paul told me you were coming. George Martin, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," I replied, smiling and shaking his hand.

Brian stood and went to stand in the middle of the room. We could all see him, which was his intention. He clapped his hands together, "I'm glad you're all here. I have an announcement."

"Are we getting a raise?" John asked.

"A limo?" Paul inquired.

"New guitars, maybe," George added.

Ringo frowned, "I just want a roadie for me drums."

"You already have that," John replied.

Ringo shrugged. Brian shook his head, "No, much bigger than that, boys. I have made all the necessary arrangements for The Beatles to go to New York and appear for three nights on The Ed Sullivan Show."

For a moment, nobody moved. Everybody stared at Brian, soaking in what he just said. It was Paul who spoke first.

"We're going to America?"

"Next month," Brian replied, "This is it, boys, you're going to America."

"We're going to America!"

The four boys jumped up and began to laugh and dance around. I laughed as well, clapping and celebrating for them. The energy of that room sent me up to join their dancing.

The Beatles were going to America, and next, the toppermost of the poppermost.


	78. I Can't Wait To Tell This Story To My Grandkids

The last time I had been on a plane, I was too angry about being deported to be afraid. This time, however, was different. Once again, I stood and stared at the giant tin can we would be flying in. This was different than going to Hamburg. We would fly over an ocean this time. The flight would last nearly a day! I wasn't sure if I could handle that.

We were on the tarmac. The lads had already run to the plane and were climbing up the stairs. I found myself frozen, staring at the plane as the engines started, my stomach rapidly falling to my feet. My every muscle quaked, and I felt like I was going to faint. My fingers were latched around the straps of my pack as if it were the only thing standing between life and death. Every part of my body was becoming whiter and whiter as I stared at the plane.

"Lia, come on, we've got to take off," Paul said, running back to me.

I felt like all of my blood had stopped pumping. I wanted to run away, but I could barely move. Paul placed a hand on my shoulder and gave me a worried look, "Lia, you alright?"

"N-no," I replied, "This-this is worse than Hamburg. I can't do it-I can't-I'm-"

"Lia, no, listen to me," Paul held my shoulders and looked me in the eye, "It's going to be fine, just like the flight to Hamburg. It's just a little longer, is all."

I shook my head, "We're going over a gigantic ocean this time, to the other side of the world! N-no, nope, I'm-no. I'll just go home, I can't-"

"Lia, I'm not going to America without you," Paul held a tight grip on my arms, "Don't think about the plane, alright? Focus on me. We're going to go in and sit down just like we would in our own homes. Focus on me, not the plane."

I couldn't reply, my throat was slowly closing. Paul grabbed my hand and gently pulled me towards the plane. My feet moved without my permission, and, soon, we were climbing up the stairs.

The loud roar of the plane's engine drowned out any sounds until we entered. Once we were inside the plane, the steward shut the door behind us, muffling the sounds of the engine. Paul gently pulled me down the aisle of the plane and towards a seat.

Brian had gotten The Beatles a private jet. It was just the band and their associates on board. The seating area was more like a lounge than a plane, with large armchairs facing each other over tables. George and Ringo sat across from each other at one table. Ringo was shuffling the cards as George patiently waited. Having been the one to sit next to me on both Hamburg flights, he knew exactly what was wrong when he saw me walk past with my hand gripping onto Paul for dear life. He caught my eye and gave me a comforting smile. My muscles relaxed, but only slightly.

Paul sat in the chair closest to the window and pulled me into the seat next to him. They had no seatbelts, which only proved to make me more anxious. In the event of a crash, the seat belts would do no good, but it did provide a sort of comfort factor.

When the plane began to pull down the tarmac, I felt my heart speed up. Paul held onto my hand and gave me a small smile. He saw my eyes glued to the window and quickly moved to shut it. All the rest were shut as well. The only way I knew we were moving was the hum of the engine and the sound of the wheels on the pavement.

The plane sped up. I gripped onto Paul and shut my eyes as I could feel us beginning to lift into the air. For a few meters, the plane bounced, making me feel airsick before we even made it into the air. Paul held my arm with both hands, "It's just a long car ride, nothing more."

"A flying car ride," I muttered, "We're practically a flying tin can of sardines."

Paul shook his head, "Sardines or no, we're safe. You're just as safe in this plane as you are on the ground, it'll be fine."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Bloody hell, Lia, will you stop arguing and just listen to me?"

I glanced at him. Even my eyesight was beginning to tremble. As we steadily climbed higher and higher into the sky, the plane was hit with turbulence. For a nanosecond, it felt like we were falling. I gasped and buried my face in Paul's shoulder, doing my best to steady my breathing.

"We're fine, we're fine," I muttered, "We're going to be fine."

Paul patted my shoulder, "Completely fine. It's all going to be alright, I promise."

"Promise."

I still didn't pull my head away from his shoulder until the plane was even. We hit more turbulence, causing me to whimper slightly. Paul kept a tight grip on my shoulders. Knowing he was there comforted me. We would be alright, we always were.

"Didn't know you were scared of flying, Melly."

John landed in the seat across from Paul. I pulled one eye away from Paul's shoulder to glare at him. Paul sighed, "Not helping, John."

"Nonsense, Macca, I'm always helpful," John replied, "I'm just stating the truth."

I groaned. Paul rubbed my shoulder, glaring at John the entire time. I felt like I was going to throw up. My ears popped, only serving to make my heart beat faster.

"It's just a plane, Melly, nothin' to be afraid of," John stated.

My voice was muffled by Paul's jacket, "Except the imminent threat of falling to our deaths."

"We're not going to fall," Paul interrupted, "I trust the pilot."

I didn't reply. The plane leveled out, and I pulled my face from Paul's shoulder. He gave me his signature comforting smile. That smile had gotten me through a lot over the years, and it hadn't failed me yet. I returned the smile.

"We'll be there in no time," Brian said, sitting down next to John.

John snorted, "Yeah, ten hours."

Brian glared at John before breaking out into a smile. He glanced at each of us individually. When his eyes made it to me, he knitted his eyebrows in concern, "Are you alright, Amelia? You're looking decisively pale."

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," I replied.

"Ah, air sickness?"

"You could say that."

Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out minty gum. He passed a stick to me, "Chew this, it'll help."

I wasn't much of a gum person, but I took it anyways. The strong spearmint reminded me of Molly. She always carried a tin of mints, and her preferred choice was spearmint. For a moment, it felt like she was sitting right next to me, telling me everything would be alright. With her and Paul comforting me, I actually began to believe it. I took a deep breath and relaxed, if only slightly.

"Can't believe that worked," Paul muttered.

I shrugged, "Miracles do happen, I s'pose."

Paul nodded. He pulled a paper out of his bag and began to read. I glanced over his shoulder at the pictures, humming every so often. My muscles were still trembling, but it wasn't as bad. I still had a tight grip on his sleeve. Every time we hit turbulence, I whimpered and tightened my grip.

"I have to thank you, Amelia," Brian said, "For stepping in for Moxie as my assistant while she's ill."

Just a day before it was time to leave, Moxie called in gravelly ill. Brian began to panic. Moxie did so much for him, he wasn't sure what to do without her. Paul volunteered me to step in. Whenever I was told, I wholeheartedly agreed. That's was before I remembered we were going on a ten-hour flight over one of the biggest oceans in the world.

"It's no problem, always happy to help out a friend," I tried to wink at him but failed miserably.

Helping out a friend was only an excuse. I volunteered to help Brian as a cover to escape the country. Each day I spent living in the same house with Molly was a day I spent trying to avoid a mental breakdown. One of the worst pains in life is ignoring who you are and who you love. It hurts when you can't be yourself, especially around the people you love. I was ignoring a part of myself that had been there for ages, one that Molly sparked to life. It felt like I was melting from the fire blazing in my heart. A vacation was exactly what I needed, or, at least, that's what I told myself. It would all be better once I got back home. I did my best to believe it. 

Paul gave me a small smile. I scooted lower in the chair to where my chin was practically digging into my chest. Paul watched me, shaking his head slightly. John simply smirked.

"Not a word, Lennon," I muttered.

I gave him my best death glare, but he easily shook it off. After knowing someone for so long, their threats begin to seem more like a joke than a legitimate warning. Death glares didn't work between two friends who knew each other as long as John and I. He leaned forward and laced his fingers together, grinning all the way.

"How about four, then?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

I glared at him, "I know where you're going with this, you better stop right there."

"Ah, come on, Melly, I'm your friend, I care about you," John winked, "Just don't think of how we're thousands of meters in the air, about to fly over an ocean where, if we crashed, we would all drown and nobody would ever be able to find us."

"John!" Paul exclaimed.

I simply stared at him. The gum, which was working to calm my angry stomach, suddenly tasted like blood. My head began to swim as my blood stopped pumping. John smirked as I leaped up and rushed to the lavatory.

"Lia?" Paul knocked on the thin, plastic, door.

I was kneeling by the toilet, throwing up any food I had eaten in the past week. A combination of anxiety and airsickness made me feel like I was going to vomit until I was nothing but a bag of skin and bones.

"She's really smelly now, ain't she?" John asked.

I heard Paul smack him. John cackled. His cackles became more distant as he returned to his seat. Once again, Paul knocked on the door, "Lia, are you alright?"

"I'm gonna die on this plane," I muttered, "I'm gonna throw up every organ in my body and I'm gonna die."

Paul sighed, "You're not gonna die, Lia. Come on out, I've got you some tea."

I groaned but obeyed. Paul wrapped an arm around my shoulders and led me to a seat on the opposite side of the plane than John. He grinned at us as we sat.

"Here, drink this, it'll help you feel better," Paul said.

He handed me a plastic cup filled with lukewarm tea. I didn't ask how he got it, all that mattered was he did. As I drank, he watched me with a worried expression. I felt guilty for making him worry so much, but I couldn't help it.

"Whoa, bloody hell," I muttered just after I finished the tea.

I began to feel woozy, but I couldn't tell why. It could have easily been exhaustion from having just thrown up everything I've ever put in my body. The tea tasted like chamomile, a tea most famous for putting their consumers to sleep. All I wanted was to sleep the day away. Every muscle stopped working. Paul noted this and gently took the cup from me.

Paul smiled slightly, "Perhaps you should take a nap, sleeping will do you good, you won't even realize we're still in the air."

He stood and grabbed a pillow from the closet. It was small, thin, and couldn't really classify as a pillow at all. I propped it up against the wall and leaned on it.

"I feel, tired, all of a sudden," I blinked.

Paul smiled, "Perhaps it was all the vomiting."

"Didja put somethin' in the tea?"

"Isn't that Molly's job?"

Before I could answer, I blacked out.


	79. The Toppermost of The Poppermost

In my mind, New York was a place where superstars walked the streets and you could run into one around every corner. Every building was sparkling and every person was smiling. There was a celebration every night with fireworks and free-flowing champagne. My mental picture of New York was a glittering paradise of superstars.

In reality, New York was cramped. There were people everywhere, you couldn't move without having to push through a crowd. The buildings were too tall to look at, the city smelled like sewer gas, and the people were rude. New York was not at all what I was expecting.

We didn't get to see much of the city. What we saw was the skyline when we flew in. The lads all crowded around the windows, gasping and muttering compliments. I buried my face in my pillow and did my best to ignore the feeling of falling whenever we began to descend.

As soon as we landed, we were met with screaming fans. American teens were no better than British teens. They tried to climb over the chain link fences to get to their idols. It surprised me that The Beatles had already made such an impact on America, even when they had a number one song. America was the big-time, you didn't get there easily.

I leaned on the couch, peering out of the open window of my hotel room. Brian had booked an entire floor of the hotel for The Beatles, giving each of us our own room. Mine was small, just the average hotel room with one bed and a couch. It was the first hotel room I'd ever known to have a mini-fridge.

Fans lined the sidewalks. Some tried to get into the hotel, others tried to call out to their idols. None got recognized. I watched as an ambulance drove up to collect two unconscious teens. Whether they fainted or were trampled, I still don't know.

It all seemed like a dream. I couldn't believe that those people down below were screaming for John, Paul, George, and Ringo. They were screaming, crying, and fainting for the lads I had seen eat chicken on stage.

That day, in America, as the lads prepared for their Ed Sullivan Show debut, I realized they had made it. As soon as they stepped out onto that stage, they would finally be standing at the peak of the toppermost of the poppermost. The dream had become a reality, they were living it, and I got to live it right alongside them.

I finally pushed away from the window and turned to the bed. It was nearly time to leave for the studio. On the bed, a pair of black pants and a white button-up resided. Brian had tried to coax me into a dress but, much like Ellen, he failed. Once again, my stubbornness won, and I was dressed in pants and a shirt for an event otherwise requiring formal clothing.

Once I was dressed, I stepped out into the hall and glanced around. The place was empty except for Mal. He was walking towards the lift with his hands in his pockets and his head down. I quickly ran up beside of him and grinned, "'Ello, Mal, where ya going?"

He jumped, "Blimey! Melly, you gave me a start."

"Sorry," I grinned sheepishly.

Mal shook his head, "Ah, it's alright, can't blame ya. Brian wanted me to check the car, make sure it was up to par."

"Need some help? Bit boring in the room all alone," I jerked my head to my hotel room for emphasis.

Mal smiled, "You can tag along, I s'pose."

"Thanks, Mal, you're a saint."

He laughed and shook his head. Mal was always a friendly gentleman, even around the people who made it extremely difficult. He smiled whenever someone was yelling at him and laughed even when the joke wasn't funny. Time and time again, John, Paul, or George would snap at him, and, time and time again, Mal would simply shake it off and continue as if he didn't just have a knife shoved into his self-esteem.

The two of us climbed into the lift. Mal hit the button, and the doors shut. I glanced at him, taking in his long trench coat and thick-brimmed hat. For a moment, I felt like I was wearing a bright sign saying 'look at me!' As soon as the fans saw me, I would be mobbed, simply for my connection to The Beatles. Even if they didn't know who I was, if they saw me arrive with them, I would be mobbed. Mal at least had enough sense to wear something a bit covering.

Mal led me out into the lobby. I glanced at the front door where the fans were waiting, but nobody got in. I thought we would go through there, but Mal took a left. We maneuvered around the lobby and to the kitchen. From there, we went out the back door and into an alley where a large black car waited by a dumpster.

"Thought the heathens would have found it by now," Mal said.

"Guess they didn't know there was a back," I shrugged, "Give them time, they'll find it."

Mal walked around the car. He kicked the tires and opened the doors. I tapped on the windows. They were darkened so no one could see inside, but the occupants could see out. I even opened the door and looked at the three rows of seats.

"Everything looks ship shape," Mal commented.

I quirked an eyebrow, "I dunno, looks car shaped to me."

He gazed at me for a moment before breaking out into an amused grin, "You have the same sense of humor as them lads, you know."

"Or they have the same as me," I replied, "Ought to, we spend enough time together."

Mal laughed, "That's true. Next thing you know, I'll be speaking like you five."

"And what a lovely time we'll have."

Once again, Mal laughed. We were interrupted by the loud creaking of the metal kitchen door opening. Both of us turned to see four lads in black suits step out. All had the same perfectly combed mop-top, something which I'm sure came from Paul's instruction. He had a particular way of combing his hair to where every strand came out perfect. I whistled, "My, you lads look dapper."

"Don't we though?" Ringo grinned.

George rolled his eyes as Paul laughed. John grinned, "I think we look wonderful, don't we laddies?"

"Course we do, Johnny, we always do," Paul stated.

"Right oh, Princess."

Everybody laughed. Brian came out just behind them. He glanced around as if expecting a mob of fans, but was pleasantly relieved when he found none. He took a deep breath and said, "Alright, boys, into the car before someone spots us."

"Eppy, always so demanding," Paul rolled his eyes.

Brian simply shook his head. Paul and John took the middle row of seats. Mal drove while Brian rode shotgun. I squeezed in between George and Ringo. As soon as the doors were shut, Mal sped off.

He took us along bumpy cobblestone alleyways in an effort to avoid the fans. When we popped out onto a busy New York Street, not a single Beatles fan was in sight. We were able to join the traffic without a single problem.

"Bloody hell, Macca, will you stop elbowing me?" John spat.

Paul frowned, "Sorry, it's my tie, it's wonky."

"It looks fine, Paul," I said.

"How can you tell? You're behind me."

John sighed, "I'm right next to you and I can tell you it's fine. Stop fiddling with it, you'll choke yourself."

George snorted, causing Ringo to break out into a grin. I glanced at them with a confused expression on my face. George simply shook his head.

We drove past one more intersection before the next conflict arose. George reached over my lap to poke Ringo's side. Ringo, who was gazing out the window, jerked around to see George in an innocent position and me staring at him.

"Stop it, Mel," he groaned.

I frowned, "Wasn't me, was Georgie."

"I'm all the way over here," George smirked.

"Whoever it was, cut it out."

I pouted. George did it again just moments later. Once again, Ringo was too late to catch him.

"Bloody hell, Mel, stop it!" Ringo exclaimed.

"I didn't do it!"

"All of you stop it," Brian's tone was stern.

John turned around to look at us and smirk, "Stop acting like children, you children."

"Hey, I'm older than you," Ringo pointed out.

John puffed out his cheeks before turning around. I crossed my arms and pouted. We all remained silent, unless you counted the glares we gave each other, all the way to the studio. Mal pulled in without any trouble.

"Be on your best behavior," Brian chided.

John grinned, "Course. We'll present ourselves as well-mannered British gentlemen."

"You have nothing to worry about, Eppy," Paul winked before he and John slid out of the car.

Brian sighed, "That just tells me I do."

I fell into step with him as we entered the studio, "Don't worry, Bri, the lads know how important this is, they won't do nothing bad."

"I trust them," Brian muttered, though he didn't seem like he fully believed it.

One of the stagehands led us to The Beatles dressing room. It was a large room with two couches, five different vanity mirrors, and two racks of costumes.

"Much bigger than the one at The Cavern," Paul commented, falling onto the couch.

John rolled his eyes, "Anything's bigger than that closet."

"I like it," George crouched by the coffee table where a plate of biscuits sat.

Ringo looked in the mirror, flinging his head about to make his hair fall into place, "When do we play?"

"I was just about to find that out," Brian smiled, "You boys stay in here, don't leave and don't ruin your suits. Amelia, would you accompany me?"

I grinned, "As your assistant, aren't I contractually obligated?"

"You signed a contract?" Paul asked.

"No, she didn't," Brian replied.

Paul laughed. I followed Brian out of the dressing room and into the busy halls. He weaved around the stagehands and fellow acts as if he had done it before. I, however, nearly crashed into three dancers and a moving rack of clothes. The person pushing it cursed at me with a thick Brooklyn accent, which I didn't understand.

"Interesting accents here," I commented.

Brian smiled, "I'm sure they would say the same of us."

"I don't have an accent, what're you talking about?"

"Everyone has an accent, Amelia, they just don't hear it."

I sighed. We moved towards the stage where a professional looking man with a clipboard stood. He seemed to be checking things off. The first thing I noticed was the terrible wool sweater he wore. It looked to be straight out of a child's drawing, with clashing colors in a splatter pattern.

"Excuse me, could you tell me when The Beatles go on?" Brian asked the man.

He glanced down at his keyboard, "They are first, set to go out at eight fifteen p.m."

"Thank you."

Brian bowed his head. The man nodded before leaving. Both of us remained, gazing out on the set that would soon occupy four lads from Liverpool.

It was set up with arrows on the walls and floor pointing to where the lads would be standing. Ringo's drum set was already set up on a raised platform. The lights were being put in place, and the crew was doing last minute preparations.

I stole a glance behind the curtain. Thousands of people lined up. Everybody was aching for something filled with joy to break through the dark clouds surrounding the country. Ever since the tragedy that occurred just seventy-seven days ago, America had been washed in grief. The joy they so desperately needed came in the form of four lads singing songs without rhyme or reason.

"Amelia, could you do me a favor?" Brian asked.

I turned and smiled at him, "It's not a favor when I'm your assistant."

"Ah, yes, that is correct," Brian chuckled, "I'm so used to you being here as a friend, I forget you're here as my assistant."

"That's why I remind you."

Brian smiled, "Would you get me a coffee? It's at the canteen."

"They call it a cafeteria here, Brian," I replied, "If you're going to be in America, you must speak American."

Brian grinned. I returned the gesture, "Sugar? Milk? Honey?"

"Three milks and two sugars," Brian replied, "If they have honey, I would love a tad."

I saluted, "Aye aye, captain, one coffee coming right up."

I spun on my heel and left. Signs hung on the wall directing people to the dressing rooms, the stage, the exits, and the cafeteria. I followed the signs to the best of my ability, but they vanished halfway through the journey.

People of all sorts bustled around the show. It occurred to me that I didn't see this much diversity even in London. At first, it was shocking, but I grew to enjoy it.

Of course, it was the 1960's. America was having problems that I didn't know of at the time. What I saw was not what I thought, the diversity was actually scarce. I was too wrapped up in my own world to realize what was happening around me until I read of a certain Martin Luther King Jr. He was a man who woke up the people, even those on the other side of the world.

Somewhere, I took a wrong turn, and I ended up at the end of a hall of storage rooms. Almost nobody was back there, leading me to believe I was completely and utterly lost. I huffed and spun on my heel, completely ready to backtrack and find where I went wrong, until my nose connected with someone's back.

"Ow, bloody hell," I muttered, rubbing my nose.

The man turned around, "Oh, my apologies, I didn't see you there."

"Ah, it's alright, you wouldn't be the first chap I've run into."

I glanced up at him and had to do a double take. He seemed familiar, but in a distant way, like I had seen a photo or something of him in passing long ago. When I looked at him, I thought I was looking at some man of stature. His black hair was gelled back to where it was nearly non-existent. He had wrinkles lining his face, but they didn't make him look old, they made him look experienced.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I nodded, "Yeah, brilliant, really. I've had worse. Met me best mate by falling down a set of stairs."

He laughed. When he laughed, he didn't move at all, his lips barely even parted. It didn't seem like a laugh to me, more like a microphone making the noises for him.

"You must have come with The Beatles?" he asked.

I nodded, "What gave it away? My looks? I'm told I look like them, especially that McCartney fellow, though I don't see it."

I patted my hair for emphasis. He simply stared at me, unblinking, the joke having gone completely over his head. Feeling my cheeks heat up, I cleared my throat, "Er, yes, I'm their manager's assistant for the trip. The name's Amelia, pleasure."

Normally, I would add my last name, but having just embarrassed myself, I decided not to. I extended my hand for a shake. Whenever he shook my hand, I felt like he was going to fling me up into the ceiling. His handshake was stronger than I expected.

"Well, Amelia, the name's Ed," he grinned, "And the pleasure is all mine."

I bit back the joke developing in my throat. Ed released my hand and nodded, "I best be going, show business calls. Good day, Miz."

I waved as he left. My eyebrows knitted together as I watched him, "He's familiar, but how?"

My only logical reasoning was that I read about him in a book. I could have easily glanced over his picture without a second thought. He had a face that would stand out to Americans, but not to a clueless Brit who had never watched any American television. Had I seen the show before, I would have known that I just ran into the legendary Ed Sullivan himself.

I found the cafeteria ten minutes later. Just like every other part of the building, performers and crew bustled about. All spoke with thick New York accents. I found it hard to understand some of them. The only accents I'd ever heard were Liverpudlian, British, German, and Ellen and Peter. Molly had a Scottish accent the first year I met her, but it was quickly replaced by Liverpudlian.

Brian's coffee steamed in my hands as I hurried through the studio. They had given it to me in a styrofoam cup, which I found odd. Usually, it was in either porcelain, plastic, or paper. Styrofoam wasn't in the question back home.

America, as I have found, had many odd quirks different from Britain. Part of me wondered if they changed every little detail to separate themselves from us after The American Revolution. I can't blame them, honestly, if I were in their place I would do everything I could to cut any ties I had to Britain. It's sort of like a teenage rebellion.

Brian wasn't where I left him. People were running around me more frantically. Whenever I glanced at the clock on the wall, I saw it was nearly eight o'clock.

I found Brian in the dressing room with the lads. He was doing any last minute preparations, from making sure their suits were perfect to telling George to put out his cigarette. They all looked annoyed, and, to my surprise, slightly nervous.

"Sorry for the delay," I handed Brian his coffee, "Got lost."

"You'd get lost in your own house if it weren't for Molly and Janice," Paul commented.

I shot him a glare, "Sod off, Paul, you can't find your way out of bed."

John busted out laughing. Brian took a sip of his coffee and smiled, "It's alright, Thank you, Amelia, it's delicious."

"I try."

He set it down and began to fuss with Paul's tie. I watched him for a moment before noticing Ringo brushing his hair. He had a large twist on the back of his head that he couldn't seem to get. Stepping up to him, I took the comb and brushed it out. He caught my eye in the mirror and smiled, "Thanks, Melly."

"You don't even know what she's doing," George shrugged on his coat, "Could be cutting your hair, and you'd never know."

"Ah, I trust her," Ringo replied.

George smirked, "You'll regret that."

"Bugger off, George."

The dressing room door was opened by the same boy with the ugly sweater. He had headphones on now. He held one to his ears while his other hand was holding the clipboard, "They're ready for you."

"Alright, boys, this is it. You'll do wonderful," Brian clasped his hands.

John winked, "Don't we always?"

"Break a leg!" I called out as they began to leave.

Paul turned to wink. Ringo saluted as they all vanished. Brian and I were right behind them. We went around the stage area and to the control room. Several engineers and mechanical crew dotted the room, turning knobs and pushing buttons. Brian and I took a spot near the window, where we didn't disrupt the work around us, and watched Ed stepped out on stage.

"Ey, I know him, I ran into him earlier," I commented, gesturing to the stage.

Brian glanced between me and the stage, "You did?"

"Yeah. Nice fellow, he is. I didn't know he was one of the performers."

"Amelia, that's Ed Sullivan."

"What?!"

I stared down at the stage. The same man who's back I had slammed into earlier smiled and waved at the audience. They clapped and whistled, a few even called his name out. He simply smiled and waved.

As he began to speak, I slapped my cheeks with my hands, "Bloody hell, I can't believe I was so clueless."

"Have you ever seen the show?" Brian asked.

I shook my head. He smiled, "You're not clueless, you just didn't know."

"Clueless," I replied, "What you're describing is cluelessness."

"It all depends on how you look at it."

Whatever Ed said had made the audience cheer. He stuffed a paper in his pocket and held up a hand to calm them. Slowly, they all calmed down, the teens being the last. When they were calm, he held the microphone to his mouth and said the words that are still remembered over fifty years later.

"Now yesterday and today our theater's been jammed with newspapermen and hundreds of photographers from all over the nation, and these veterans agreed with me that this city never has witnessed the excitement stirred by these youngsters from Liverpool who call themselves The Beatles. Now tonight, you're gonna twice be entertained by them. Right now, and again in the second half of our show. Ladies and gentlemen, The Beatles! Let's bring them on."

The crowd went wild. They clapped, they cheered, they whistled, they screamed, and some even fainted. The camera panned to a curtained stage to the left of Ed Sullivan. Whenever the curtain was raised, the lads began to play.

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you."

I clapped along, humming to the beat I knew by heart. Glancing up at Brian, I saw him wearing a smile brighter than the sun, moon, and all the stars. In his eyes, you could see the pure pride he felt. On the stage, in that historic moment, were the boys, his boys, the ones he found in a claustrophobic club in Liverpool and taught how to be a proper band. His boys were on stage, broadcasted to the largest audience ever assembled behind their television screens. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes as he watched the boys he had built up play their hearts out to thousands of American citizens.

In my heart, I could feel it too. It seemed like just yesterday I was at a church fete with my teddy boy brother going to meet some skiffle band I had never heard of. Now, I stood behind the scenes as four of my best friends made history. Watching them play on The Ed Sullivan Show was something above and beyond what I ever expected.

That day, I felt a sense of overwhelming pride that still lingers even to this day.


	80. Hey, One Question, What The Hell?

America was a beautiful country filled with places to explore and opportunities to grow. There were so many things to see, places to be, and people to meet. I yearned to go out and explore the country I had read about since birth, but that was impossible for a groupie of The Beatles.

Beatlemania had taken over the youth of America, just as it did back in England. Only a rare few of us were immune, and those who had it were left without a chance. There is no cure, no vaccine, Beatlemania was a disease brought on by an intense love of four seemingly ordinary lads from a less than exciting city in England. Those of us who were immune were subject to the symptoms of those who have contracted the mania. From fainting, screaming, and crying to doing your best to break into a hotel and swipe the trousers of one of your idols, the symptoms are insane.

Beatlemania didn't touch me, I was immune due to my closeness to the lads, but it did affect me. The mania kept me locked inside a dingy hotel in a country I wanted to explore. Had I gone out, I may have ended up in the hospital.

The cabin fever was getting to us all. The lads had vanished into their rooms as soon as we arrived back at the hotel that night. All looked pissed off, but something told me that wasn't the case. The way John snuck mischievous grins at each of his friends, including me, told me something was up. I just didn't know what.

It was nearly midnight, and I was sitting cross-legged on my bed with a notepad open in front of me. It was blank save for a few doodles in the corners. Insomnia had followed me across the world, leaving me wide awake in the city that never sleeps.

A knock on the door startled me, making me jump slightly on the mattress. I shuffled towards the door and flung it open, completely ignoring the fact that I looked as if I had just woken up. There stood four lads with fake beards and lensless glasses on their faces. John was the only one who wore actual glasses. 

"Well, if it isn't the return of McBeardy," I smirked at my brother, "And he brought his friends; Beardo, Johnny Beard, and George Hairyson."

George rolled his eyes as Ringo laughed. Paul lifted his hand to reveal another fake beard hidden behind his trench coat, "You laugh now, but we brought you one as well."

"I'm not wearing that thing," I replied.

John laughed, "Toldja it wouldn't work, Macca, birds can't grow beards."

"Ever heard of The Bearded Lady?"

"That's a myth," George replied.

I pointed at him, "You need to go to a circus, my friend. What the bloody fuck are you lads doing here? It's nearly midnight."

"We're sick of being cooped up," Paul replied, "Thought we'd go out and explore, in disguise, of course."

"Don't want the fans falling all over us," John wiggled his eyebrows.

I glared at them, "You lads have had terrible ideas in the past, but this is by far the worst."

"Come off it, Melly, you can't tell me you don't want to get out," John replied.

I frowned, "It's nearly midnight, I, like normal people, was sleeping."

The lads all exchanged looks before bursting into laughter. I glared at them each individually. Paul itched his beard, still laughing, "Stop kidding with us, Lia, we all know you weren't sleeping."

"There's a reason you're The Bird The Never Sleeps," John commented.

"Nobody calls me that."

"I just did."

I glared at John, earning a cheeky grin. Paul stuffed the beard into my hands. George handed me a trench coat while Ringo pulled a pair of lensless glasses out of his pocket. All grinned at me.

"Are you coming or not?" John asked.

"You lads are bloody gits," I rolled my eyes, "Course I'm coming, hang on, let me get my clothes on."

I shut the door and hurried to the closet. My suitcase was wide open, seeing as how I didn't bother to unpack. I quickly shoved on some jeans and a shirt. Shoving the glasses on my face, I picked my hat off the table and slapped it onto my head. Once I wore the trench coat, I was nearly unrecognizable.

"You know, a trench coat is the most suspicious article of clothing you could have chosen," I commented as we all stepped into the lift.

George grinned, "Got to look the part, don't we?"

I shrugged. The lift deposited us in the lobby. We all hurried out, sticking close together and keeping our heads down. When we reached the streets, I involuntarily shivered.

New York was just as cold as London was, especially in early February. Snow was lining the streets and covering the tops of buildings, giving it a Winter Wonderland feel. Each slab of pavement was covered in thin ice. None of us could see it, but our feet felt it, resulting in each of us nearly falling several times.

The little I had seen of New York couldn't prepare me for seeing it at night. Every building seemed to light up as bright as the sun. Billboards, streetlights, and decorations gave New York a beautiful aura of colors.

"It's bright," Ringo commented, "Even at night."

John shrugged, "It's not like night at all."

"Everyone's awake, does anyone sleep here?" I eyed a group of American birds walking along the street.

"There's a reason it's called The City That Never Sleeps," Paul replied.

"I thought that was Las Vegas," George furrowed his eyebrows.

I cocked my head, "Where's that?"

"I dunno, Ohio?"

"Nah, you gits," John shook his head, "It's Los Angeles."

"I was right in the first place, it's New York, you twits," Paul stated.

We argued about it for a few more moments, ultimately resolving the conflict by agreeing to ask Brian in the morning. It didn't seem like such a good idea to me, seeing as how he would probably put two and two together to discover our little escapade.

"Does anyone know where we're going?" I asked.

John shrugged, "Thought we'd find Times Square."

"I want to see The Statue of Liberty," Ringo added.

"And The Empire State Building," Paul said, "We could go to the top."

"What about Central Park? I hear it's lovely," George stated.

John held up his hands, "We can't go all of those places, we only have a few hours before Eppy finds out we've gone."

"We don't even know how to get there," I muttered.

"We need a map," Paul said, "Let's stop in that store, bet they'll have one."

Paul gestured to a convenience store on the corner. It was dimly lit, reminding me of the old black and white horror movies Dad used to watch. Nobody went in, and nobody went out. I felt uneasy as we approached it.

"You lads go ahead," I said, "I'll wait out here, take in the scenery."

I stood on the curb and looked over the street. The only 'scenery' I had to take in was an empty street, two brick walls, and a stinky sewer. Paul looked like he was about to say something, probably about not wanting to leave me alone, but Ringo interrupted, "I'll stay too."

He took a place next to me. Paul, John, and George all went into the store. When the door shut, Ringo asked, "That place give you the creeps?"

"Yeah," I replied, "Makes my skin crawl, it does."

"Me too."

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. I gratefully took it. He lit them both and we stood there to wait for the other three.

The smoke billowed out around us, going towards the sky and vanishing from sight. It looked different at night than it did during the day. The smoke looked more black than gray, and it seemed to dissipate quicker. It could have just been the cold, though. I watched it slowly drift up to the sky and vanish among the stars. 

When the other three did come out, they were hidden behind a large map. Ringo and I came up behind them to read. What we found was a jumble of brightly colored lines mixed with streets and buildings. It looked more like a child's drawing than a map of one of the biggest cities in the world. 

"This makes no bloody sense," John commented.

Paul clicked his tongue, "What's with the colored lines?"

"I think that's the underground," George traced one of the red lines with his finger.

John scoffed, "We don't need the underground, we need it to tell us how to get to Times Square."

"And The Statue of Liberty."

"And Central Park."

"And-"

"Shut it, the lot of you!" John exclaimed, "We can't go everywhere, we said that already."

"It's past midnight, most places are closed," Ringo added.

The boys began to bicker over where they wanted to go. I put my head between John and George, my eyes scanning the map. If you ignored the colored underground lines, it actually made a fair bit of sense. I found Times Square only a few blocks from Central Park. The Empire State Building was just before that.

"If we go in a straight line, we'll hit them all," I stated, "Except for The Statue Of Liberty, we need a boat for that."

All four lads turned to look at me. I glanced at them and shrugged. John crumpled up the map and scoffed, "Like you can read it."

"I actually enjoyed geography, Lennon, give me the map," I practically jerked it from his grip.

He glared at me but didn't say anything. I opened the map and smoothed it out. John had ripped it down the middle, but it was still readable. I glanced up at the street sign to find our location in relevance to where we wanted to go. When I found the route, I folded the map and grinned, "Alright, lads, this way."

Paul, George, and Ringo followed me without a problem. John, being the egotistical man he was, took the rear and sulked. Being one-upped by a woman wasn't something he particularly enjoyed. That wasn't the first nor the last time John got a lesson on gender stereotypes.

We found our way to Times Square rather easily. As soon as we rounded the corner, the world became bright. It looked like the sun had risen several hours too early. Neon billboards covered every building. They flashed bright colors advertising products, Broadway shows, and movies coming out soon. One billboard even had a picture of The Beatles on Ed Sullivan.

"Bloody hell, this is beautiful," Paul muttered.

Ringo squinted, "Need sunglasses to look at em."

"It's like the sun came out already," George looked at the sky, "There's so much light."

John was still sulking, but even he marveled at the scene before us. We didn't have things like this in London, and we sure as hell didn't have them in Liverpool. While we had our own amazing sights, Times Square was something completely different than anything we had ever experienced before. It felt like I was looking into the future, and it was bright. Brighter than the sun, even.

"Still think this was a bad idea?" Paul whispered, glancing down at me cockily.

I smirked, "Until we get back to the hotel without Bri noticing, yes, yes I do."

"Aw, come off it, Melly," John flung an arm around my shoulders, "Rules were made to be broken."

"Nothing was made to be broken," Ringo stated.

"Pinatas," Paul added.

I smirked, "Glowsticks."

We high-fived as George and John laughed. A group of girls looked at us oddly, as if they recognized us, but they couldn't quite put their finger on it. John quickly shushed us all, "We've got to stay quiet before anyone recognizes us."

"That's why we've got the beards," Ringo pointed to his for emphasis.

I crossed my arms, "Yours is wonky."

It was pushed too far to the left to where part of his mouth was covered. He furrowed his eyebrows and poked at it, having not noticed it before. George scratched his beard to make a corner just under his ear peel. I sighed, realizing how this wasn't going to last for much longer.

"Alright, we've seen Times Square, let's move one," John jerked the map from me and opened it, "Central Park?"

"It's closed by now, I bet," Paul said.

"There's only one way to find out."

John stuffed the map in his pocket and began to parade across the square. Paul, George, and Ringo were quick to follow, all bearing confident smiles. I simply crossed my arms and shook my head.

"Bloody gits," I muttered.

They had barely left Times Square and they were already going the wrong way. I tried to tell them, but John kept brushing me off. Reluctantly, I followed them, fully knowing John was about to get us lost.

John led the parade until we were in a dark alley in the middle of nowhere. None of the streets looked familiar, and all the light from Times Square had faded. The few streetlights there were flickered ominously as if a demon would pop out at any second and kill us all.

"You know where we are, right, John?" George asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

I could sense his fear as well as my own. Ringo kept glancing up and down the street as if expecting an axe murderer to appear out of nowhere. George looked like he wanted to grab Ringo's sleeve for comfort, but he restrained himself, resolving to shove his hands in his pockets. I subconsciously grabbed Paul's arm, glancing behind me. He kept his hands in his pockets, but he made no move to brush me off. I could tell that he wanted to hold onto someone too.

"Course I do," John didn't sound sure, "We're-er- here."

He pointed to a random street on the map. A trash can fell over in the alley next to us, followed by a cat meowing and two yelps. One yelp came from me, the other from Paul, who had subconsciously grabbed me with one hand and John with the other. George finally gave in and grabbed Ringo's sleeve. Ringo, in turn, grabbed me until we were a parade of terrified musicians.

"Are you sure?" Paul asked.

John scoffed, "Course I'm sure, I'm the one with the map, aren't I?"

"The one who couldn't read it earlier," I muttered.

John glared at me, "Sod off, McCartney."

"Maybe Mel should look at it," Ringo stated, "As a second opinion."

"I can do it, Ringo, I don't need a bird's help," John spat.

I ignored the embers burning in my stomach. That was not the time to get angry. John was leading us down a dark street where a few people gazed at us from the alleys. Some looked like they wanted to follow us, but they didn't, that I know of.

"John, we're lost," Paul stated.

"Fucking hell, Macca, for the last time, we're not lost," John spat, "I know exactly where we are."

I sneered, "Now is not a time for a masculinity competition, John, give me the map."

"I've got it!"

I reached for the map, but he jerked it away. He continued to stomp down the street, leading us away from where we needed to be. I glanced behind us to see spotlights going across the sky, beginning somewhere near Broadway. If we could get there, we could find our way home easily.

"John, aren't we supposed to be going that way?" George asked, pointing towards the spotlights.

John scoffed, "Does it look like we're going that way?"

"Well-"

"Exactly, shut up, I'm the one with the map."

George and Ringo exchanged glances. Paul finally had enough of it whenever we passed an alley where a pair of seemingly disembodied eyes watched us hungrily. I found myself inching closer to the lads, though I wasn't the only one. With every step we took, we came closer, nearly merging into one.

"John, fucking hell, give me the map!" Paul exclaimed.

He jerked the map from John, but John wasn't having it, "Sod off, Paul, I know where we're going!"

"No, you don't!"

The two began to play tug of war with the map like a couple of children. Ringo, George, and I all took a step back, staying close to each other and watching the showdown take place. It ended with Paul losing his grip on the map and John accidentally throwing it into a nearby drain.

"Look what you did!" John exclaimed.

Paul sneered, "Me? You're the twat who wouldn't let it go!"

"I know what I'm doing, you're the one who's ego's too big to follow me."

"We're going the wrong way, and you're too much of a git to see it!"

"Shut up!" I exclaimed, "We're lost and arguing is only going to make it worse."

John glared at Paul, "We wouldn't be lost if Paul hadn't lost the fucking map."

"You're the one-"

"Paul!" he stopped short when I interrupted, "Everyone take a deep breath, we can still make it back."

Ringo nervously spun a ring on his finger, "How? We don't have a map."

"We don't need one. See those spotlights?"

They all glanced where I was pointing and nodded, "That's Broadway, I'm sure of it. If we can make it there, we can find another map and find our way to the hotel."

John looked like he was going to argue, but I shot him a glare that told him I would hit him. He quickly shut his mouth and frowned. Paul smiled, "It's our best option right now."

"At least we'll get somewhere safer," Ringo was eyeing a particularly dark part of the street.

"Right. Let's go."

We all latched onto each other once again, though I don't think we completely realized we were holding each other like terrified children. Each of us jumped at the tiniest noise. We all stuck close together as we slowly made our way back into the densest part of the city.

The spotlights did turn out to be Broadway. We stopped at another convenience store just a block from the famous street. Paul purchased a map and opened it to where all five of us could look at it.

"Anyone remember what street the hotel is on?" Paul asked.

The lads all glanced at each other and shrugged. Only George had enough sense to check the street before we left. He reached over Ringo's shoulder and pointed, "There, Fourth Street. It's by a costume store."

"Brilliant, Georgie. Come on, laddies."

Paul led the way. John was still sulking, this time worse than he did earlier. He shot us all angry glances every so often, but we ignored him. He seemed to be especially mad at me.

After six wrong turns and somehow ending up back at Broadway, we finally got to the hotel. It was nearly six in the morning at that time. We would have to be up in two hours for a press conference before the final Ed Sullivan performance.

"I stick to my statement," I said as we entered the lift, "This was a terrible idea."

Paul shrugged, "We got back alright, didn't we? And we weren't caught."

"Yet."

The lift opened to our floor to show it was completely empty. We all separated, waving our goodnights in an effort to be quiet. I tiptoed to my room, which was right next door to Brian's, and slid into the dark room without a problem. As soon as the door was shut, I released a deep breath.

"Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all."


	81. Twenty-One

Brian never suspected a thing. As far as he was concerned, we had been in our beds all night. The lads were exhausted for their show the next day, but they still played remarkably.

That trip marked the beginning of what would later be called The British Invasion. The Beatles had broken ground in a country that was seemingly untouchable by British artists before them. Very few ever made it, but afterward, everything was different. The Beatles made history by appearing on a show three nights in a row.

Two months later, I was awoken one spring morning by Molly jumping on my bed and shouting, "Happy birthday, Melly!"

My eyes shot open as I sat straight up. She began to bounce up and down, laughing and carefully avoiding my legs. For a moment, I wasn't sure what was going on, then my senses clicked into place, "Bloody hell, Molly, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"It's your birthday!"

She landed on her knees and lunged forward to tackle me. Molly had always thought birthdays were something important, something that should be celebrated every single year, no matter how old or young you are. I, on the other hand, thought they were just a reminder of each year passing in our gradual descent into death. Birthdays were nothing more than a reminder that you would never be a child again, and, one day, you and everyone you love would be dead. I wanted to ignore the day, but Molly always made sure I remembered it.

"I don't give a shit," I replied, "I hate birthdays, Molly."

She pulled away, much to my dismay, and grinned, "You can't hate birthdays, Melly, it's a celebration!"

"Of what? How I'm getting closer to death?"

"Bloody hell, Melly, can you think positive about it just this once?" Molly groaned, "You're twenty-one, it's a special birthday! Can't you be happy about it just this once?"

She batted her eyelashes at me. I gazed at her for a moment, goosebumps rising on my skin. Finally, I sighed, "Alright, if it'll make you happy."

"Brilliant! Come on, I made you breakfast."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of bed, not even stopping to let me change out of my pajamas. She pulled me into the kitchen where Janice was sitting at the island. Molly pushed me into the chair next to her.

"Happy birthday, Melly," Janice smiled.

I nodded, "Thank you, Jan, I'm glad someone here is calm about it."

I glared at Molly accusingly. In all honesty, I was annoyed at her extreme wake-up call and insistence to remember my birthday, but it made me happy all at the same time. She cared enough about me to celebrate something as monumental as a twenty-first birthday. Her hug still echoed on my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"Bon appetite," Molly placed a plate of pancakes in front of us.

She sat down next to me with her own pancakes. I took a bite and smiled, "These are wonderful."

"Mum's recipe."

"They're even better than when she makes it."

Molly blushed. Janice glanced around my head to smile at her, "I agree, they're splendid."

"Thank you."

We ate in silence. Janice had made her hot cocoa as well. The breakfast was perfect, from my favorite pancakes all the way to my favorite drink. To make things even better, I was sitting between my favorite girls.

"We have presents," Molly dropped two gift-wrapped boxes where my plate once sat.

I jumped slightly. Janice chuckled but stopped when I glared at her. The boxes were both wrapped in silver gift wrap with a blue bow. Due to the perfect precision of the wrapping, I knew Janice had wrapped it. She was always a perfectionist when it came to how things looked. Molly, on the other hand, always managed to get herself tangled in the tape. 

"Open mine first," Molly tapped on the top box.

I smirked, "Hey, I'm the birthday girl here, I think I get to choose."

"Choose mine!"

"Alright, you big baby."

I picked up the present as she beamed. Everyone in my family had a habit of peeling back the wrapping paper to preserve it. They would spend nearly an hour unwrapping one present; peeling the tape back so the paper was perfectly preserved and making sure to keep every edge intact. In the end, the paper wouldn't have one rip in it. There had been many Christmas' and birthdays where I had physically jerked the presents from my brothers and ripped them open. There had also been many times where I had been hit with whatever was inside.

I ripped open the present without any regard for saving the paper. Molly watched with enthusiasm, bouncing her heels. When I opened the box, I gasped.

Ever since I was little, I have loved music, instruments, books, journals, and clocks. Specifically, watches and cuckoo clocks. Molly had gotten me a watch with a clasped door over the face. It was decorated in bronze gears, giving it a steampunk look. When I opened the door, a black hand was ticking over golden numbers. On the opposite side of the door, Molly had glued a photo of the three of us. Molly, Janice, and I all sat in a row on a beach blanket from our trip to Greece. All of us were smiling up at the camera, and Paul who was behind it at the time. My arms were flung around them, and my smile was unparalleled.

"Oh, Molly, it's beautiful," I gently set the watch on the counter and flung my arms around her.

Molly hugged back, "I knew you'd love it."

"I love it so much!"

She helped me put it on. The leather was soft, and wouldn't chafe, even if I wore it to sleep. The soft ticking was comforting. Janice shoved the next box into my hands, "My turn."

Once again, I ripped open the wrapping. She had gotten me a large gray hat with a small brim on the front. John had a similar one, but mine was much bigger. It made me look like I was wearing an afro. I slapped it on my head and grinned, "I love it, thank you."

Gifts were not meant to be expensive or lavish. A gift is meant to be something you give another person to show how much they mean to you. It's something you see in the store that makes you think of them. Gifts prove to the recipient that you think about them even when they're not there. It was a special moment where money didn't matter, and all you needed was love.

I went to the mirror we had hanging on the wall and admired my new hat. Molly and Janice came up behind me, both wearing bright smiles. I glanced at them in the reflection and grinned, "Wait here!"

I hurried into my room and grabbed my camera, which was sitting on my bedside table. A few developed pictures were scattered around the table with a mostly empty album lying open nearby. It was the beginning of the first book in Ringo and my joint album. Little did we know, that album would span decades and would go through many books.

Molly and Janice were still waiting at the mirror. I stood in between them once more and lifted the camera. Molly crossed her hands over my shoulder and rested her chin on them, smiling the entire time. Jan simply leaned her head on my shoulder. Using the reflection in the mirror, I snapped a photo of all three of us. The camera was visible, but that didn't matter. It captured a pure moment in our hectic lives, one that I would look back on for years to come.

"Oh, they're here!" Molly exclaimed whenever there was a knock on the door.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Who?"

"It's not a birthday if you don't celebrate with all your friends."

I glanced at Janice who shrugged. When Molly opened the door, a familiar voice rang through the flat. I smiled slightly at the sound of John's voice. Even if I had just seen them all yesterday, I didn't think I'd ever get tired of seeing them. One day, I might even wish I could see them again.

"Where's the birthday lass, then?" John called out.

Molly laughed, "Trying to forget what day it is."

"Nonsense!" Paul exclaimed, "Lia!"

I groaned, walking around the corner and smiling. Paul, John, George, and Ringo had all arrived together. With them came Cynthia, Julian, Jane, and Maureen. All bore the same smiles. Even Julian was smiling.

"Happy birthday!" Paul exclaimed.

He released Jane to rush forward and wrap me in a hug. He grabbed my chest, spinning around and nearly making me trip over my own feet. My toes dragged against the carpet as I shouted muffled curses into his chest.

"Bloody hell, Macca, don't make her throw up," John came up and clapped Paul's back.

Paul released me, "It's a birthday tradition, Johnny."

"Usually he'll throw me into something," I stated.

Last year, he had pushed me into a bush. I still had scars from the thorns. At first, I was angry, but it was all in good fun. I ended up laughing.

"Nice hat," John jerked my hat off and placed it on his own head.

I reached for it, "You wanker."

"Such language for a child."

He admired himself in the mirror, easily keeping me off with one arm. I huffed and glanced at Cynthia as if asking for help. Cynthia simply shrugged. Julian reached out to me, and I gladly took him. He tapped my nose, "Hell!"

"Still on that, are you?" I asked.

"It's all he'll say," Cynthia sighed, "That and food."

"And Da," John added, practically glowing.

"Sorry about that," I grimaced, remembering that day in the park.

Cynthia laughed, "You wouldn't be the first to say it in front of him."

Julian reached for Paul, who took him, smiling the entire time. I rolled my eyes. Children always seemed to gravitate towards Paul, even choosing him over me. I thought I was great with children, but I was nothing compared to Paul. He was practically born to be a Mum.

"I brought the drinks," George held up two bottles of whiskey.

Molly frowned, "George Harrison, there are children present."

She gestured to Janice and Julian. Janice was standing next to Paul, smiling and playing with Julian. When she saw Molly gesturing to her, she turned a deep shade of red.

"We're not going to get drunk, Molly," George replied, his tone dull.

"Unless the birthday lass decrees it," John flung an arm around my shoulder.

He slapped my hat back on my head, causing me to giggle. It fell over my eyes. When I pushed it up, I smiled at Molly and George, "A few drinks wouldn't hurt."

"To the kitchen!"

Janice, Cynthia, and Maureen all chose to stay in the living room with Julian. Jane stood just outside of the kitchen. I came up to her and smiled, "Pleasure to see you again. It's been too long, my love."

Jane blinked flirtatiously, "Much too long, how I have missed you so."

"Bugger off, she's mine," Paul flung a protective arm around Jane's shoulder and stuck his tongue out at me.

I scoffed but ended up laughing. Jane giggled as well. John was searching through the cabinets and ignoring Molly trying to reach around him. He sneered, "Where the bloody fuck do you keep your glasses?"

Paul slapped his hands over my ears, "John, language! There are children present!"

"I'm twenty-one!" I exclaimed, "When will you let that die?"

"You'll always be a child to me," Paul winked.

John finally found the glasses. He poured us each a glass, including the women in the living room. Once we were all together again, Paul held up his glass, "To a bloody good sister."

"And a remarkable friend," Molly added.

"Here here!" the rest all chanted.

Molly stared at me as we all tapped glasses. Something in her eyes sent my heart flying, but I couldn't tell what it was. It seemed like want, a longing for something just out of reach. Deep down, I knew, I looked at her like that all of the time.

"Expecting more?" Ringo asked as there was a knock at the door.

Janice stood, "I'll get it."

"It's probably the neighbors, telling us to be quiet," George stated.

"Doubtfully," I replied, "Those geezers are as deaf as wood, honestly."

Everybody laughed. John went to pour himself another drink as Janice let in our visitors. Ellen walked in with Peter just behind her. He carried a small box, about the size of a shoebox. The lid was crooked, allowing a few corners of the letters inside to stick out.

"Elly, didn't expect to see you here," I grinned, "Always a pleasure, of course."

Ellen smiled, "Happy birthday, Amelia."

"Why, thank you."

"Ellen! Wonderful to see you again," Paul grinned.

Ringo winked at her as George simply nodded. John smiled, "Beautiful as ever."

"Thank you, John," Ellen bowed her head, "A pleasure to see you all again. Amelia, these are for you."

Peter shuffled over and handed me the box. When he retreated, he went to stand by Janice. The two awkwardly took a single step away from each other. Red spread across both of their faces until you couldn't tell what was Peter's hair and what was his face.

"What is it?" I asked, pulling the lid off.

"Fan mail," Ellen's eyes sparkled, "It seems that a few loving fans decided to send you birthday wishes."

My heart practically jumped out of my chest. I set the box down on the coffee table and began to go through them. Molly, John, Paul, and George all joined me. The rest of the party all stood around and watched as we opened letters.

"It's just like the letters I got for my birthday," George commented, lifting up a pink envelope.

Paul grinned, "Ah, but Lia didn't get a door."

"Thank God," I muttered.

I opened the first letter and read over the cursive handwriting. It was from a lass in Liverpool, whom I had seen at The Cavern Club before. She had one sentence, barely even five words, dedicated to wishing me happy birthday. The rest of the two pages were her going on about The Beatles and begging me to get her an autograph and a meet-and-greet.

I scoffed and moved onto the next one. The next ten I opened were the same thing. I tossed them over my shoulder, my frown quickly growing. We had made it through the entire box of letters without finding a single letter that didn't mention The Beatles.

"Rubbish," I muttered, "They didn't even want to wish me a happy birthday."

Molly patted my shoulder comfortingly. Paul looked over one of the letters, his eyebrows slowly moving together, "This can't be right."

"It is, and it isn't the first time," I replied, "All the fans always ask me if I can get them to you."

My anger was clouding my mind. I stuffed all of the letters back into the box and huffed, glaring at it as if it had come from Hell itself. It was a symbol of everything I didn't want to happen.

I turned down Brian as our manager so this wouldn't happen. We had all worked tirelessly so that we wouldn't be seen as The Beatles' shadows anymore. We might have made it if we hadn't have agreed to open for them. The exposure was great, yes, and it would get us to the top, but at what cost? We hadn't even gone on tour yet, and they were already using Revolution as nothing more than a bridge to The Beatles.

"Rubbish!" Paul exclaimed, "Those bloody wankers. Why can't they see you for you and not as friends of The Beatles?"

George glanced up at him, "It's because we're famous."

"And this won't stop until we are too," Molly added.

She looked at me with sympathetic eyes. She understood that we couldn't separate from The Beatles until we had built our own fanbase to stand on. She, Ellen, and Janice all saw how this would play out. We had no choice but to play in The Beatles' shadows until we could build a fanbase of our own out of their fanbase. Eventually, we would build a big enough fanbase for us to stand on. That would grow bigger and bigger until, finally, we were no longer in their shadows, instead, casting our own. Molly, Janice, and Ellen all saw the bigger picture, they could look past today to see the outcome of tomorrow. I was stuck on the anger of today. I couldn't see how the upsetting events of today would build a bigger and brighter future for tomorrow.

"Don't worry, Melly, next birthday, you'll get mail from all over the world wishing you a happy birthday and nothing else," Ringo tried.

I glared at the box, "Not if these wankers keep doing what they're doing. Rubbish! All of it!"

Ellen looked like she regretted not looking through the box. She quickly grabbed it, "I am sorry, Amelia, I didn't expect that."

"It's alright, Elly, it's not your fault," I continued to glare at the box, "It's theirs, the gits."

Ringo and George exchanged glances. Jane was quick to jump in, "How about we do something else? Got any good games?"

"We have cards, Monopoly,-" Molly began.

"Let's do Monopoly," John grinned at us all, "I'll wipe the floor with you chaps."

Paul scoffed, "In your dreams, Johnny Boy."

"We'll just see, won't we, Macca?"

Molly left to go retrieve the game from the hall closet. Ellen hid the box in the front hall, but I could still feel its presence. The letters ignoring me for my music and my band, instead, using me as nothing more than a bridge to get to their idols. They looked past Revolution and focused on the relationship we had with The Beatles. It fueled a fire in me that would soon go to fuel The Revolution. For now, however, it fueled a game of Monopoly where I was determined to wipe John out.


	82. If I Fell

Aubergine Studios had begun to feel like a second home to me, even though I had only ever been there five times, and only for a few hours each. Mitch made it feel like a home in itself, making every visitor who walked in instantly feel relaxed. She claimed it helped the artists record. At first, I didn't believe her, but, as time progressed, I realized she was correct. We made our greatest music in that studio.

Some of our greatest memories were made there too. One such memory was no more than a moment. A single slice of time that lasted for barely a second, but its effects lasted a lifetime.

"No matter what life, what love, or what strife," Molly sang, "I'll find you, my love, in every phase and every gaze."

Molly sat on the floor just inches from me. She kept looking up at me as if asking something, but I couldn't figure out what. I simply smiled at her in an effort to encourage her.

"Brilliant, girls, simply brilliant," Mitch's voice rang over the stereo system, "How about we take a twenty-minute break and we'll record the next one after?"

Molly, Janice, and I all heaved sighs of relief. We had been working for hours on end. Ellen wanted our next album out before the world tour, and that was barely a month away. With recording, production, and everything in between, we would be lucky to get it out in a month.

I dropped the drumsticks and wiggled my fingers. They had bandages on them from the blisters I received from the constant drumming. Mitch had expressed concern about it, but I told her it was nothing I hadn't dealt with before. Hamburg had been a terrible trip, but it prepared me for many things in my career.

"I'm going to the loo. Be back in a jiff," Janice stated before vanishing.

Molly chuckled, "I don't see why she announces it."

"I dunno why she does a lot of things."

Molly laughed. I took to wrapping my bandages tighter. My fingers were stinging a bit, but it wasn't terrible. I had to make sure the bandages were in place before I made everything worse.

"Need some help?" Molly asked.

"I can't get the bloody things tight enough."

Molly came and knelt in front of me. She took my dry hand in her soft one. Her fingers ran down the back of my hand, sending shivers down my spine. I felt a longing deep in my heart, one I had worked to suppress for nearly a year. Most of the time, I could keep it under control, until she touched me or looked at me differently. Then, I felt like I might snap at any second.

She pulled at the bandages to tighten them. My focus was on her hand, and how she kept stroking the back of my hand. I couldn't tell if she was doing it on purpose or not, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the feeling it gave me. I felt warm like I was a fire and she was the match. My skin tingled with electricity.

"Melly?" Molly asked.

I shook myself, "Wh-what?"

"Is that tight enough?"

She looked up at me with a concerned gaze. I quickly swallowed the lump in my throat and awkwardly smiled, "Yeah, yes, thanks, Mols."

"Of course."

She stood up, but her toes caught in the hem of her pants. Her leg wasn't where she thought it was, causing her to tumble over, directly into my lap. She landed with a hard thud, nearly sending us both over. I managed to steady us with my legs as I flung two protective arms around her middle.

For a moment, just a moment, she was sitting in my lap and holding eye contact with me. For barely a second, I was holding her just like a lover. For a single breath, we were connected.

Simultaneously, we both realized what was happening. I felt my cheeks heat up as Molly jumped off my lap. Her face was as red as a cherry, and I was sure I saw sweat falling down her neck. Both of us were trembling and our eyes were wide as we stared at each other.

"Uh, thanks," she rubbed the back of her neck, "That might've-not ended- great."

She wasn't speaking as clearly as usual, but she was speaking. I, on the other hand, couldn't figure out how to form a single syllable. Instead, I clamped my mouth shut and nodded, doing my best to ignore the fire raging in my skin.

"I'm gonna go for a walk."

Molly spun on her heel and rushed out of the building. I watched her go, frozen in place. She pushed past Janice on her way out who looked at us oddly, "Did I miss something?"

I shook my head, still unable to find the words. The echo of her still weighed heavy on my skin. If I concentrated, I could see her still sitting on my lap with a terrified expression on her face. If I thought even harder, I could see the hope behind that fear. 

"Are you alright, Mel?" Janice asked.

I gulped, "Yeah, course I am, do I not look alright?"

"You look a tad sick."

"I'm alright, Jan, nothing to worry about."

I felt like I was going to throw up. I wanted to scream, shout, and laugh all at the same time. Most of all, I wanted Molly to come back. I wanted to hold her, hug her, and tell her I loved her. I wanted her to know how much she meant to me.

There is a feeling of terror that fuels a fire deep inside. It is one where you are faced with the biggest fear of your life, and you find the adrenaline to face it head-on. It's the excitement of breaking the rules, even if the rules are set for your own protection.

Molly and I were silently breaking the law. We hadn't said anything, it was still in our heads, but we were breaking the law nonetheless. I wasn't sure if I was the only one, or if Molly felt the same, but I was slowly beginning to realize. Maybe, just maybe, things weren't so bad after all.

That in itself made me shake with terror. The laws were very clear and very dangerous. If what I felt ever got out, what could happen would be worse than the hell of living with a secret as monumental as this one. I could lose Molly before I even ever really had her.

"I'm going to take a walk," I said, standing up, "I'll be back soon."

"But-"

Janice didn't have enough time to argue. I hurried out of the studio. The walls were closing in on me as my breathing sped up. I quickly shrugged on my coat and hurried outside.

I couldn't deny it for much longer. Molly and I lived together, worked together, things like this were bound to happen. The only way we could get closer is if someone locked us in a room together. It was only a matter of time before I snapped.

For Molly, I had to keep it inside. To protect both of us, I had to keep my mouth shut and my feelings on lockdown. I had to hide away all because of who I loved.

Love shouldn't be illegal. This world is filled with hate, it would do it well to have a little more love in it, even if it's between two people of the same gender. Love shouldn't have a label or a set of guidelines. Love shouldn't have rules. Love is real, love is beautiful, love is love no matter who it's between. Man and woman, man and man, woman and woman, and all those in between, it shouldn't matter. If you're lucky enough to find love in this world, you should be able to love them in every form or fashion, in every place and every way, without fear. You should love without limits, without laws, and without rules. Love isn't restricted, love is astronomical.

The laws were made by people who feared something different and who followed a book they didn't understand. They put laws against love; the ultimate sin. If mankind should do anything, it's love each other, no matter who it is. Love should be universal, it is universal, it just takes a certain mindset to recognize that. Most people have their vision clouded and are unable to see the truth behind the curtains.

I grew up in a Roman Catholic and Protestant household. Liverpool was filled with Catholics and the like. I felt the pain of being unable to love, even if I didn't realize it. I grew up with the idea that a man should love a woman and a woman should love a man, nothing more and nothing less. It's one and two, black and blue, a and b without any regards to c.

Now, I see otherwise. I see three and four, rainbow and neon, c, d, e, f, g, and everything else. Love is real, it exists in more ways than one, and I was slowly learning this.

I was learning the beauty of love as well as the terror of society. For millenniums, mankind has stamped out beauty. Forests, cultures, oceans, everything, subject to mankind's uncaring nature. Mankind doesn't even realize it's stamping out something beautiful until it's gone. All that was left was devastation and, in my case, pure terror.

I fell onto a park bench and held my head in my hands, "What do I do?"

There was no answer. I gazed up at the sky as if waiting for a heavenly angel to appear and tell me everything was going to be alright, but nothing ever came. I was left with gray clouds and the occasional clap of thunder.

"So, in short," I sighed, "I'm doomed."


	83. The Curse of The Makenzie Family

The Mackenzie family is cursed. Somewhere deep in The Mackenzie Family roots, some medieval relative made a witch angry or ate something he shouldn't have. For generations, each and every member has died young. Molly is convinced she, Regina, and Reginald will be the generation that breaks that streak. Since the dawn of time, or as far as anyone can remember, no member of The Mackenzie Family lived past sixty.

We had hopes for Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie. Mrs. Mackenzie turned fifty in 1960, she was almost fifty-four. They were so close to breaking the curse, and yet, so far. Life happens that way, just when you think you're doing something great, fate comes around and kicks you in the arse.

"I can't believe you still have this," I muttered.

An old, yellowing, paper rested in my hands. I was careful not to crinkle the edges in order to keep it preserved for years to come. It already had marks on it from spilled drinks and dirt from where it was dropped, but the words were still legible. From the lyrics of the song all the way to the cursive signatures of George Harrison and Amelia McCartney.

"It's important," George replied, "First song we ever wrote together."

The Birds was a very important milestone for us. It was the first real song I had ever written. It wasn't George's first song, but it was the first song ever played live. To this day, it is still played on stages across the country.

"Never took you as the sentimental type, Georgie," I commented.

George smirked, "Looks can be deceiving."

I sat the paper on the desk, smiling the entire time. There were two stacks of papers; those that needed to be kept and those that would be thrown away. Why George didn't throw the papers away before leaving Liverpool, I don't know.

The two of us were working to unpack George's belongings into his new London flat. John and Paul were supposed to come and help, but both conveniently had other places to be. Ringo had helped George get the things from Liverpool to London, and deserved a bit of a break. That left me.

I was happy to help, of course. George had his radio set up first thing, so we were listening to soft music as we unpacked. Every so often, a song we both loved would come on, and we would both sing along. Only in the veil of privacy, without any fans or press to see, would George Harrison do air guitar.

One box was stacked on a teetering tower of similar cardboard boxes. It reached my waist and threatened to fall over at any second. I opened the top one and smiled. It was the beginning of George's record collection. At the very top of the stack was Please Please Me, a very familiar album to us all. Beneath it, he had With the Beatles and Distance as well as a few Buddy Holly's, Elvis, and Chuck Berry's.

"Quite a collection you've got here," I held up Please Please Me and Distance.

George grinned, "It's not a collection without the essentials."

"You're too kind, and a bit egotistical."

George laughed. I took to setting up the records on the shelf, humming along to the radio. George picked up on my humming and, soon, we were belting out the lyrics louder than we would on stage. Every so often, he would do a bit of air guitar while I mimed the drums. We had our own imaginary band, and we enjoyed every second of it. 

When we finished unpacking most all the boxes, the sun was beginning to set. It was a twenty-minute walk to my flat, and I wasn't too keen on walking at night. After the adventure in New York, walking alone at night didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. 

"I best be off," I turned to my friend.

George smiled, "Thanks for the help, Mel."

"Anytime. What're friends for?"

I gave him a side hug before leaving. The sun casted orange hues across the streets, giving the world a fiery look. It made the trees look like torches and the buildings look like walls of fire. As the sun vanished behind the horizon, the fire slowly went out.

"Molly?" I called as I stepped into the flat, "Jan?"

There was no response. All the lights were off, and every door was shut. The curtains were drawn tightly, making the flat completely dark. I flicked on the light, my eyes landing on the phone.

It hung off the table, dangling on its chord. The phone book we usually had sitting next to it had fallen haphazardly onto the floor. It was open, its pages folding against the floor. I knelt down to pick it up. The pages were beyond saving, they had folded at such odd angles, it would be impossible to flatten them out again. One page was torn right down the middle, hanging by barely a string. It seemed to have been dropped that way a long time ago. 

It was unusual to find something like that. Both Molly and Janice were set when it came to organization. Often, I would stress them out with my state of chaotic disorganization. Molly had just yelled at me a few days prior for leaving the phone off the receiver. I put it back into place and went deeper into the flat.

"Molly? Jan? Where are you?" I called, worry creeping into my voice.

Once again, there was no response. I began to panic slightly. Anything could have happened, they could have gotten into an accident, someone could have taken them, they could be dead for all I know. My anxiety ran off with me, causing me to go through every room of the house.

"Girls?" I called, stepping into the hallway to the bedrooms.

My room and Janice's room were wide open. Both beds were perfectly made, and all lights were off. The only door that was shut was Molly's room. I slowly crept up and knocked gently, "Mols? Are you in there?"

I was met with only a sniffle. That told me she was in there, but she was far from alright. I didn't have to look at her to know she was crying. My worry only grew as I knocked once again, "Molly, what's wrong?"

The door was locked. I jiggled on the handle but to no avail. It remained as sturdy as a castle wall. Once again, I knocked, "Molly, come on, let me help."

I heard the shuffle of socks against the carpet. The lock clicked and the door slowly opened. I came face to face with a disheveled Molly. In all the time I had known her, I had never once seen her so torn apart. Her face was red and stained with tears, her eyes puffy and her lips quivering. I was scared she was going to collapse right then and there, falling into a heap of sobs. Instead, she held onto the edge of the door and stared at me with watering eyes.

"Mum called," her voice quivered, "She said Dad had a heart attack last night. He-he-"

She broke down. I didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what had happened. Forgetting everything hidden between us, I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around her. She melted into my embrace. Her fists were clenched around the loose fabric on my shoulders, and her face was pressed into my chest. I held her shaking body.

"He's gone," was all she could say.

I held her tightly. A few tears shed from my eyes, but I did my best to hold them in. Mr. Mackenzie had acted as a father figure to me when my own father kicked me out. I saw him as a second father and losing him hurt just as much, but I held it in. While he only acted as my father, he was Molly's one and only father. She needed strength, and I was the only one who could give it to her. 

Molly was about to collapse. Her knees had already given out, and I was holding her up. Her entire weight was in my arms. Gently, I directed her towards her disheveled bed. Both of us sat down, and she never took her face from my chest.

For a few minutes, the only noise to be heard was Molly's constant sobs. She held onto my shirt as if it were the only thing tying her to this world. Without it, she would drift off into the wide expanse of space, lost to everything but her grief.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," she sobbed, "He-he was fine when I saw him last, but-I'm never gonna see him again."

I rubbed her back, humming slightly in an effort to calm her, "No, you will, one day you will. You'll reunite with him in the next phase of existence."

That didn't seem to help much. She only sobbed harder after I said that. People often said I had a way with words, but I had a hard time believing them. In moments like that, I wished I couldn't speak at all.

It would be best to just keep my mouth shut and let her sob. When I had gone through nearly the exact same thing, I didn't want anyone to talk to me, I just wanted someone to hold me as I cried. I needed to be there for her, even as a silent presence. Against my own advice, I spoke anyway.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I know it doesn't mean much, but sometimes, you need to hear it. When someone you love dies, you're left with grief and memories. It's the memories and the love you still have for him in your heart that will get you through this. Just know, Mr. Mackenzie loved you very much, but he wasn't the only one. There are so many people here today that still, and always will, love you, even into the next life."

"Like you?" she asked.

I smiled, "Like me. Like your Mum, Gina, Reggie, Jan, and your Dad. He'll love you even when he isn't here. Even if you couldn't say goodbye, he knows you love him. No matter what, he knows."

For a moment, she was silent. I began to think I should have just kept my mouth shut when she spoke. Her voice, quieter even than silence itself, trembled, "Thank you."

"I'm here," I whispered.

She held tighter to my middle. I kept my arms wrapped around her, shielding her from the horrors of the world around us. So long as she was in my embrace, nothing could touch her. No grief, no fear, nothing, only the comfort provided by someone who loves you more than life itself. She cried, leaving tear-stains on my shirt, but I didn't care. All I cared about was making sure she was alright.

In the end, she would be alright. It didn't seem like it at the time, but she would move on, we all would. When you lose someone important to you, you feel like the entire world has come to an end. You want to curl up and die right next to them because you can't imagine a world without them, but you can't. For the sake of the person you lost, you can't. They wouldn't want you to stop, no matter how close you were. Because they loved you, they would want you to keep going, to keep living for yourself and for them. Molly would come out alright in the end. Even through the sobs that seemed never-ending, she would come out alright.

Molly cried herself to sleep in my arms. I was still holding her when Jan came home. She came around the hall to see Molly practically on top of me. She lifted an eyebrow and was about to ask a question when I shushed her. I gestured for her to come closer. She leaned in until her ear was almost touching my lips.

"Molly's Dad died last night," I told her.

Janice gasped loudly. Molly stirred but didn't wake up. I wrapped my arms tighter around her and whispered, "She only just stopped crying."

"Oh my God," Janice covered her mouth with her hands, "How?"

"Heart attack."

"Christ, poor Molly."

I nodded, "She'll be alright, eventually. You don't come out of this kind of thing without a few scars left behind."

The scars of my mother's death still lingered all over my body. I even had a few from the loss of my father, and he was still alive. Molly would have scars for years to come. They would be bright. They would be the only thing some people saw, and the thing some people tried to ignore. No matter what she did, those scars wouldn't fade, but she would learn to wear them as wings instead of weights. It would take a long time, but, eventually, her scars wouldn't weigh her down anymore. Just as mine stopped pulling me down, so would hers, given time. 

"Do you need me to bring you something? A blanket? A drink? Tissues?" Janice asked.

I shook my head, "No, thanks. Just, will you shut the door on your way out?"

"Of course."

That night, I stayed with Molly. We slept with her clutching onto me. I kept my arms tightly wrapped around her, my eyes wide open all night. My worry for her mixed with my usual insomnia caused me to be filled with energy. All I could do was hold her and whisper comforts whenever she stirred.

"It's going to be alright," I whispered, even though she was fast asleep, "So long as we're together, everything will be alright, I promise."

I still don't know if I was talking to her or to me.

***

It was a sunny day in Edinburgh, Scotland. The sun was up, the sky was blue, everything was beautiful, except for the small funeral procession in a tiny cemetery long forgotten by most Scottish citizens. It was tucked away in a tiny corner of the countryside. Each grave was older the deeper you got, some were so old the writing had completely vanished.

Only one grave was open. One hole next to a line of Mackenzie Family plots. The freshly dug dirt was piled to the side, ready and waiting to cover the oak casket.

Reginald was one of four casket bearers. Two were Mr. Mackenzie's younger brothers, and the fourth was his best friend from Liverpool. All bore the same solemn expressions as the rest of the group.

Mrs. Mackenzie was directly behind the casket, her hand never leaving the back. Tears poured down her face as she walked. Her sobs still echo in my mind even to this day. Hearing those sobs hurt more than the original situation. They ripped at the souls of even the coldest man, causing all of humanity to shed a single tear for a woman who lost the man she loved. 

Regina had her arms wrapped around her mother. Both looked like they were going to faint, but they remained sturdy. Just in case, Mrs. Mackenzie's older brother stood just behind them, ready and waiting to catch them if they fell.

The funeral procession was small, only about fifteen people in total. Most took up the rear. Family from all over Europe had come to Mr. Mackenzie's hometown of Edinburgh to give him a final, tearful, farewell. A line of all black followed the light brown casket through the overgrown dirt paths of a cemetery that no longer exists.

Molly and I were just behind Mrs. Mackenzie and Regina. My arms were wrapped around Molly's shoulders. Though she wouldn't admit it, I was holding her up. I could feel her weight pulling on my arms, but I kept her upright.

Molly held a handkerchief to her face. It was positioned to cover her nose and catch any tears falling from her eyes. Halfway through the funeral, she had soaked that one through, and I gave her mine.

We all gathered at the graveside. Slowly, the casket was lowered. With each inch it went, darkness crept along the sides. When it reached the bottom, we could barely see it.

Molly practically broke down right then and there. She would have fallen into the hole if it weren't for me. She buried her face in my chest once again and began to sob. Her sobs were heart-wrenching, I still feel an ache deep in my heart every time I think of them, but they were nothing compared to Mrs. Mackenzie's wails. She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Regina draped her body over her mother, and Reginald was close to follow. Only Regina and Mrs. Mackenzie cried. Reginald stared at the hole with a cold gaze.

"We are gathered here today to honor the life of Samuel Reginald Mackenzie," The Priest spoke, "He was a beloved father and a friend of us all. All of us were touched by his kindness and his chivalry. It is because of that that he will forever live on in our hearts and our memories."

A man who looked like the physical embodiment of The Grim Reaper began to shovel dirt onto the casket. The Priest said a few prayers, raising his hands as if speaking to angels in the clouds. Everybody followed along, except for those who were too busy crying.

My tears fell onto Molly's head. It was impossible to hold them back. That was the moment where we truly said goodbye to him. As the dirt began to cover the casket, it became real. He was really and truly gone.

We didn't leave until the grave was completely filled. Even then, we didn't leave. Molly, Reginald, Regina, Mrs. Mackenzie, and I stood by the graveside for as long as we could. At one point, Molly left me and went to sit with her mother. She and Regina latched onto her, all three of them sobbing. I knelt next to them and rested a hand on Molly's shoulder. Reginald stood several feet away, still staring at the grave with a cold, unblinking, stare.

Minutes turned to hours and, before I knew it, the sun was setting. I glanced at the sky, watching the blue fade into black. The girls were still crying. I knew it would be hard to tear them away, but I knew we couldn't stay there.

"It's going to get cold soon," I told them, "Come on, I'll take you back."

We had a hotel for the night. For a moment, the girls didn't reply. I glanced at Reginald to ask for help, but he ignored me, continuing to stare at the grave. Rolling my eyes, I stood and gently pulled each girl to their feet. Reginald only jumped to help whenever Regina nearly hit the ground. He supported her as I supported Mrs. Mackenzie on one arm and Molly on the other.

The small rental car we had barely even worked, but it was good enough to get us home. Reginald, Regina, and Molly all squeezed in the back. Mrs. Mackenzie took the passenger side as I drove. Night fell as the five of us drove away from the cemetery.

Once again, I practically held Molly and Mrs. Mackenzie up. The hotel we were staying at wasn't the greatest, but it wasn't the worse. There were odd stains on the walls, but the beds were free of bugs. No questionable smells lingered, and the bathroom had two-ply toilet paper.

I helped Mrs. Mackenzie into the room she was sharing with her two twin children. As soon as she was on the bed, I turned to leave with Molly. Having a thought, I turned to say something, only to have Reginald slam the door in my face.

"That boy," I muttered, my voice filled with distain.

I had spent nearly three years living in the same house as him, one would think I would have become accostumed to his behaviour. He was always rude to everyone, even his own mother. Only Regina could get through to him and find the little boy inside. To everyone else, he was a demon walking the Earth, and that was exactly how he liked it. 

Molly leaned on me all the way to her bed. Once I sat her down, she practically slammed her face into the pillow. She was asleep almost instantly. Crying so hard for so long would suck the energy out of anyone, especially someone who hadn't slept the night before.

I pulled the blanket over her and smiled. Despite her tear stained cheeks and unnaturally rosy skin, she looked peaceful. I pushed the hair out of her face.

Had she not been asleep, I would have sworn she smiled. I flicked off the lights and went to sleep in my own bed only a few feet from her. Just as I got comfortable, a tiny voice came from the bed across from me.

"Melly?"

"Hm?"

"Would you come sleep with me? I don't want to be alone."

I smiled, "Course."

Kicking the covers off, I went to join her on the twin bed. She wrapped herself around me just like she did the day I found her in her room crying. I welcomed her embrace, wrapping my arms around her as well.

"By golly, Miss Molly, everything's going to be alright," I whispered.

This time, I know she smiled.


	84. Yesterday England, Today The World

Molly didn't have much time to recover before we were shoved in a van and sent across the country. It was time for the first ever Beatles world tour, featuring Revolution as their opening act. All of us were buzzed with excitement, except for Molly.

Molly's grief didn't go away quickly. Nobody could get over something as massive as losing their father overnight. That was a wound that would take years to heal, but it was still a wound. Wounds heal, no matter how long it takes. Eventually, Molly would be alright.

She sat next to me, leaning against the door with a forlorn look on her face. It hurt to see her like this, even if I understood why. I did everything I could think of to try and make her laugh. I knew she wouldn't. Having gone through something similar myself, I knew exactly how she felt, but I couldn't stand to see her look like she wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry for all eternity. 

"Look, a flock of cows," I pointed to a group of cows in the field.

Ellen sighed, "Herd of cows, Amelia."

"Of course I've heard of cows, there's a flock of them right there."

Janice and Peter both belted out in laughter. Even Ellen smiled a bit, but Molly didn't even blink. She kept her eyes on the passing Irish countryside. I gazed at her and my smile slowly fell.

All of us felt it. Her depression filled the van, giving us all a gloomy atmosphere. I knew I had to do something. She couldn't get over this, I knew she couldn't, but I could do something to make it bearable. I just had to figure out what.

"Didja hear the one about the French postman?" I asked.

Ellen frowned, "I think we've had enough jokes for today, Amelia."

"An hour is more than enough," Janice mumbled.

I sighed, "Sorry, just trying to make the trip a little easier."

Nobody replied. I kept glancing over at Molly. I wasn't sure if I was checking to see if she was smiling, or if I was checking to make sure she was still breathing. She simply stared out the window, her eyes focusing on nothing and her mind flying off to a world all her own.

"How much longer, Elly?" I moaned.

"Three hours," Ellen replied, "We'll be early if we keep going like this."

Janice glanced at me. I caught her eye and lifted an eyebrow. She nodded ever so slightly, telling me all I needed to know. When you spend as much time with someone as the three of us did, you develop a sort of telepathic link. You can talk to each other through just facial expressions. Janice often used that to avoid talking, especially when she wanted to ask something.

"But I'm hungry. Can we stop for a bite?" I asked.

Ellen sighed deeply, "Can you wait until we get there?"

"No," I replied, "I'm so hungry I could eat the entire flock of cows."

Janice mumbled, "I am too."

Ellen, like the rest of us, had grown accustomed to Janice's quiet musings. For what seemed like the thousandth time that hour, she sighed, "Fine. There's a diner up ahead, we'll stop there."

She pulled off of the dirt road. The diner was a large building with a green roof. The sign was sunbleached to the point where I couldn't read it. What caught my eye first was the large plaster cow standing in the middle of the parking lot.

"Look at that beauty," I whistled as we all climbed out of the car, "Hey, Jan, take a picture of me, will ya?"

I shoved the camera into her arms and hurried to the cow. Before Ellen could say otherwise, I launched onto it's back. It was slick, and I nearly slid off, but I managed to remain steady. Janice snapped a picture when I threw my arms up.

She handed the camera back to me whenever I slid off. Ellen was standing nearby, giving me a stern look, "Amelia, stop acting like a child."

"Last I checked, I am a child," I argued.

Janice smirked, "You're twenty-one."

"Ah, but it's all in the mind, you know. I am eight up here."

I tapped my temple for emphasis. Janice giggled as Ellen rubbed her temples, "I'm aging quicker than I should."

"Aw, come on, Elly, you don't look a day over forty," I grinned.

She frowned, "I'm thirty-seven."

"Oh. Er-"

Peter, for once, swooped in to save the day, "Um, Ellen, she's not getting out of the car."

He glanced over at Molly. She hadn't moved. For the first time, I noticed her eyes were shut. Ellen glanced at her and sighed, "She's not herself, Peter, I think we can excuse her."

"I'll get her, you three go on ahead," I flashed them a winning grin before going to the car.

Molly was still leaning against the door, so I opened the other one. I slid in to sit next to her, just as I had been for the last two hours. She didn't even flinch whenever I placed my hand on her back.

"By golly, Miss Molly, won't you come out to play?" I asked.

For the first time that day, she moved. She turned her head to glance at me. The Molly I knew had long been buried underneath exhaustion and tears. Her face was forever rosy with dark blue bags under her eyes.

"I don't feel like it," she sighed, "I'm tired."

I smiled, "A bit of food will clear that right up."

"I don't want to eat."

She had skipped dinner the night before and breakfast that morning. All I could coax her into was a glass of orange juice, and she left that half-finished. I took a page out of Ellen's book and released a deep sigh.

"I know you're going through a lot, Molly, I understand," I said, "But you can't stop eating. You've got to eat, you've got to sleep."

She wouldn't meet my eyes, "I don't have the energy."

"You would if you ate and slept," I placed my hand on her shoulder, "Molly, if you keep going like this, well, it won't end well. Your Da wouldn't want you to do this to yourself. You've got to keep going, no matter how much it hurts. Please."

It started out as an inspirational speech but ended up as a plead. I was practically begging her to listen. She was worrying me more every day, and I refused to watch her go down this path. If I had to physically drag her back, I would.

"Maybe you're right," she sighed, "It's just- I don't want too. All I want to do is lie down and cry, but I know I can't do that."

"You can't because you're too strong to let the grief win. You're stronger than your demons, Molly, I know you are. If you won't do it for yourself, will you do it for me? For your Da?" I asked.

For a moment, Molly wouldn't look at me. She kept her gaze locked on the floor. Just when I thought I would have to try something else, she took a deep breath and looked me in the eye, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For weighing you down," she replied, "I should have just quit. Let you find a replacement. I'm not sure if I can do this."

I scooted closer to her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She gratefully leaned into the embrace. I held her tightly and said, "You can and you will. It seems bad now, but it won't be that way for ever. Keep your eyes on the future and know it is brighter than you can ever imagine. Tomorrow is a new day, a happier day. The memories of your Dad will always be with you, they'll give you happiness in times of darkness, they'll be the light in your dark, not the other way around. You'll get through this just like we've gotten through everything else; with a beat and a stage."

She squeezed my middle, "I know."

"Will you come eat?" I hesitantly asked.

She nodded. I took her hand and pulled her out of the car. She walked alongside of me, our hands never breaking contact, all the way into the diner. We found Ellen, Janice, and Peter sitting at a table with two empty seats. I let Molly sit down first.

"Good to see you up, Molly," Ellen smiled at her.

Molly smiled back, "Thanks."

She opened her menu and began to gaze over the items. I propped mine up at the table to get a better look at it. Molly eventually copied me, until our menus formed a wall between us and the rest of the group. Behind that wall, she leaned in towards me and whispered, "Thank you."

"For what?" I asked.

"For always being there," she smiled, "I honestly don't think I'd make it through this without you."

I returned the smile, "I'll always be here, Mols."

"And that, my dear Amelia, is what makes you so special."

She smiled the first genuine smile I'd seen in the past week. I was blindsided, unable to do anything but sit and gape at her. She returned to looking at the menu. For a moment, the old Molly was back to prove once and for all that friendship can conquer anything.

Especially when that friendship had a bit more to it than anyone would think.

***

"Where the bloody fuck are my shoes?" I asked.

I searched through a chest containing all of our show clothes. Molly was nearby, applying her makeup in one of the dressing room mirrors. Janice was tying her boots as well. Ellen, being the helpful manager she was, helped me search.

"Did you look in the car?" Janice asked.

I glared at her, "No, Jan, I am an idiot who didn't think to look in the car we've been in for the past day. Ellen checked it."

"Peter's checking again," Ellen added.

Janice blushed and continued to tie her shoes. I groaned, leaning back on my heels and staring at the ceiling, "Is this punishment for that time I threw Mikey's shoes in the lake?"

"Of course not, they have to be around here somewhere," Ellen looked nervous, "We'll find them."

"With ten minutes left, I doubt it."

Ellen and I separated to look in different corners of the dressing room. All of our stuff was in there, except for the instruments, which waited for us on stage. We only had ten minutes left until it was time for Revolution to open, and I was shuffling around in socks that didn't even match.

I opened my backpack and began to shuffle through it. Books, notepads, spare papers, pencils, photographs, film, and a few loose socks fell onto the floor. Molly watched me, I could feel her eyes on my back. Had she been in her normal state of mind, perhaps she would have told me exactly where they were. She always had a knack for finding things.

"Alright, there's no time, you're needed on the stage," Ellen clasped her hands, a look of worry tightening her face, "Can you play barefoot?"

I frowned, "Yeah, I s'pose, I used to kick my shoes off at The Cavern all the time. Won't the crowd question it?"

"They're not looking at your feet."

"I dunno, there's a few weirdos out there."

Janice snorted. Ellen shook her head, "Ignore them. Shoes or no shoes, you three will do just as wonderful as you always do."

"Thanks, Elly, always the confidence booster," I winked at her.

"Come on, girls, it's time for the show."

She led us out towards the stage. It was a large theater in the middle of Ireland. The very first show of the world tour started in the country near our own. Once again, we had yet to leave Europe, but that was all soon to change. This concert marked the beginning of the first time The Beatles and their friends took the world by storm.

The curtain was still down as we all rushed to our instruments. My drum set was ready and waiting, with Revolution's logo painted on the front in rainbow letters. I sat down at the stool, feeling like I was returning home once again.

Molly picked up her guitar, plucking a chord with a small smile on her face. Music had a way to heal any sort of wounds. It transcended boundaries to give everybody the same uplifting feeling. Music was the key to the soul, it was the only thing that could get us through times of trouble.

"Ready girls?" I asked.

Molly nodded as Janice smiled, "Ready as ever."

"Let's bleeding do it, then."

The curtain began to rise. Instantly, we were all in stage position. We started off with a few numbers from our new album, due to be released tomorrow. The crowd loved it. They were waiting for The Beatles, yes, but they enjoyed the entire show. Including the act nobody had come to see. The act that would, one day, make its mark on future generations as well as the history itself.


	85. Oh! Darling

Years later, I don't remember how it felt to lie in my childhood bed. I can't tell you the feel of my first dog's fur. I can tell you what it was like to hug my mother or roll in the mud with my brothers. I can tell you what it felt like to fall down the school stairs and into Molly Mackenzie's life. I can't tell you how it smelled, how it tasted, or even how it looked, but I can tell you exactly what it felt like.

I can perfectly describe the feeling of playing on stage. The coarse jacket that brushed against my cheek every time I hugged my brother. The guitar strings tearing at my skin during a show at The Cavern or watching The Quarrymen for the first time back in 1957. I can tell you exactly how my heart dropped and my head began to spin when I looked at Molly for what seemed like the millionth time.

I remember strongly every moment that meant the world to me. From the first time I heard Michael laugh to the exact moment I realized what Molly Mackenzie meant to me. These memories, these feelings, are what I hold on to. Not how it smelled, not how it tasted, not even how it looked as we spun around the dance floor. None of those matters; what matters is the tingles that ran down my spine or the feeling that the world had come to a stop whenever she looked at me.

One of my biggest, brightest, greatest, and most terrifying memories happened in Germany, during the world tour. I remember sitting in the hotel room. The wind was lashing outside, it seemed like the beginnings of a hurricane. Lights swayed on the ceilings, and the couch beneath me trembled. I was sure the lights would go out, given time.

"So much for a show," Molly commented.

I glanced up at her. She stood at the window, gazing out of it, watching the wind whip the trees. It was just the two of us. Janice had gone to talk to Ellen and Peter, but mostly Peter. Molly and I were alone for the first time since we left London.

"I'm good for a night off," I replied.

Molly rolled her eyes, "We don't get paid for nights off."

"There's still loads of tour dates, Mols, we'll get paid plenty."

Molly didn't reply. We both knew this was more than money, this was more than a job. It was a passion, a movement, a feeling spread over thousands of people. Money was just a bonus.

"Wonder if we can get food," I said.

Molly shrugged, "I'm sure the kitchen has something. We could order room service."

"Yeah, how about-"

I was interrupted by a sudden clap of thunder. Lightning struck just outside our window, and the lights blinked out. Darkness washed over us. The only light came from occasional lightning strikes through the wooden blinds.

"Well, so much for that," I stated, going to stand by Molly.

She sighed deeply, "The lift won't work now."

"And I can't ask them to bring food up sixteen flights of stairs, in the dark."

"Guess we'll just starve."

I laughed. The room was getting colder without the heat, but I didn't notice. Molly and I were so close, I could feel the heat radiating off her body. It penetrated my skin, sending waves of warmth down my bones.

We both looked out the window and used our fingers to push the blinds apart. We were so close, I could have wrapped my arm around her shoulders. I had to resist the urge to do so.

Another clap of thunder came, followed by another lightning strike. The entire hotel shook with its force. Molly yelped and, before she realized what she was doing, latched onto me.

She buried her face in my chest and wrapped her arms around my middle. For a moment, I was shocked. I hugged back as another clap of thunder shook the building.

We stood there. Time passed, the storm roared on, but we just stood there. The two of us latched together next to a window that could shatter at any moment, bracing ourselves against the storm raging outside. We were each other's shields, we always had been. In times of trouble, we would turn to each other, and everything would be alright. No storm was too strong, no person too evil, and no situation too harmful for us, so long as we were together. With Molly in my arms, I felt like everything was going to be alright. No amount of dangerous weather could harm us.

"I-I'm sorry. Like a child, I am," Molly apologized, pulling her face away from my chest.

She didn't remove her arms. I kept mine tightly wrapped around her shoulders. With the advantage of an inch, I looked down at her and smiled, "It's only natural to be afraid. Storms are dangerous."

"Yeah, I guess," she replied, "It's not like it can get us in here."

"Unless the window breaks."

"Melly!"

I laughed, "Sorry."

Another thunderclap shook us. I could have sworn the thunder was getting closer, but that couldn't be. At the moment, it didn't matter, I was too focused on the girl still wrapped in my arms. She stared at the window, her eyes wide and her muscles clenched. It didn't take a genius to see her fear. I reached up to push a strand of hair away from her eyes.

"By golly, Miss Molly, there's nothing to be afraid of," I smiled.

She glanced up at me. For a moment, our eyes connected. With a storm raging outside, in a time where everything was harsh, a tender moment bloomed. A moment that felt like a summer day on the beach, or curling up beneath a warm blanket in the light of a fire with someone you love more than anything else. I felt like how an impressionist painting looked. My insides bubbled, my world turned to pastels, and every human woe vanished from memory. In that moment, that tender moment, I felt the one feeling every human being longs for; to love and to be loved. I felt safe and I felt loved, and there is no better combination.

Molly gazed at me. With her sparkling blue eyes, she gazed into my dull brown ones. Makeup from yesterday's show was smeared on her cheeks, she didn't bother washing it the night before. Her hair was pinned back in a bun that could fall at any moment, but she didn't care.

"Melly dear, you don't know how much you mean to me," Molly breathed.

She reached up and gently grabbed the back of my head, pulling it down to meet hers. Our lips met and the world stopped. Time stood still as I stared down at Molly's closed eyes.

Molly Mackenzie was kissing me.

I was kissing Molly Mackenzie.

I was kissing my best friend, my best female friend!

I was breaking the law, and I loved every second of it.

Every fear washed away. Every dumb law, every stigma, every rule ever written vanished in that moment. All I could think of was how amazing it felt to have Molly's lips against mine. Without hesitation, I kissed back, savoring the taste of her cherry lip balm.

Her lips were chapped, even the balm couldn't help that. Singing for hours on end, day after day takes a toll on the entire body, especially the lips. They were dry and cracking, but soft. There was a complexity to them that I can't describe. They were soft yet sturdy, delicate yet aggressive, simple yet so complex they sent me spiraling into a feeling I had never felt before.

My entire body was electrified. Courses of warm electricity ran down my skin. Every drop of blood turned to helium, I would float off if it weren't for Molly anchoring me to the ground. I was off in another world where only the two of us existed.

When Molly pulled away, she left me wanting more. I didn't want her to pull away, I wanted that moment to last just as long as we would. Most of all, I didn't want to go back to a world where I would once again have to deny having fallen head over heels in love with Molly Mackenzie.

"Amelia," Molly breathed, her warm breath blowing against my face.

"Molly."

The lights flicked on. Our moment was gone, replaced with complete terror. The two of us stared at each other. Two girls who had known each other for years stared at each other, knowing they could have just doomed the one they loved most. The protection of darkness had fallen victim to the accusations of the light.

"Amelia!" Molly exclaimed.

"Molly!"

We quickly pushed away from each other. I stumbled against the wall as Molly fell on the bed. The bliss I had felt just moments before washed away. In its place, I was left with sheer terror.

For a moment, neither of us could speak. We both knew the laws, and we both knew the consequences. If this were discovered we would be arrested, tortured, or even killed. The danger we had just put ourselves in was so terrifying, I couldn't even comprehend it.

"Molly," I breathed, unsure what else to say.

She stared at me with terrified eyes, "What have we done?"

That sentence, those four words, hurt worse than any form of torture. She put it in perspective with her voice breaking as she said the sentence that would haunt me for years to come. The answer was simple; we did what we both knew was right, but what society thought was wrong. We put ourselves in danger all for the sake of a feeling that wouldn't go away.

"I-I-I don't know," I replied, "I don't know."

There was nothing we could do. The walls were closing in on me, hugging me like they wanted to choke the life out of me. I felt my breathing speed up as I spun on my heel and left. I slammed the door behind me and ran down the hall. There was nowhere for me to go, but I knew I had to get away from there.

I found myself sitting in the middle of the staircase. The smell of cleaning supplies reached my nose, but I ignored it. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in my arms. I shook myself as if shaking off every feeling I could no longer deny.

"What have I done?" I whispered.

I lived my dreams. I kissed the only person I have ever loved, and I put her in danger. By doing exactly what I had longed to do for so long, I had endangered the girl who meant more to me than the entire world.

It was wrong, and yet, so right. Molly knew I loved her, and, now, I know she loves me. How can love be wrong? It doesn't matter what tubes or pipes you have, love should be love. It shouldn't be dangerous, and it sure as hell shouldn't be illegal.

It was, and there was nothing I could do about it. By kissing Molly, I had put us both in danger, and there was nothing I could do. We could have just ruined our lives and our careers all because of the blindness of a moment.

I couldn't go back. Molly was in that room, and I wasn't sure how to face her. Deep down, I wanted to run up and kiss her again, but that would only make matters worse. I had to stay away.

Had we been at home, that would've been easy. I would have packed a small bag and gone to stay with Paul a few nights, but we weren't at home. We were in a foreign country with more on the way, we wouldn't be home for a long time. I had to spend every waking moment with Molly, and even every sleeping moment. The only way for me to get away was to have my own room or to go stay with someone else.

Shakily, I stood. My knees threatened to give out at any moment. All I wanted was to go to sleep and wake up with a clear head to help me figure this out. I needed to know the next step, but I couldn't think clearly.

I shuffled down the hall to Paul and John's room. Paul would help, I knew he would. I couldn't tell him what had just happened. I wasn't sure how he would react, I wasn't even sure how I should be reacting. It had to be kept a secret, our lives depended on it.

I was knocking before I even realized it. Mentally, I prayed Paul would answer. I chanted a mantra, praying for my brother to be the first to see me. The heavens were against me that day, for John opened the door.

"Melly, scared of a wee bit of thunder?" John teased.

I shook my head, "No, John, I'm not a child. Where's Paul?"

"Aw, the poor little girl, looking for her big brother because she's scared of some thunder."

"John, for fuck's sake, where is Paul?" I demanded.

John seemed taken aback at my sudden outburst. I was in no mood for his jokes. Paul appeared behind him. As soon as he saw me, he knew something was wrong, "Lia? Everything alright?"

"No, can I stay here for the night?" I asked.

Paul pushed past John to look me head-on, "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Molly and I got into an argument," I lied, "She kicked me out."

John peered over Paul's shoulder, "Why? Use her makeup without asking?"

"John, sod off!" Paul exclaimed, "Course you can stay here, Lia."

He stepped aside and let me in. Their room was much bigger than ours, but that was to be expected. Their bedroom was sectioned off, away from the living room and kitchen area. The door was cracked open to show papers and guitars sitting on the bed.

"Mind if I ask what you were arguing about?" Paul asked.

I shook my head, "Band stuff. We couldn't come to an agreement."

"That doesn't sound like you."

I glanced up at him. The look in my eyes told him all he needed to know. He smiled his usual comforting smile, "Well, you can stay with us until you two makeup."

"Thanks, Paulie."

John grinned, "Just don't go messin' with my stuff."

I glared at him. Paul took the hint and cleared his throat, "Well, it's getting quite late, let's go to bed, shall we, John?"

"But-"

"Bed."

He forcefully pushed his best mate into the bedroom. Paul turned, giving me one last reassuring glance, "Goodnight, Lia."

"Goodnight, Paul."

When he shut the door, I fell onto the couch. I could hear him and John talking, ending with a loud shushing. The lights flicked off, and the room was left in darkness. I was left with my thoughts and the rain hitting the window near my head.


	86. You've Got To Hide Your Love Away

The hardest thing in the world is loving someone you can't love, but spend every day with. Seeing someone you want right in front of you, but out of reach was a torture one can only imagine. I knew this pain, and I have known for a year, but it was nothing compared to after that night. After the night I called 'Hidden Night', I could barely look at Molly and she could barely look at me. We spent the shows avoiding each other. It got to the point where I used the bathroom as a dressing room. Everybody thought Molly and I had just gotten into a severe argument, but it was quite the opposite. I didn't avoid her because I hated her, I avoided her because I loved her.

Our shows and our tour were suffering because of it. Molly and I were the core of Revolution. As much as Janice was a part of it, we wouldn't be a band without her, Molly and I were the two legs the band had to stand on. With us not looking at each other, let alone speaking with each other, the band suffered. We couldn't get things done without Janice being the mediator. I couldn't even manage to be in the same room as Molly for more than a minute. The guilt was too much, compiled with the pain of loving, it was all too much.

"Perk up, Melly, you're gettin' us all down," John flopped onto the couch next to me.

I glanced over the top of my book at him, "I'm fine, John."

"Obviously not. You haven't made a joke all day, it's unlike you."

"You missed at least six opportunities to make a cheeky comment," Paul added, "We even gave you some, and you missed them."

I shrugged, "Just not in the mood, I s'pose."

"That's a lie and you know it. I've seen you sick as sick can be, and you still didn't pass up a joke," Paul replied.

I frowned. Both lads gazed at me, waiting for my response. Either I would break and tell them everything, or I would storm out. To surprise us all, I didn't react, I simply went back to reading my book.

The words flowed through my head like a school lecture. I remembered none of it, even though I was enjoying the story. My head was filled with rushing thoughts that wouldn't shut up, even for a second.

"If you don't stop moping soon, I'm gonna slap the joy right into ya," John commented.

Both lads stared at me expectantly. I glanced at John before sighing, "Sorry."

"See!" John exclaimed, "That's exactly what I mean! You missed the perfect opportunity to hit me with a biting comeback or a sarcastic reply. The Amelia I know doesn't apologize."

"Guess I'm just off, is all," I replied.

I'd say I was a bit more than off. I was completely upside down, turned inside out to where no one could recognize me anymore.

"Alright, that's it," Paul leaped to his feet, "What you need is some fresh air and a distraction."

He rushed into the bedroom. I watched him. John glanced at me, a cheeky smile crossing his lips. He followed Paul moments later. They did their best to keep their conversation quiet, but neither lad could speak under a loud whisper.

"We escaping, Macca?" John asked.

"Lia and I are," Paul replied, "You stay here and cover for us if Eppy asks questions."

"What?! I'm sick of this joint, I'm comin' too."

"John, no, listen, something's wrong with Lia. She's got to talk to me."

"I can get her to talk."

I could hear Paul shake his head, "Trust me, John, we might have better luck if it were just Lia and me."

"I could-"

"John."

Paul's voice was stern. Once he made a decision, very few things could persuade him otherwise. John fell silent as Paul rustled through their suitcase. I could hear him throwing clothes onto the bed as he looked for the exact thing he needed. In the back of my mind, I tried to make up an excuse for why I can't go.

I didn't want to talk to anybody, I didn't want to do anything. All I wanted to do was sit there and roll in my own woes. As I said, once Paul had his mind set on something, it was impossible to persuade him otherwise.

"I knew these trenchcoats would get some use," Paul grinned.

He had one trenchcoat halfway on and the other in his hand. He quickly threw it to me, along with a pair of lensless glasses and a hat. He turned to a mirror to press on the returning fake beard while I gazed at the disguise in my lap.

"I don't want to go, Paul," I told him.

Paul smirked at me in the mirror, "You don't have a choice."

I stared at him for a moment before sighing deeply. This wouldn't be the first time he dragged me on an adventure against my will. I stood up and shrugged on the coat as well as the hat and glasses. When I tied the belt around my waist, Paul linked his arm in mine and grinned, "Let's go on an adventure, Lia."

"I still don't want to."

"You still don't have a choice."

He dragged me into the hall. Opening the door, he glanced around to make sure nobody was there. We rushed to the lift. We made it out of the hotel without any questions asked.

Night had long since fallen. Most of the German town was going to sleep. The night was clear, giving us a perfect view of hundreds of stars twinkling in the sky. Streetlamps provided a small amount of light upon the barren streets.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked.

Paul still wouldn't release my arm, "To get the healer of all wounds; liquor."

"I'm not opposed to that."

A small smile crept across my lips. If nothing else, I could get blackout drunk and forget the whole scenario for a few hours. Then again, getting drunk wasn't a good idea. I could say anything. Without a clear mind, I had no control over my actions, including the deep secrets I might confess.

"So, what's bothering you?" Paul asked.

The hotel had long since vanished from sight. It seemed as if Paul and I were the only two people in the entire city. We were as alone as we would ever be, and neither of us knew how long it could last. With one of us being in a famous band, privacy was a commodity we didn't often receive.

"I told you," I answered, "Molly and I got into an argument. She's pissed at me, you know."

Paul shook his head, "You can't lie to me, Lia, I know you too well. It's more than that. You and Molly would've made up by now if it were just an argument. Don't think I haven't noticed how you two won't even look at each other, something's up."

He tried to hold eye contact with me, but I refused, instead choosing to stare at the ground. He was right, of course, if this were any old argument Molly and I would have already made up. This was far worse than that. Perhaps the worst part being the fact that I couldn't tell Paul. He and I had never had any secrets with each other, we knew each other better than we knew ourselves. If I could tell anyone, it would be him, and I can't even do that.

"You know you can talk to me," Paul smiled softly, "Whatever it is, I won't judge, I'll help you work through this. Just like we always have, Lia."

I had grown up with his smile. He gave me confidence when I had none and a friend when I most needed one. He was always there for me, I don't know why I was questioning what he would do. I was terrified he would report me, or completely disown me, even though, deep down, I knew he wouldn't. Trust was a very rare thing indeed, there were very few people I trusted. Paul was at the top of that list.

"I know, I've always known that," I replied, "I just- I don't even know how to tell myself. I'm scared, Paul."

Those three words were enough to make him stop short. He glanced down at me, the worry growing across his face. I was sure my eyes told him everything he needed to know. He could see my fear, my pain, and my confusion. I couldn't get through this alone, that much was certain. I needed my brother's help.

He glanced around the street. There was an alley nearby where we could talk without anybody noticing. He pulled me there, stopping only when we were in the back, right next to the solid brick wall. There were no doors, no windows, and a large dumpster blocked us from the view of anyone passing on the street. We were as alone as we ever could be.

"Alright, we're alone, tell me," Paul released my arm and turned to face me head-on.

I caught his eye and fell silent. For a moment, all of my confidence wavered. I began to worry more about how he would react than how the rest of the world would. I could handle being an outcast, or even being sent to a hospital, but I couldn't handle losing Paul. I've already lost so much, I couldn't lose him too.

"Amelia, please," Paul gently gripped my shoulders, "You don't have to be afraid. Let me help."

Just like when we were kids, he gave me the confidence to go on, "I did something. Something really really bad."

His grip tightened slightly. It wasn't out of anger, it was fear. I could feel his fear as well as my own.

"What? What was it?" he practically demanded.

I ran my hands through my hair. Everything I had pent up came spilling out in the heat of the moment. Every feeling, every fear, everything I had bottled up poured out of me. Tears were beginning to form in the corners of my eyes as I spoke, "I'm gonna go to jail. I'm gonna be killed! Tortured! Maimed! I'm gonna-"

"Amelia, calm down and tell me what you did," Paul ordered.

I sucked in a deep breath, "I fell in love."

For a moment, he was silent. His grip loosened as he took a deep breath, "Lia, that's not bad, you're not going to get killed because of it."

"No, Paul, you don't understand," I replied, "The other night, when we were trapped by that big storm, I-we-I've been trying to hide it for so long, and then the power goes out and-well-"

"Amelia, for God's sake, spit it out!" Paul exclaimed.

"I kissed Molly. I kissed Molly, and she kissed me, and I am in love with her!"

For a moment, Paul didn't move. He stood there, staring at me, his mouth open and his eyes wide. I was anxious for a reply, but he stared at me, unable to form coherent words. When he finally did speak, I nearly screamed in exasperation.

"You're-you're queer?" he asked.

"I don't know! I guess!" I replied, "I never loved someone, I never liked anyone, until Molly. Christ, I'm in love with my best mate."

I ran my hand through my hair, resisting the urge to pace. Paul continued to stare at me. For a moment, he couldn't get over his shock. Looking back on it, I think he always knew, but he didn't know he knew. It was a subconscious thing he had accepted since we were children. When it was brought to the light, the shock was not so much that it existed, more so that he hadn't acknowledged it until now.

"Paul, please, say something," I asked, gazing at him hopefully.

He blinked rapidly, "Amelia, I- are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, how could I not be?!"

"Fucking hell," he muttered, "This is breaking the law, Amelia. You could get arrested! Throw in a psychiatric ward or something!"

I gripped my hair like I might pull it out, "You don't think I know that? I put Molly in danger, I put myself in danger, and I don't know what to do."

Paul began to pace. He passed me every so often, muttering under his breath. I kept my hands in my hair, waiting for his response. He kept pacing, and he kept ignoring me until finally, he spoke.

"We've got to keep this quiet," Paul replied, "Have you told anyone else?"

I shook my head, "Only the two of us and Molly know."

"Good. We've got to keep it that way. It's too dangerous to let anyone else know."

I nodded. Paul continued to pace for a moment. It seemed as if he were more scared than I was, and I was the one facing it. I should be the one pacing and breaking down, but I was the only one able to stay still.

"It's dangerous, but we'll figure it out," Paul finally stopped and looked at me, "It'll be alright, Lia."

I dropped my arms, "You're not going to push me away? Disown me or something?"

"No! Of course not! You're my sister, Lia, I'm gonna help you through this."

He reached forward and pulled me into an embrace. I gratefully fell into it, wrapping my arms around him and burying my face in his chest. Usually, that would make me feel better, but I only began to feel worse. Even then, with Paul right there with me, I was terrified.

"Paul, I'm scared," I whispered.

He squeezed me tighter, "I know, but it'll be alright. It'll be alright."

I couldn't tell if he was reassuring me or himself. Either way, I took it to heart. In the time of darkness, it made me feel good to know Paul wouldn't leave me. Even through the worst of the worst, he was there. That made me love him even more.


	87. How To Be A Failure 101

If anybody noticed Molly and I doing our best to stay apart, they didn't say anything. Molly stuck close to Janice while I was practically glued to Paul. Even on the flight to Australia, when I would usually be sitting with Molly and Janice laughing at jokes and playing games, I sat next to Paul. We were on the exact opposite side of the plane than the girls. Molly and I had our backs to each other as we had been doing every day since that fateful night. 

I sat next to Paul while George and Ringo sat across from us. John was napping nearby, and Brian and Ellen were in a deep conversation. Ringo had his nose in a book, and George was drawing pictures of guitars.

"What's wrong, Mel? You look sickly skin," Ringo asked.

Paul chuckled at his use of words but didn't say anything. I glanced up and met his eyes, "I'm just not feeling well. Planes and I don't like each other."

"Unless she's angry," George stated, glancing up at me and smirking.

I sneered at him. Ringo looked like he wanted to ask, but he simply shook his head. Paul side-eyed me. I gave him a small smile, reassuring him that I was alright, even though I was far from it.

There were three of me shoved inside of my head. One told me to be afraid of what I felt, that I was going to get myself and Molly killed. Another yelled, telling me I should be ashamed. What I was doing was wrong, at least, according to society.

The third told me that love couldn't be wrong. If I really and truly loved Molly, who cares what society thinks? My job was going against society, why should my love be any different? I shouldn't be ashamed, and I sure as hell shouldn't be afraid. This world is filled with terrible things, it could do with a bit more love. Love should be the last thing this world rules against.

I tried to listen, but the fear was too much. The laws were very clear and very dangerous. I couldn't let Molly get hurt, no matter how much I hated it. This band might fall apart, the entire dream might crumble to dust, but we would be safe.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts as we descended on Sydney, Australia," the pilot's voice spoke over the intercom.

Paul groaned, "Finally! I can't feel my bum."

"There are things I don't want to know," I muttered.

Paul grinned at me. We all buckled our seatbelts and the plane began to go down. My ears popped twice as it did. I held onto the seat and squeezed my eyes shut. Riding in a plane was fine until we hit any turbulence or when we had to descend.

We landed without a problem. When I could feel the wheels hit the ground, I released a sigh of relief. Once again, we had made it through the flight without dying. I felt like I had won some big race. Brian said I would eventually get used to riding in planes, but I didn't believe him. After eight different flights in my lifetime, I had yet to get used to it. If anything, I hated them more. 

The door to the plane opened and we were met with millions of screaming girls. Two black cars waited at the bottom, both with three rows of seats. Molly, Janice, Ellen, and Peter all disembarked first. Janice shot a glance at me, silently asking me to come, but I avoided her gaze. I watched as they all left and hurried into the black car.

The Beatles were next, closely followed by me. I tried to make myself small like I was a cardboard cutout of myself. Nothing to feel, nothing to think, all I had to do was stand there and look pretty. I was trembling in the breeze like I was filled with air, and my skin was the only thing keeping me from vanishing into the sky.

That's what I felt like. I was a rebel without a cause, a singer without a voice, a candle without a flame. I was a human without love and a guilt that weighed more than all of England. Once, I had felt many things. I felt emotions stronger than the normal person. Those who know me would often say I was more emotion than thought, and I went through life with an emotion so strong it could overwhelm the average man. That strength knew no bounds, especially when it came to love. I loved, and I loved strongly, but I wasn't allowed. To feel and be denied your own feelings was worse than dying. I was deflated, destroyed, obstructed. I'm not half the man I used to be.

Paul, John, George, and Ringo all stepped out of the plane. They waved at their fans, whose screaming only became louder. I stepped up behind Brian. He was acting as my shield, though he didn't know it. I hid behind him just like I hid from the world.

"Bloody fuck, it's hot," John muttered.

George frowned, "I feel like I'm melting."

"We'll be puddles by the time we get to the car," Ringo commented.

"Come now, it's not that bad," Brian replied, "The breeze is nice."

Paul frowned, "I'm sweating."

"You smell like shit," John commented.

"Wanker."

They descended the stairs and slipped into their car. I slid into the very back seat of Revolution's car. Molly and Janice took the middle with Ellen in the front. Peter was right next to me. He gave me the side-eye but decided not to say anything. For that, I was grateful. I didn't want to talk to anyone.

Molly was directly in front of me. I glanced up at the blonde hair I had known for years, the hair that smelled of strawberries and bananas. I could remember feeling the soft texture of her hair as I ran my fingers through it. I remembered her resting her head on my shoulder, her warmth pushing through my shirt and her hair falling over my chest. I remember the feel of her lips against mine. Those were moments I cherished, and now, they would never come again.

Janice kept sparing me a few glances. She was confused, her eyes were a mask of total confusion. Every so often, she and Peter would exchange the same questioning glances. Neither could even guess what had happened. As far as they knew, Molly and I had only argued, but I think Janice suspected otherwise. She lived with us, she had seen our arguments, we always made up an hour or so later. Never have we refused to even look at each other for a week straight.

We made it to the hotel to find more screaming fans. Police officers were waiting to get The Beatles into the hotel. I watched as they all climbed out of the car and rushed into the hotel. All I could see were the top of Police hats and four mop-top heads running through the crowd. The girls were screaming loud enough to shatter glass and liquify brains.

"Alright, girls, be careful," Ellen glanced at us with motherly eyes, "Stay close to the police. Go straight in and up to your room."

Janice, Molly, and I all nodded. In a rush, we opened the door and practically ran into the arms of the waiting policemen. The girls screamed, but not as loud as they did for The Beatles. Several reached towards us, clawing to touch those close to their idols. One girl managed to grab my hair, but I jerked away from her.

The police formed a circle around us. Molly, Janice, and I were shoved close together. All of us shuffled through the crowd of screaming teenagers until we were finally in the hotel. From there, we were rushed up to the top floor and shoved into our rooms.

Molly, Janice, and I were shoved into the room we shared. As soon as the door shut, I glanced at them. Molly was sitting on the bed, her arms crossed over her stomach and her hair covering her face. Janice simply stared at me, "Amelia-"

"I'm gonna go talk to Paul," I replied, "See ya."

Janice sighed as I left. She didn't deserve this, none of us did. She was a witness and she didn't even know what was happening. The whole thing was unfair, even to Janice. I wished more than anything that it had never happened.

Some say that memories overpower grief. It's better to have lived the beautiful moments than to have avoided them to avoid heartache. The moment with Molly was one of my greatest memories, even to this day, but, at the time, it didn't seem like it was worth the heartache.

Paul was waiting on the couch of his and John's room whenever I arrived. John was nowhere in sight, but that didn't mean much. I fell into the armchair and folded in on myself as if I were trying to vanish completely.

"You're not going to be able to avoid her forever," Paul commented.

"I know," I sighed, "I don't know what else to do. It hurts to be around her."

"Does it hurt or do you feel guilty?"

"I don't know."

Paul stood and moved to sit on the arm of the chair. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he sighed deeply, "Don't worry, Lia, we'll get through this."

"How? I'm breaking the law, I'm putting myself and Molly in danger. Christ, I can't even look at her anymore," I dug my palms into my eyes.

"Forget the laws," Paul replied, "The people who wrote them are gits, I tell you. Love shouldn't be illegal, no matter who it is."

"But it is."

Paul furrowed his eyebrows, "Do you remember that story Mum used to tell us?"

"Which one?"

"The one of the prince and the peasant."

I nodded, "Yeah. The Prince fell in love with a peasant girl, even though he was only allowed to love other princesses. He went against his father and married the girl even though it was against the law."

"Exactly! And they lived happily ever after," Paul explained, "See, Lia, love is a story. It's an adventure. No laws or danger or even kings can keep love apart. Sometimes, you just need to fight for it."

I glanced up at him. For a moment, I was taken aback. That didn't seem like something Paul would usually say. He was a poet, yes, but that was something different.

"Did you make that up?" I asked.

Paul smirked, "Nah, read it in a book."

"Course you did," I smiled slightly, "Thanks, Paulie."

"What are big brothers for?"

We sat there for a moment, the silence coating the entire room. I mulled over what Paul said. He was right, of course, and I knew it. I couldn't get over the guilt, or, more precisely, the fear I felt. I was guilty, I was longing, I was a great many things but, mostly, I was terrified. I was scared for myself and Molly. If it were just me, I would get through this with fists flying, but I couldn't put Molly in that kind of danger.

"I'm scared," I muttered, "I put Molly in danger."

Paul slid off the arm and moved to kneel in front of me. He grabbed my hands and made me look directly in his eyes, "Amelia, I want you to be safe, but I also want you to be happy. You've entered a war the moment you kissed Molly, and I know you can win it. If anyone can win it, you can, mostly because you're a stubborn arse but also because you're not afraid to hit first and think later. I've seen you fight, they've got no chance."

I smiled. Without replying, I reached forward and pulled him into an embrace. He hugged back.

"You're the greatest brother a girl could ask for," I muttered, "You're a tosser, but in a good way."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Paul replied.

We pulled apart, both of us laughing. For a moment, things didn't seem so bad. Paul had put a seed in my mind, one that would blossom into a thought stronger than the fear I held inside.

The Revolution fought many fights. That night in Germany, our revolution became something bigger. It expanded past gender inequality and began to include things I had never thought of before. As I experienced more, learned more, and loved more, I began to see the lines between right and wrong. I saw the mistakes of the world, and, as scary as they were, someone had to bring attention to them. Someone had to fight.

Who better than a stubborn arse like myself?


	88. Dr. Janice and Mr. Hallieford

It took a while for me to fully get over the fear and get into the anger. Fight or flight is a very real and very serious human trait. Usually, the first instinct people have is to run. The fear wins over any other emotion, and people are sent running. Later, as the shock wears off, they are shoved into the fight response. I was no different. It took several days for the flight to fade and the fight to arise.

In the meantime, I stayed with John and Paul. John was getting visibly annoyed, but shut up every time Paul glared at him. A few nights I crashed at George and Ringo's, but I always ended up going back to Paul. He managed to keep me sane when I felt like going insane. He was the only other one I could talk to.

"Dealer takes one," George muttered.

He took one of the top cards from the deck. All of us had a fan of brightly colored cards in front of our faces. Ringo tapped a beat on the back of his, accompanied by my humming. Every so often, George would whistle, so we would have our own subconscious symphony.

"I'll lose a card," I dropped one of mine onto the pile.

George and Ringo both groaned before dropping cards as well. Ringo was about to take his turn when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Ringo exclaimed.

Ellen opened the door. She glanced at each of us individually with a smile and a nod. When her eyes met mine, she said, "I thought I'd find you here."

"Was this the first place you looked?" I asked.

"Yes, actually."

"Elly, such a smart one."

I tapped my head, causing her to laugh. She shook her head before saying, "Come on, you need to change."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"You're in your jammies," George replied.

"So are you."

George shrugged. Ringo laughed heartily, just like he always did. His laugh was different from any I had ever heard. It had the ability to make even the saddest moment seem happy. I swear, I wouldn't have made it through everything I did without that laugh. He seemed to make things better with only a simple giggle.

"You've got to get your show clothes on," Ellen stated, "You have an interview, remember?"

I lifted an eyebrow, "A what?"

"An interview."

"Me?"

"Well, Revolution."

"Are you sure?" I asked, "I mean, they're usually the ones who get interviewed, not us."

I jerked my thumb at George and Ringo. They didn't react, choosing to stare at Ellen and wait for a response. Ellen pinched the bridge of her nose, "I need to get you a schedule or a planner. Yes, Amelia, Revolution has an interview in the ballroom of this hotel in half an hour. I told you after the show yesterday."

"You can't hear nothin' after a show," Ringo commented.

George nodded, "Yeah, all the screams and stuff really make ya deaf."

"That doesn't matter," Ellen shook her head, "You need to get dressed, Amelia, come along."

I placed my cards on the table and sighed, "Guess I'm forfeiting."

"Ha, I win," George placed his cards on the table.

"No, I win," Ringo replied.

"I've got more points."

"I do!"

I left the two boys to argue. Ellen led me to the hotel room I was supposed to be sharing with Molly and Janice. She took short, abrupt steps. Whenever Ellen got stressed, she got frazzled. Her movements became more abrupt and her eyes seemed permanently bloodshot. She got split ends overnight and often wore the same clothes two days in a row. While Ellen was prone to stress, she managed to function at full capacity despite her stress.

"Is everything alright, Amelia?" Ellen asked.

"Course. What makes you ask that?"

"You and Molly are acting quite cold to each other," Ellen replied, "It's unlike you."

I shrugged, "Got into a pretty bad argument, is all."

"It seems a bit worse than that."

"We got into a fight, that's all!" I snapped, "Why is everyone so nosy, bloody hell."

I crossed my arms and stomped into the room, leaving a bewildered Ellen to stand in the hall. The hotel room was empty, allowing me to breathe as I changed. The last thing I wanted was to change in front of Molly or even be in the same room as her. There was a battle going on inside of my body. As much as I wanted to be near her, I wanted to get away. I just couldn't win.

When I was ready, I met Ellen back in the hall. She seemed a little put off by my outburst, but she didn't acknowledge it.

"Molly and Janice are already in the ballroom," Ellen shut the lift doors, "The interviewer should be here in about ten minutes."

I glanced at the watch Molly gave me for my birthday, "Is it for a newspaper? A magazine? Something on the telly?"

"An American magazine. It is very famous."

"No pressure there," I muttered.

Ellen smiled, "It will be wonderful, Amelia. This will be the perfect exposure for Revolution outside of The Beatles."

"Ah, then it's worth it."

We arrived on the bottom floor. Fans still lined the sidewalks outside, trying to get in and get to their idols. A few girls saw me through the window and started to scream. I sighed, fully knowing they were screaming because of my relation to The Beatles and not for my music. Nevertheless, I waved.

The ballroom was large and filled with tables. Each table was covered with a white cloth and had two candles flickering in the middle. Molly and Janice were waiting at one, both sipping teas. Ellen and I approached them quietly.

Whenever Molly saw me, she began to blush and quickly hid it with a cough. I frowned and sat next to Janice. She glanced between the two of us, her gaze turning from confusion to annoyance. I had never seen Janice get annoyed before then.

"Alright, you three, be on your best behavior," Ellen clasped her hands and smiled, "Be nice and be civil. No cursing and no rude comments."

I placed a hand over my heart, "Us? Rude? Never."

"Remember, best behavior," Ellen chided.

"I'm always on my best behavior."

Ellen simply stared at me. I rolled my eyes and sighed, "Fine, alright, I'll be a model citizen."

"I expect no less. I am positive you girls will do splendidly."

Janice nodded vigorously as I sighed. My skin was tingling, telling me to run away. I could make the excuse that I was sick or that the lads needed something, anything to get me away from that moment. I was so close to Molly, and yet, she seemed miles away. All I wanted was to reach over an embrace her, but I kept my arms to myself.

A man walked up to our table. He was old, nearing his sixties, but he had a smile filled with youth. A tan hat covered his gray hair and a full body suit made him look like a businessman instead of a reporter. He walked up and shook Ellen's hand, "Ellen Marie, I suppose? We talked on the phone."

"Clyde Horter, yes, I remember," Ellen smiled, "Pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"The pleasure is all mine. Is this the band?"

He gestured to us. Ellen nodded, "Yes. Mister Horter, meet Amelia McCartney, Janice Hallieford, and Molly Mackenzie. Revolution."

Clyde Horter shook each of our hands individually. His hands were wet, which concerned me slightly. I tried to hide the fact that I wiped my hands on my pants.

"Wonderful. Let's get the ball rolling, eh?" he winked.

His thick Southern accent was unappealing to me. It was difficult to understand, especially when some words were more accented than others. He sat across from us and pulled out a notepad as well as a tape recorder. Ellen left as he set his things up.

"Yes, well, lovely to meet you, ladies," he smiled, "Tell me, who plays what?"

I crossed my arms and leaned back, "We all play a bit of everything, really. Mainly, I'm the drummer and they're the guitarists and lead singers."

"I'm the lead guitar and Molly's the bassist," Janice muttered.

"Wonderful, wonderful. What about the music? Who writes the songs?"

"Again, all of us," I replied, "We're a band, we work together, through it all."

He nodded and wrote a few things down. So far, the questions were alright, but I knew what was coming. Either he would begin the sexist questions or he would ask about The Beatles and completely forget about Revolution.

"Your last album was predominantly love songs. Is there a special man in your lives?" Clyde asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

There it is.

"No, Clyde, there isn't," my voice became cynical, "Love songs dominate the industry, they don't have to be to or from anyone. It's just noise, really."

"Oh, yes, well, I suppose."

He scratched more words on his paper. I released a deep breath, causing Janice to glance at me. Silently, she reminded me to be civilized and fighting the reporter was anything but.

"You are the openers for The Beatles," Clyde confirmed, "Are you close to them?"

I sighed deeply. Janice cleared her throat and, surprisingly, took the question, "Of course we are. All of us are very close friends."

"Have any of you been romantically involved with The Beatles?"

Janice turned bright red and lost all abilities to speak. I nearly choked on air, hacking, and coughing even though nothing was in my throat. Molly, who had been silent this entire time, looked like she was going to run out.

"No! No! Never!" I exclaimed, "First of all, one of them is my brother, and the other three might as well be. The mere thought makes me want to throw up."

Clyde knitted his eyebrows, "I'm sorry I asked."

I was about to say something, but Janice elbowed me. She looked like she was going to faint, but she held her ground. With Molly and I on edge with each other, she was left to be the speaker for the group. She had to stand up for us when we were too busy with ourselves, though I got a good comment in here and there.

"What's it like playing with The Beatles?" Clyde asked.

Janice shrugged, "It's nice and all. They're our friends, we enjoy playing with them."

"Do you?"

"Course," I replied, "It's great to be able to do what you love with your mates. Even though we play together, we're not The Beatles, and the fans know that. Revolution is more than just The Beatles opener, we're a band all our own."

Clyde didn't take the hint. He cleared his throat and wrote a few things down once again. Janice looked at me like she was going to burst into tears. I simply shrugged.

"You used to be a Beatle, is that right, Miss McCartney?" Clyde asked.

I nodded, "One of the first. I was a Beatle before there were Beatles, but that's in the past. Now I'm in Revolution. We're working on a new album, too, with more new songs and fewer covers."

"That's wonderful. What's it called?"

"See, we haven't quite decided that yet."

I looked at Clyde's chicken scratch handwriting and furrowed my eyebrows. It was impossible to read, though I wanted to know what it said. He could easily be twisting our words and we would never know.

"How does it feel being female in a predominantly male industry?" Clyde asked.

For a moment, we all stared at him. I felt my rage building. Just as I was about to say something, Molly cut in to save the day, "It's difficult only when people ask questions about our gender."

Her tone was accusatory. This time, Clyde didn't write down anything. He blinked before awkwardly clearing his throat and moving on, "Right, my apologies. Anyways, you three are very close, aren't you?"

I felt my cheeks begin to heat up. Of course, he wasn't referencing Molly and I, how could he have known? Logic told me he didn't know, but anxiety said otherwise. I was sure he knew what we did and was going to report us. My cheeks began to heat up as he stared at us.

"Yes, we're all very close," Janice jumped in to fill the gap, "We live together, work together, hang out together. We're all very close."

"That is lovely. It's always good when bands are close," he wrote it down, "Now, may I ask, do you want to have children? Do you do this because you can't have children?"

All three of us were silent. We stared at him, unblinking. I felt my insides get warm as a scowl developed across my lips. I opened my mouth to say something, but Janice quickly jumped in.

"No, we can all have children," Janice was beginning to sweat, "We-we-uh-we just choose not too."

"You would choose your career over a family?" Clyde looked taken aback.

I had a biting comment but, once again, Janice took over, "Yes, for the time being, at least. Maybe one day we'll change our minds, but we're young, might as well enjoy life as it lasts."

"Ah, yeah, I suppose," Clyde wrote it down, "I believe that is it. Thank you for your time, ladies."

"Of course," Janice was the only one that shook his hand.

He stood up to leave. Molly and I remained sitting while Janice waved him off. When he was out of sight, she turned on us, her face red with anger and her eyes filled with tears.

"I don't know what the bloody fuck has gotten into you two, but you better figure it out and soon," Janice spat, "Your little bickering is getting this entire band in trouble. Get your shit together before we all have to pay for it."

She spun on her heel and stormed off. Molly and I watched, shocked into silence. Janice had never spoken above a loud whisper, let alone cursed that dramatically. She would never yell at anyone, especially not us. It occurred to me that we had just seen a side of her nobody ever wanted to see.

"What just happened," I muttered.


	89. I Want You

The tour felt longer than life, but it was actually only a few months. I began to adjust to the tour life just as we were thrust back into our everyday lives. We were back home, in England, in our own houses and own beds. For the first time in months, I had my own bedroom.

Janice refused to speak to Molly or me for quite some time. She was pissed, as she should be, and went to stay with her mother. That left Molly and me all alone in the flat together. It was the first time we were alone since that night.

I was highly considering going to stay with Paul, but I decided to stand my ground. This couldn't last forever. Molly and I couldn't be at odds forever, I wasn't sure if I would be able to survive it if we did. Eventually, we would have to face each other. That moment came sooner rather than later.

"Melly?"

I glanced up. Molly had silently opened my bedroom door and was leaning in the doorframe. She looked nervous but, then again, so was I. In her hands she held two plastic cups and a cheap bottle of whiskey.

"'Ello, Mols," I smiled.

She returned the gesture, "Thought we could use a drink, you know."

"Yeah. Come on, open bed."

I patted the mattress in front of me. She fell down on it just like she had done so many times before. This time felt different. Before she had always come into my room like it was her own, now it seemed as if she felt out of place. The tension in the air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

She handed me one of the cups and began to pour. When we both had our drinks, we didn't hesitate in slamming them back. We had both consumed two cups before we finally got up the nerve to speak.

"Janice seems right angry," I commented.

Molly nodded, "She has a right. It's not her fault."

"It's not yours either."

The two of us connected eyes. In her eyes, I could see a reflection of myself. She held the same fear, the same guilt, and the same want for something just out of reach.

"I can't live like this," Molly sighed, "You're my best mate, Amelia, I don't want to lose you."

I frowned, "I don't want to lose you either."

"What do we do?"

I was silent. We gazed at each other, both of our minds running a thousand miles per hour. Only one option came to mind.

"We could forget it happened," I suggested.

Both of us did our best to avoid saying exactly what happened. By saying it, we would make it more real. I had already made it real by telling Paul, but telling Molly would make it seem even worse. Everything would become steely, we couldn't deny it anymore. The world would cave in even more than it already was.

"We can try," Molly replied, "I don't-I don't know if that's the kind of thing you can just ignore."

I shrugged, "I don't think there's much else we can do."

Molly poured us each another drink. I slowly swallowed, allowing the warmth of the whiskey to leak through my body. It warmed me from the inside out and blurred my senses. After just three cups, I was already feeling a bit cloudy. I was on the path to getting completely hammered and there was no end in sight.

"We'll pretend it never happened. We'll go back to the good old days before this happened," Molly muttered.

I glanced at her. When her eyes connected with mine, I was transported to a different world. A world without hate, without anger, without stigmas or bias. It was a world where the two of us could have a future. I saw us, smiling and standing with our arms around each other in front of a home in France. We were happy. In that picture, a photograph taken from a moment that could never exist, I was the happiest I had ever been.

"I don't know if I wanted to," I blurted.

The whiskey had taken effect. I had no control over what I said or what I did. All I could do was sit back and scream while my drunken state took over.

"What?" Molly asked, "Amelia, we have to. The laws, they're dangerous, we're in danger! We could get arrested or killed or worse."

She shuddered slightly. I gazed at her for a moment, my eyes glazing over. Everything I had been feeling for the past several years came tumbling into that moment. Everything I felt, and somethings I didn't even know I felt, came together in that moment to seal my fate.

"So? They're poppycock!" I exclaimed, "Bloody laws written by biased jackasses who are so scared of someone different from them that they have to outlaw everything. It's shit!"

Molly wrung her hands together, "I mean, you're not wrong, but there's nothing we can do about it."

"But, there is," I grinned.

Words flew through my mind, bouncing off my skull and rattling through my consciousness. I remembered Paul telling me to fight the fight. I remembered Molly telling me to stand up when something was wrong. I remembered the birth of the Revolution and I remembered the night it got stronger. In that moment, I felt a fire that burned inside for my entire life.

"By golly, Miss Molly, don't you see?" I grinned, "We're The Revolution, and what does a Revolution do?"

"Uh, rebel?" Molly replied.

I clapped, "Exactly, my dear, we rebel! We fight against what is wrong in this world, and we do it with smiles on our faces and love in our wake. We're the bloody Revolution, so let's revolt already!"

"Amelia, no," Molly muttered but made no effort to stop me.

I jumped up and grinned, "Amelia, yes! I'm not about to sit back and let society dictate who I can or cannot love. I sick and tired of succumbing to everyone else. I'm a rebel, so, dammit, I'm gonna rebel!"

The fear was still present, and it always would be, but in my drunken state everything else rose up. I felt the same anger I felt the day I got egged on stage. I wanted to punch the patriarchy right in the face and I wanted to keep hitting until they fixed what they did wrong. I was done being the dame only there to be kicked around, I was ready to be a stronger soldier than I ever had been before.

"Amelia, where are you going with this?" Molly asked.

I grabbed her hands and smiled, "By golly, Miss Molly, I never knew love until I was with you. I love you, I'm in love with you, and I'm not going to let any stupid laws get in the way of that!"

For a moment, she stared at me. I expected her to push me away and tell me to get back in the closet. She was the logical one, she knew what I was proposing would put us in even more danger than we already were. I couldn't see the long-term effects, but Molly could. Yet, she smiled.

"You mean it?" she asked a hint of excitement rising in her voice.

I grinned, "I've never spoken a stronger truth."

She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me down until I was practically on top of her. Our lips crashed together and all I could feel was total bliss. The world completely vanished and all I knew was Molly.

It's one thing to love and another thing to love under hate. Even in that moment, in my drunken bliss, I knew we had just sealed the deal. The words were spoken, they were out there and they were real. There was no denying it now, I was completely and utterly in love with Molly Mackenzie.

I could handle whatever they threw at me. If they threatened to arrest me, I'd fight back. If they threw me in a hospital, I'd break out. I could handle whatever they did to me, but not Molly. More than anything, I wanted to see her safe, but I had just put her in danger. The worst part was, I wasn't sure if I could protect her.

Love is many things. Love is laughter, love is touch, love is friendship, love is many things, but, above all, love is protection. When you love someone, you want nothing more than to protect them. You want them to be happy and safe no matter what cost. You would throw yourself into a fire if it meant protecting the one you love. One of the greatest pains in the world is loving someone with more passion than the world can handle while knowing that you can't protect them no matter what you do.

"Melly?" Molly's breath wafted across my face.

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

***

The first thing I registered was a warm thing pressed into my side. For a moment, I thought it was a large teddy bear until it breathed. I jerked awake and looked down to see Molly curled up against my side.

Last nights events came rushing back. I felt the exhilaration of reliving the moment, but the fear of what I had done was ever-persisting. By acting out the fires of a love, I had put one of the most important people in my life in terrible danger.

Some may see it as a mistake, others may see it as a happy accident, but I was stuck somewhere in the middle. I mistakenly put Molly in danger and forced both of us to live a hidden life in the middle of our very publicized lives. On the other hand, the events of the night before are still some of my greatest memories. It is one of the happiest moments in my life.

Molly began to stir. I tried not to move in order to keep from waking her. Whenever she woke up, her logical side would kick in and all of this would be over. I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. For the moment, I could pretend like we were allowed to love each other without any imminent danger pressing in on us.

"M-Melly?" Molly asked.

She rubbed her eyes but she didn't lift her head from my chest. I smiled, "Morning, sunshine."

"What-what happened?" she asked, her voice groggy.

"I don't think you need me to answer that."

Her eyes flung open. She sat straight up and looked down at herself to see if she was fully clothed. We both were, save for my missing sweater. She breathed a sigh of relief before yelping, "Oh my God, what did we do?"

"You remember, don't you?" I asked, "We weren't that drunk."

Molly buried her head in her hands, "I can't believe that happened. We just broke the law! Again!"

I gazed at her. I wasn't sure if she was regretting it or if the fear was too much. For a moment, I simply stared at her. When I saw a tear rolling down the side of her leg I realized what was happening. I quickly scooted closer and wrapped my arms around her.

"Molly, listen, we're going to be fine," I ran a hand through her hair, "So long as we're together, we're going to be fine."

Molly wiped her eyes, "You can't know that. They'll throw us in jail or a psych ward or something."

"No, they won't, because they won't know."

"How can they not?"

"We won't let them," I gently pushed her chin to where she was looking at me, "I love you and I'm not about to let anybody get in the way."

I kissed her forehead. She leaned into my touch, ultimately falling to my chest. I held her tightly. After a few seconds, she calmed down. Her breathing evened out and she stopped trembling.

"I love you too," she whispered.

Those four words were enough to send me flying through the sky. They would be our shield. No hate could get through so long as we loved each other.

Eventually, Molly got up. She straightened her shirt and took a deep breath, "I'm going for a walk. To clear my head a bit."

All I could do was nod. I watched as she left. As soon as I heard the door shut, everything fell apart. Without anyone to comfort, I was left to my own thoughts and terrors. What had happened fell onto me like a brick wall. All of my muscles clenched as I resisted the urge to cry.

Nobody can fight a war without first feeling the fear. There is no battles without pain, no fights without terror, and no victories without sacrifice. Before any soldier went to war, they first had to find their bravery by facing more fear than they ever had before. I was no different. My war didn't involve weapons, save for verbally. We fought with music, poetry, and, above all, love. You can't fight hate without love, and you can't feel the love without first overcoming the fear.

"What the hell did I do?" I muttered, "Bloody fuck."

There was only one thing I knew to do. I needed someone to hold me up when I felt like falling. Only one other person in the entire world could do that for me, and he was across the city.

I quickly slipped into my boots and left the flat. The heat began to make me sweat, but I didn't care. I walked across nearly the entirety of London before I arrived at the door of a flat near Buckingham Palace.

"Lia?" Paul asked as soon as he answered.

I felt like breaking down in tears right then and there, "How am I supposed to love Molly when the one thing I want more than anything in the world is for her to be safe? I can't do it, Paul, I can't."

"What happened?"

"We got a bit tipsy," I admitted, "I told her I loved her. She said she loved me. Fucking hell, what have I done? I put her in danger."

I rushed forward and buried my face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around me protectively as if he could protect me from the world around us. As I shuddered, he sighed, "We're gonna need some help."


	90. She's So Heavy

Paul didn't hesitate in grabbing his shoes and leaving the flat. I didn't want to go, I wanted to fall on his couch and scream into a pillow. He was insistent and, before I knew it, he was dragging me down the streets of London.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"We can't do this alone," Paul replied, "You don't know how to hide, and I don't know how to help you, but I know who does."

"Who?"

Paul didn't answer. He dragged me around a corner and shoved me on one of the double decker buses. I stumbled on, nearly falling in an elderly woman's lap. She hit me with her umbrella before scoffing, "Youth, always getting into trouble."

I didn't have the energy to quip back. Paul grabbed my elbow and pulled me to the top deck. We were exposed to the elements, but not to the people. On the top of that bus, we were completely alone. Paul sat on one of the benches and pulled me next to him, never once releasing my arm.

"There's got to be a way around these stupid laws," Paul muttered, "A loophole? I dunno."

"They're sturdy as steel," I muttered.

Paul shook his head, "There has to be something."

I shook my head. The laws were very clear and very detailed. Whoever wrote them made sure there was no possibility for a loophole, except maybe moving away from Europe.

"There's nothing we can do, Paul," I sighed, "These laws, they make me no better than a criminal. There's no way around it. I've already sealed my fate, and Molly's, we're doomed."

"Amelia, stop being so pessimistic! There's always something we can do. I'm not about to let you live your life in fear. We're gonna fight this, we just have to figure out how."

I gazed at him. His eyebrows were furrowed and he stared at the back of the seat in front of him. It occurred to me that I wasn't the only one who was scared. If something happened to me, I wouldn't be the only one losing something; Paul would lose his only sister. Every human fears for themselves, but their fear for other people overwhelms that. They fear more for those they love than themselves. I had been so busy worrying about keeping Molly safe, I didn't think how everyone around me would be affected, especially Paul.

"You're right," I muttered, "There's always something we can do."

He glanced at me, "I'm not going to let you get hurt."

"I know."

I wrapped my arms around his shoulder. He patted my arm, but his mind was elsewhere. I sighed, "Maybe whoever you're taking me to can help."

"If anyone can, it's him."

The bus pulled up to a stop near Kensington Gardens. Paul leaped up and began to drag me off the bus. I shot a glare at the old woman before we disembarked.

He took me to another building filled with flats of all sorts. We went to the second floor where only two flats resided. Both were large; they could have been considered houses if they weren't in one building. He took me to one with a bright red door. He had barely finished knocking when the door opened.

"Paul, I didn't expect to see you here," Brian smiled, "And Amelia, pleasure, of course. Come in."

He stepped aside and let us in. I stared at him before glancing at Paul. Paul looked nervous, his eyebrows had yet to return to their usual place. I'm sure they wouldn't until we had this entire matter resolved.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Brian asked, smiling his usual bright smile.

Paul nodded, "We need your help, Eppy, badly."

"With what?"

I gazed at Paul. He glanced at me, silently urging me to go ahead. My limbs turned to stone as I was faced with telling yet another person about my deadly secret. While I trusted Brian with my life, this was beyond me. There was more at stake than my life; things that I wasn't willing to risk. 

"Amelia, he understands," Paul urged, "He can't help unless you tell him what's going on."

Brian began to look worried, "Amelia, is everything alright?"

"No," my tongue spoke without my permission, "I did something- I am something- that I shouldn't be."

Brian wrung his hands together. He began to get a bit jumpy, more so with anxiety than discomfort. He cleared his throat and tried to give me a reassuring smile, "Whatever it is, I am positive we can work through it."

I simply stared at him. It seemed impossible, being able to work through this. This wasn't something you could work through, it was only something you could hide and suffer with. Or something you could stand up and fight for, but, at that moment, fighting was the last thing on my mind.

"I'm queer, I guess," I blurted, "I kissed Molly. Hell, I'm in love with her. Guess that makes me queer, doesn't it?"

Brian simply stared at me. For a moment, nobody moved, nobody even breathed. Both Paul and Brian stared holes in me. It felt like bugs were crawling over my skin, making me want to squirm but I held still. Eventually, Paul flung his head to look at Brian, "You've got to help us. She's in danger, Brian, we don't know what to do."

The way Paul kept saying 'we' made me feel like everything wasn't as bad as it could be. He was there, and he always will be, that was just confirming it. What I was going through was hell, but I was far from alone.

"I don't know what you can do," I muttered, "It's happened, and I can't take it back."

Paul sighed, "He can help because he's queer too."

My eyes widened. Brian shifted awkwardly, his cheeks turning red as he gazed at Paul. All I could say was, "Is it bad?"

"The laws say it is," Brian replied, "I don't know, maybe, but I don't think so. Love shouldn't be bad."

Paul nodded, "See, Lia, I told you, love shouldn't be illegal."

"Whether it should or shouldn't be doesn't matter, only that it is."

Brian fell onto the couch. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. Paul and I simply stared at him, waiting for him to tell us what to do. All I wanted was for him to tell me what I had to do to keep Molly and me safe. There was a part of me, however small it was at the moment, that wanted him to tell me how to fight it. 

"Being a homosexual is very dangerous here," Brian glanced up at me, "It is imperative that you keep this a secret. Only tell those you trust most, and even then I would advise against it. Anyone could turn you in, and then you would be in more danger than you would believe."

"Is there nothing I can do?" I asked, "No cure, no loophole?"

Paul gripped my shoulder, "You're not sick, Lia, you don't need a bloody cure!"

"He's right. We're not the sick ones," Brian stated, "There are no loopholes. The only way to make sure you and those around you are safe is to keep this as confidential as possible."

I stared at him for a moment. My eyes began to burn with tears threatening to fall as I did. Paul noticed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I had cried a thousand times out of fear, but this was different. My tears felt like fire falling down my cheeks. These weren't tears of fear, or of sadness, these were tears of anger. 

"That's it? I have to hide for the rest of my life all because of who I love?" I asked.

Brian nodded, "I'm afraid so. For your safety, Molly's safety, and the security of both Revolution and The Beatles, you must keep this under wraps."

The thought of the bands hadn't even crossed my mind before then. Of course, it was logical, if word got out that I was gay the bands would be under fire. Being gay was seen as such a taboo, Revolution would be a monument to everything the world hated and The Beatles would be guilty by association. Both bands would be erased from history.

Revolution and The Beatles could become a martyr, or they could become a beacon. There are many ways to fight a battle; from those with weapons to those with words, the ways are endless. One of the most effective ways is through music. Each and every song you will ever hear has a sort of deeper meaning. Some are easy to find, others you have to dig, and then there are some only those who know can find the deeper meaning. Music is the greatest weapon in a war against the world. You can sing songs of peace and, eventually, the world will listen. 

"I can assure you, Amelia, you are not broken," Brian stood to place an reassuring hand on my shoulder, "You are not sick, you are going to be alright. So long as you keep this a secret, you and Molly will both be fine."

I glanced up at him, "How can we be fine when I can't love her?"

"I never said that."

He smiled at me slightly, telling me everything I needed to know. Nowhere was it said that I couldn't love Molly. I could love to every end, so long as we kept it a secret. We could love and be safe all at the same time if we were careful.

"If it's kept a secret, she'll be alright?" Paul asked.

Brian nodded, "As I said, only tell those you trust with your life, and even that is risky. But, yes, so long as you keep this quiet, you will be fine."

Brian smiled in a comforting way. Paul's eyebrows fell to rest as a relieved smile slowly crept across his face. Tears still fell down my cheeks as my muscles trembled.

It was a solution, but it wasn't the solution I wanted. As the fear slowly began to wash away, I realized what was deep down inside. I wanted to be more than alright, I wanted to be free, and I wasn't the only one. There were more like Molly, Brian, and me out there. There were more people forced into loneliness all because of who they loved. It was silent cruelty, someone had to fight against it.

"It can't always be like this," I muttered, "Won't they ever see? We're not monsters, we're people. We don't deserve to be treated like criminals all because of who we love. It's insane!"

Brian sighed, "I do hope, one day, society will see us as we really are; human. Not a disease that needs to be cured, but humans that need to be treated as such. As much as I hope, I fear that day may never come."

"Don't say that. It could come. Love always wins."

Brian smiled, "Yes, I suppose. We can hope for a brighter future, can't we?"

"We can do more than hope," I replied, "We can fight for it."

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "How?"

"I don't know, but I'll figure it out."

"You must remain hidden," Brian shook his head, "Keep this a secret."

Paul squeezed my shoulder, "Lia, please, don't put yourself into any more danger."

I glanced at him. Looking into his eyes, I could feel his fear as well as my own. They combined to form a cyclone of terror nobody should ever have to feel.

"I won't, Paul, I promise," I replied.

Brian gripped my shoulders and made me look up at his face, "Remember, Amelia, you must keep this hidden. You have no idea how dangerous it is to be like us."

He squeezed my shoulders. I nodded. The fear still lingering told me to listen. I had to keep this quiet, for my safety as well as Molly's, but I couldn't sit back and watch when I could make it better.

One person can't do much except light the fire. Revolution's begin with one, or, in our case, three. You can't fight the fight alone, but you can light the spark for others to fight alongside you. While I was still terrified of what would happen, one day, that fear would completely vanish. Once that day came, the rebels would rise once again.


	91. Maybe I'm Amazed

Brian's voice rang through my head. I had to keep it a secret, I had to hide in a closet while the rest of the world paraded about. They flung their love around like flags while I had to hide mine away for fear of persecution. I was subjected to a life of loneliness because of what others believed.

Brian said I had to keep it a secret, but he never said I couldn't love Molly. Never once was it said that I couldn't kiss Molly in the darkest rooms or tell her I loved her when nobody could hear. I could love her, so long as it remained a secret.

That night, I stayed at Paul's. Jane was out of town for an acting job, and it was just the two of us in the flat. I had enough time to think it over and decide exactly what I was going to do.

The answer was simple; I loved Molly and I couldn't give that up, no matter what the laws said. If I had to love her under the veil of secrecy, I would, it was better than not loving her at all.

That's why I stood just outside of her bedroom door, a smile on my face and anxiety in my wake. As I knocked, I tried to ignore my trembling hand. This was the moment of truth, the moment where we finally decided which road to take. Either we took the road covered in bushes or the clear road that eventually forked.

"Melly?" Molly asked as soon as she opened the door.

I smiled, "Mornin', Mols."

"What's got you so chipper?"

"Actually, I'm only smiling to hide my anxiety," I replied, "We need to talk."

She didn't have to ask what I was talking about. Instantly, she stepped aside and let me in. Since we were the only two in the flat at the time, she didn't bother to shut the door. She sat next to me, folding her hands in her lap and awkwardly staring at the floor.

"Did you tell anyone?" she whispered.

I nodded, "Paul. You?"

"I called Regina, didn't really know who else to talk to."

"What'd she say?"

Molly grinned slightly, "She said she thought we were together since the first moment she met you."

"Typical."

We both gave half-hearted laughs. The one question we both wanted answered lingered in the air, but neither of us had the courage to ask it.

"How did Paul react?" Molly asked.

"In the typical big brother fashion," I replied, "He got scared at first, just like we did, but he said he'd help us through it."

"He wasn't angry?"

"Course not, he's Paul. He's all about love, you know."

Molly smiled. I gazed at her for a moment. She kept her eyes on the floor, staring at nothing in particular but everything as a whole. Just by looking at her, I knew what she felt. I felt it too; the fear, the desperation, the anger, all of it bundled up inside to make an unhealthy concoction.

"By golly, Miss Molly, it's gonna be alright," I smiled.

Molly frowned, "We're in danger, Melly. If this got out, we would be thrown in a hospital or even prison! We're far from alright."

She buried her fingers in her hair and sighed. For a moment, I wondered if she regretted those two nights we shared. It started off as a simple kiss, and now, it was a battle both internal and external. She got into this mess because of me, now I wondered if she wanted to get away.

Something told me that wasn't true. If she regretted anything, if she wanted to turn around and never look back, she would have already packed her things and moved back to Liverpool. She would have vanished with her family, possibly even moving to Edinburgh. If she truly wanted to leave me, she already would have. The fact that she was still here told me exactly what I wanted to hear.

I moved to kneel in front of her and pull her hands from her hair. Her skin was soft, but her fingers were callused from the guitar strings. Mine were as well, they rubbed together like sandpaper, but we didn't mind. I held her hands in mine and looked her in the eyes, "Molly, do you love me?"

"I-what?"

"Do you love me?" I asked again.

Molly hesitated before nodding, "Yes, with all my heart."

"And I love you with everything I am and everything I ever will be," I smiled, "Nothing can stop that, nothing can break it, nothing can break us. So long as we're together, nobody can hurt us. I promise."

Molly stared at me for a moment before lunging forward to hug me. She practically tackled me to the ground. I held her tightly, allowing her to bury her face in my chest.

"I love you, and I'm gonna fight for you," I told her, "We're the bloody Revolution, and that's exactly what we're going to do. We might have to hide our love away for a little while, but, by Golly Miss Molly, we'll win this war."

Molly squeezed my chest, "Maybe you're right. There are others like us, it's not fair that we all have to hide while others get to showcase their love to the world."

"And that, my dear, is where the Revolution comes in."

Molly grinned. She held me tighter, something which I returned. I squeezed her with every ounce of love I had for her. Love is a feeling that cannot be described. It's something like a warm day at the beach, or a night snuggled together in front of the fire. It's the happiest day of your life extended over years and years. It's flying, dancing, leaping, laughing; it's the music you feel and the songs you sing. It's a bright candle in the midst of pure darkness. Love is love, that's all there is to it. You can't describe it, you can only feel it.

Love is something everybody is willing to fight for. 

My love for Molly was nothing short of spectacular. I was a firework every time she touched me. She was the painter of my stars, the writer of my dreams, the music to my songs. It took me a long time to realize it, but, when I did, it hit me full force.

"What does this mean?" Molly looked up at me.

I shrugged, "What do you want it to mean?"

"I don't know. I mean, if we went through with this, we would have to keep it a secret. It wouldn't change how we act together anyway."

"Except, I can do this."

I grabbed her cheeks and smooshed my lips to hers. She jumped slightly but melted into the kiss. When we pulled apart, I grinned.

"I could get used to that," she muttered.

I smiled, "So, it's official?"

"Yeah, I guess."

I pulled her to my chest. She hugged back, squeezing my stomach tightly. With her, I felt at home. No matter where we were, I would be at home with Molly.

"By golly, Miss Molly, I love you," I muttered.

"I love you too," her voice was a bit muffled by my sweater, "It feels good to finally say that."

"Say it all you like, I love to hear it."

She laughed. Pulling away from my chest, she crashed her lips into mine. I kissed her back in full force, summoning every bit of love I had into that kiss. I wanted her to feel exactly how much I loved her, and I wanted her to know that I would fight every fight and travel to the ends of the Earth for her. She may be new to this feeling, but I wasn't. In a way, I had known the very day we fell down those stairs together.

"I fucking knew it!"

Molly screamed as we both jumped apart. Janice was standing in the doorway, her arms in the air and an exasperated look on her face. I felt all the color drain from my face as Molly scrambled away, "J-Jan, um-"

"I knew it!" Janice shouted once again, "That's what's gotten into you two lately, bloody hell! I thought you two were arguing and we might have to break up the band, you two twits scared me half to death!"

I lifted an eyebrow, "Wait, you knew?"

"Course I knew, you bloody gits. You two always give each other the lovey-dovey stare, I'd be daft not to see it."

Molly and I exchanged glances. We were in part flustered at being found in such an intimate moment, and part bewildered at Janice's sudden outburst. She cussed more in that moment than I had ever heard her cuss. For the first time since I met her, she spoke above a whisper.

"Thought you two were already together," Janice sighed, "I was waiting for you to tell me."

I chuckled, "We just found out ourselves."

"Wait, you weren't together?"

"Not until about five minutes ago."

Janice shook her head, "Does this mean you'll actually talk to each other again?"

I nodded. Molly was still staring at our friend in total bewilderment, "Wait, you're okay with this?"

"Been okay with it for two years," Janice grinned, "I knew before you did, apparently."

Janice began to chuckle. A large smile grew across my lips as I jumped up. Molly was still on the floor, completely stunned, but I grabbed her wrist and pulled her up. Wrapping an arm around each of my friends, I grinned brightly, "We're back, and better than ever!"


	92. First Day of The Rest of My Life

My years with Molly were some of the happiest of my life. As soon as we accepted the feelings we had, our lives got exponentially better. We didn't have to hide anything anymore, not from each other, at least. Even if we had to hide from the general public, we could be as sappy as we wanted to in the safety of our own home. I was the happiest I had ever been.

Things only began to get better after that. The Beatles were skyrocketing and Revolution wasn't far behind. Molly, Janice, and I were planning our next album as were John, Paul, George, and Ringo. There was talk of another tour and-

"A movie?" I asked.

Paul nodded excitedly, "A bloody movie! A moving picture! We'll be on the silver screen!"

"You're musicians, not actors," I replied.

"We can be both," Paul argued, "We'll win a bleeding Oscar, we will."

Paul pumped his fists in the air and laughed. We were both sitting on the same couch, and his sudden movements nearly made me fall off. I held up my hands to call for a stop, "Hang on, getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

He stopped and looked at me, his excitement not washing away. Part of me expected him to jump and begin to dance even if there was no music. Paul was always the one to get overexcited. To him, life was too amazing not to be excited about. 

"What's the movie about?" I asked.

"It's a mockumentary," Paul replied, "Meant to seem like our fans were watching an average day in our life. It'll be hilarious."

"What's it called?"

Paul shrugged, "Doesn't have a name yet. We're supposed to make an album to go with the movie, one of the songs might be the title."

"Could always name it A Day In The Life of Four Gits," I teased.

Paul shoved my shoulders, laughing the entire time. He grinned, "Bugger off, Lia, it'll be something gear."

"Course it will, you four are in it."

Paul's smile brightened. The phone rang, echoing off the white walls and crystal windows. It bounced through the flat until finally reaching our ears. We were the only two in the house.

"Don't go anywhere," Paul winked.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He left to answer. When he was gone, I began to look around. He and Jane had already hung many photos on their walls, some that they had taken and some that others had taken. I saw one that I had taken of Paul, John, George, Ringo, Jane, Cynthia, and Maureen. They were at the beach in Greece and looked happier than ever. Next to it was a photo of just Paul and Jane. Paul was kissing Jane's cheek, and Jane looked like she was walking on air. Another wall held pictures of Jane's family and Paul's, one of which was Paul, Michael, and I all in a dog pile when we were kids. Of course, I was on the bottom, doing my best to push my two brothers off. It was one of my favorite pictures, I had the same photo hanging in my bedroom. 

Their flat was decorated modestly with a bit of flair to it as well. The walls were white with photographs and new-age paintings, but colorful shag rugs were in various places on the floor. The couches were a normal blue, but a few beanbags sat in the corner. Books and magazines were piled on the end tables and coffee table. It seemed like Jane and Paul had found a healthy medium between odd decorations and modest ones.

"Was George," Paul said as he returned, "Martin, I mean. I'm needed in the studio, the other lads are already there. Sorry, Lia, duty calls."

"Aw, Paulie, it's alright. I'll just come and bug ya tomorrow or somethin'," I winked, causing him to chuckle.

I stood and grabbed my bag. A few papers stuck out of it filled with songs I had brought to Paul for peer review. A few of his were resting on the table too. Most of our visits ended with a few songs being played or even written.

"See you later, Paulie," I pulled him into a hug whether he liked it or not.

He ruffled my hair, "See ya, Lia."

I waved once more before leaving the flat. Almost instantly, I was hit with the warm summer air. It wasn't the hottest it had ever been, but it was the uncomfortable sort of warm that made you sweat in places you should never sweat in. The air was thick and nearly impossible to breathe, and yet, people still went about their day in long pants or skirts.

As I walked down the street, I hummed the tune to the latest song Revolution wrote. We were supposed to record it tomorrow, along with a few others. Our next album was due in two months, so we decided to get a head start.

When I made it back to my flat, I unlocked the door and stepped in. Janice and Molly were both sitting on the couch reading. Molly had her legs curled under her as Janice was upside down.

"You two look bored," I commented, dropping my keys on the counter.

Molly glanced up at me, "Very."

"Let's do something then."

"What?" Janice asked, "It's hot."

I grinned, "We don't have to do something outside."

"We could go to the cinema," Molly suggested.

"Brilliant!"

***

A few weeks later, we were sitting together on the couch. Janice and I each sat at one end with Molly lying between us. Her head was on my lap as her feet were on Janice. I played with Molly's hair and watched as Janice doodled on Molly's leg.

"What're you drawing?" Molly asked.

She was on her stomach and unable to see. Janice smiled, "Flowers and stuff."

She had flowers, peace signs, hearts, and even a few swirls mixed into where it was a collage of hippie wonder. Janice changed pens every so often to make a rainbow of different colors. By the end, Molly's legs would look like she wore pants made of tattoos. 

"I didn't know you could draw so well," I commented, "Maybe you should draw our next album cover."

Molly grinned, "Genius! It'll be different than others, nobody else has drawn album covers, it's all photos."

Janice was steadily getting redder and redder. She quickly capped her pen and cleared her throat, "Um, thanks, but I'm not that good. I don't think-"

"Nonsense, Jan, you're bloody brilliant, you are," I interrupted.

She looked down to where her hair would cover her face. Molly and I exchanged glances before grinning mischievously. Janice would have no choice in the matter once we persuaded her.

The phone began to ring moments later. I sighed deeply, "I'll get it. Might be Cyn, she asked yesterday if I could watch Jules."

"But you're such a nice pillow," Molly commented.

I smiled, "I'll be back, Mols, use the actual pillow."

"But, you're warm!"

"Come off it, you big baby."

I pushed her off and stood. The phone was still ringing. If it was possible, it seemed to have gotten louder. As if the phone were anxious for me to pick it up. Molly pouted as she pulled the couch pillow under her head. I wrinkled my nose playfully before going to the kitchen.

"Hello, Mackenzie-McCartney-Hallieford residence," I answered all in one breath, "McCartney speaking."

"We really need to think of a better answer," I heard Molly mumble.

"Hello, my name is Richard Lester," the man on the other end of the line replied, "This is Amelia McCartney I'm speaking to, correct?"

"The one and only. What can I do for you, Mister Lester?"

I heard a voice in the background. It sounded oddly familiar, but I couldn't place where. If the voice came closer, I was sure I would recognize it.

"Yes, I just got off the phone with your manager, a Miss Ellen Marie," Richard replied, "She gave me this number to contact you with. I am the director for the upcoming Beatles movie and I have called to inquire if you would have a part in it?"

I blinked, "Wait, you want me to be in the movie?"

"Yes, as a sort of tidbit to The Beatles story, in a sense. You will have three scenes, all short with very few lines. We begin filming tomorrow. Will you accept?"

"Course I will," I replied, "When do you want me?"

"Be at Twickenham Studios at six o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Alrighty, see you then, Mister Lester."

"Goodbye, Miss McCartney."

I hung up the phone and smiled. That was the last thing I expected. This was a Beatles movie, not Revolution, it was shocking that they wanted me in. I suspected that this had to do with my relation to the lads rather than the band's relations. Either way, at the time, I didn't care, I was excited to be in a movie. While I couldn't lie to save my life, perhaps I could act, perhaps.

"Molly! Janice! You'll never guess what just happened!"


	93. Act Naturally

Mornings and I never got along. Even when I was a baby, I would never wake up anywhere earlier than nine o'clock. I had very specific memories of Mum doing her very best to coax me awake, ending up having to physically pull me from bed in order to have me up and awake in time for school. There were many mornings where I had hit Paul or Michael whenever they abruptly woke me up.

Waking up myself was an achievement. I woke up to Molly curled against my side. The sun had yet to rise, and neither did I. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her, and sluggishly walked to the bathroom. My mind wasn't awake enough to realize anything except for how bloody early it was.

I felt like I was the only one awake in the entirety of London. All I wanted was to crawl back into bed with Molly and go to sleep, not go to a studio across the city to film a movie I knew almost nothing about. I didn't even know my lines, and they expected me to act it out.

"Why did I agree to this?" I grumbled as I entered the lift, "I bloody hate mornings."

I took the underground to the studio. It was on the exact opposite side of the city, meaning I was stuck in the train for quite some time. In that time, I nearly fell asleep on the benches. I would have if it weren't for the sudden jerks of the train pulling me back to life.

When I reached the studio, I was in a piss poor mood. The sun was just beginning to make it's way over the horizon, sending waves of light over the otherwise dark city. I shot a glare at the dawning sky and scoffed as if the sun itself had offended me. 

The studio was well-lit with a clean waiting room but no people. When I stepped inside, nobody was around. That didn't do much for my mood. I went through the halls looking for someone, but the entire studio seemed empty.

"Hello?" I called, "If no one shows up in the next thirty seconds, I'm going home."

"Amelia, wonderful."

I spun around to see Brian just stepping out of the lift. Turning my gaze towards the ceiling, I groaned, "Is the universe against me today?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I fucking hate mornings," I grumbled, "I want to sleep."

Brian shook his head, "You can sleep later. Neil went to go pick up the boys, we are to meet them at the train station."

"The train station?"

"Yes."

"Why the bloody hell did I come here, then?!" I asked, "I could have just gone there, or I could have slept more, fucking hell!"

Brian held up his hands, "Amelia, please, you came here so you could ride with me and the boys to the train station. They were late, so I sent Neil to get them. We will meet them there."

"Alright, but I'm not gonna be happy about it," I crossed my arms.

Brian sighed. He had gotten a glimpse at morning Amelia during the world tour, and he knew this wasn't directed at him. I was always in a foul mood when I woke up, everyone around me simply had to deal with it. During our time in Hamburg, John would lock me in a closet until I finally woke up enough. Only when I apologized would he unlock the door so I could come out of the closet. 

There was a car parked just outside. Brian slid into the driver's seat while I took the passengers seat. As he put the car into gear, I fell back and groaned, "How long until we get there?"

"About an hour."

"I'm going to take a nap."

"Amelia, you need to stay awake."

"I'll be more awake once I go to sleep."

Brian gave me the side eye. He was as determined as I was stubborn, a combination which usually resulted in a fight. We could never win until an outside force stepped in, and, with no outside force in sight, one of us was forced to step down. While it seems odd that he would want me to stay awake when taking a nap might make my attitude better, it was actually quite the opposite. He had learned before that after-nap Amelia was ten times worse than morning Amelia. 

"Bloody hell, fine, but I'm gonna complain about it," I mumbled.

Brian smiled, "It'll be worth it. The first Beatles feature film, it's a historic moment, you'll want to be awake to witness it."

"S'pose," I replied, "Doesn't seem that important to me. It's just a picture."

"You'll see just how big this is."

I glanced at him and shook my head. All I wanted to do was sleep, not speak. Eventually, I curled against the door and shut my eyes. Every so often I would make some sort of noise so Brian would know I wasn't asleep.

When we arrived at the train station, I realized I didn't recognize it. We were outside of London now at a train station I had never seen. It was small and looked similar to the one in Liverpool. When Brian parked, he glanced around, "Neil's car isn't here."

"Maybe we just can't see it," I replied, "Let's go inside, see if they're there."

Brian pursed his lips and nodded. We both left the car and went to the train station. Inside, several people waited around. There was enough to form a mob, just like the crazy fans that chased us around. A few gasped when they saw me, muttering amongst themselves, but none advanced. I looked around oddly, "Why aren't they chasing us?"

"They're actors," Brian answered, "Not fans. They are paid to be here and must act professionally."

"Why do we need so many?"

"I believe the first scene is The Beatles getting chased by fans."

"That happens anyway, why can't you just film that?"

"This one is controlled. Nobody will get hurt."

I crossed my arms and sighed. It was doubtful that nobody would get hurt, we always seemed to get hurt no matter what we did. We could be sitting on a couch all day and we would somehow get a bruise or two. This was a prime place for an injury, and I was already taking my bets on who it would be.

A man sat in one of those director's chair with a clipboard of papers in his laps. Cameras, microphones, and other equipment were scattered about the area. Brian approached the man and said, "Good morning, Richard."

"Good morning, Brian," the man replied, "Where are The Beatles?"

Brian sighed, "They were a tad late, so I sent our road manager to retrieve them. They should be here shortly."

I could already see his anxiety beginning to grow. When things didn't go exactly according to plan, Brian was always the first to get anxious. He kept glancing at the entrance to the train station expectantly as if looking at it every five seconds would make them suddenly appear.

"Ah, yes, Amelia McCartney I presume?" Richard stuck his hand out.

I shook it, "That's me, and I suppose you are Richard Lester."

"Yes, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Brian wrung his hands together, "I'm going to go see if they've arrived."

He hurried away before I could say anything. I sighed deeply before turning back to Richard, "He's a bit high-strung."

"Yes, I put that together," Richard replied, "Come, I'll show you the script and the set of the first scene."

I followed him into the train. He led me through the train and to a single compartment marked with a reserved sign. A girl was already in there fluffing her hair in the mirror on the wall. Richard gestured for me to go inside, "You will sit here, on the chair closest to the door, and hold this book in front of your face and wait for your cue."

He pointed to the seat on the right on the compartment. On it was a Queen's magazine that was large enough to hide my entire head as well as a part of my chest. I picked it up and sat down just as Richard handed me a script, "Mister Wilfred Brambell will run in first and sit next to you, he plays your grandfather, and then The Beatles will be shortly behind. This is your directions and lines, alright?"

I glanced at the script. My part barely filled the page, mostly it told me to keep the book in front of my face until my cue. I glanced at it and nodded, "Course. Easy as pie, I tell you."

"Good. Remember your cues, we begin as soon as The Beatles arrive. Remember, all you have to do is act naturally. You are your character," Richard said before leaving.

I looked down at the page. I had four lines in total, the rest of the scene I was supposed to sit here and look casual. It would be easy enough, some of these lines were things I would say in real life.

"Are you Paul McCartney's younger sister?" the girl asked.

I glanced up at her and smiled. She was young, probably around my age, but several times more beautiful. Her face was like a child with chubby cheeks and pouty lips. She had sparkling eyes and perfectly applied makeup. The only flaw I could find was the extra space between her two front teeth, and even that added to her beauty.

"Usually, I just go by Amelia," I smiled "But, yeah, Paulie's my pain in the arse older brother."

The girl chuckled, "It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Pattie, Pattie Boyd."

"Well, Pattie, the pleasure is all mine. Are you in the film?"

"Yes, I'm an extra," she sat across from me and smiled, "I must say, I am a big fan."

"Of The Beatles?"

"Well, yes, but of you as well. Your entire band, really, I've got all your records."

My eyes widened, "Really?"

She nodded. A large smile crossed my lips, "Usually people tell me they're a fan of The Beatles, not us."

"Oh, but why? The Beatles are a wonderful band, I do love them as well, but you're a wonderful band as well. I haven't seen many all-girl groups," Pattie commented.

"It's quite rare, isn't it? Shame, really."

"Yes," Pattie sighed, "May I ask, do you only play the drums?"

I grinned, "Ask anything you like, my dear. I can play other instruments. Piano, violin, guitar, saxophone, flute, and I tried my hand at trumpet but that blew up in my face."

Pattie giggled, "That's a lot, how do you keep up with it?"

"That's just the thing, I don't."

She continued to giggle. We were interrupted by two men walking into the compartment. One was an old man with thinning gray hair and a suede suit. He sat down next to me without so much of a word. The other man was one of the stagehands, "We begin filming in here in ten minutes."

"Oh, I guess I better go then," Pattie stood, "It was great meeting you, Amelia."

"You too."

She left with a smile on her lips. I'm sure my expression mirrored hers. I was riding on the high of meeting a fan, one who loved me for my music and not my brother's. For a few minutes, I forgot the older man was there until he cleared his throat.

"Oh, sorry, 'ello," I grinned.

He gave me a side-eye, "Hello."

"I s'pose you're me grandfather. Wilfred Brambell, yes?"

"Yes."

"Amelia McCartney, a pleasure to meet you," I extended my hand to shake.

He looked down at it in disdain before looking back at me, "I've heard of you."

"Afraid I can't say the same, mate."

He glared at me before slowly turning to look out the window. I scoffed and muttered, "Could've done better, I'd say."

He didn't acknowledge me. We spent three minutes in silence before the stagehand returned. He popped his head in and said, "Positions, they're coming."

I quickly grabbed the book and held it in front of my face. Wilfred continued to stare straight ahead as several footsteps were heard in the hall. I glanced around the edge of my book to see John and Paul coming down the hall with George and Ringo just behind them. A cameraman was nearly trampling George as he filmed them. Richard and Brian took up the back.

They all entered the room and fell onto the seats. Paul took the seat on the other side of Wilfred. George was across from me with Ringo taking the middle seat and John taking the window seat. The cameraman stood in the door and filmed as the scene went on.

For a moment, everybody looked relaxed, just as they would if they were really riding a train. George glanced up and looked at Wilfred. He elbowed Ringo who noticed the little old man as well. They both looked confused as Ringo elbowed John. When John noticed, he leaned forward to look at Paul.

"Hey, pardon me for asking, but who's the little old man?" John asked.

Paul glanced at him and lifted an eyebrow, "What little old man?"

"That little old man."

John gestured to Wilfred. Wilfred stared at him as if he were looking into John's very soul. I rolled my eyes behind the book.

"Oh, he's my grandfather," Paul replied.

The camera panned to George, "Your grandfather?"

"Yes."

The camera kept panning from George to Paul, "That's not your grandfather."

"It is, you know."

"But I've seen your grandfather, he lives in your house."

Paul nodded, "Oh, that's my other grandfather, but he's my grandfather as well."

"How do you reckon that one out?" John asked.

"Well, everyone's entitled to two, and here's my other one," Paul jerked a thumb at Wilfred.

John shook his head and chuckled. George and Ringo exchanged glances before George scoffed. My line was coming up and I was more than prepared.

"I don't believe this rubbish," he turned his gaze to me, "Is he really your grandfather?"

I dropped the book and gazed at George, "On my Mum's side."

"Ha! See, I told you," Paul wiggled his finger at George.

George rolled his eyes. John stood, moving through the compartment to stand over me. He flicked his hand around, "Get out of the way, Melly."

"I'm sitting here, John, bugger off."

"Ey, but I want to sit there now."

I rolled my eyes and stood. John took my seat, grinning the entire time. Once again, I rolled my eyes as I shoved my book in Ringo's hand, "Here, you deal with the git."

"Aw, come on, Mel," Ringo sighed.

"I'm off."

I glared at John before leaving the compartment. Brian gestured for me to step away as the scene continued. He led me to the end of the hall where they wouldn't hear me, "That was wonderful, Amelia."

"I tell you, I'm a born actress," I flipped my hair dramatically.

It flipped around my head and slapped me in the eye. Both of us laughed as we made our way through the halls. I saw Pattie in a room filled with girls dressed similarly. She saw me and waved, a gesture which I returned.

"Wait in here until we get back to London. We'll return to Twickenham soon," Brian gestured to a compartment.

I nodded. He went to go watch the lads and make sure they did what they were told as I stepped in. As soon as I opened the door, I beamed, "Elly!"

Ellen sat in the compartment, her legs crossed and her nose in a book. When she looked at me, she smiled, "Hello, Amelia."

"What're you doing here?"

I sat across from her and grinned.

"I'm your manager, of course, I would come," she replied, "I am sorry I wasn't here earlier. My sister went into labor last night, I had to get her to the hospital."

I lifted an eyebrow, "You have a sister?"

"Two, actually, and a brother. Now, I have a nephew."

"Well, congratulations, Elly, that's brilliant!"

Ellen nodded, "Yes, I am excited, but I'm still sorry I wasn't here earlier."

"Ah, no worries, Brian got me here and kept me in check. I didn't do anything we'll regret," I winked.

Ellen chuckled, "I didn't think you would. How was filming the first scene?"

"Fine. That Brambell fellow is a twat, but you can't win em all, I s'pose."

"We still have an hour until we arrive back in London," Ellen glanced at her watch, "I suppose you would like to nap."

I grinned, "Ah, Elly, you know me so well."

Ellen shook her head and opened her book once again. I pushed up all of the armrests so I could stretch out over the entire bench. I curled up into a ball and closed my eyes, almost instantly falling asleep.

Ellen had spent long enough with us to know how to deal with our quirks. She knew how to handle Janice's stage anxiety and calm her down to the point where she actually enjoyed it. She could tame Molly's perfectionism with a simple bat of an eye. Perhaps the greatest feat of all was how she could make Morning Amelia into Normal Amelia without even really trying. I could nap around her knowing I would wake up in a good mood or she would make me. 

I woke up to someone poking my cheek. Whoever it was desperately needed to clip their nails, I could feel my skin breaking whenever they came into contact with me. Groaning, I brushed them off, "Bugger off, I'm tryin' to sleep."

"We're at the station, Mel."

My vision was blurry for a moment but quickly focused on Ringo's wonky smile. He was bending over me and looking at me over his long nose. I rubbed my eyes, "Aye, Ringo, your breath is making my face hot."

"Sorry."

He stood straight, allowing me to sit up without hitting his head. I stretched my arms back and yawned, "Cheers, mate. We going to the studio?"

"If you can wake up Ellen."

He turned to the side to expose Ellen. She was fast asleep in her chair, her head braced against the wall and her book open across her chest. One of her eyes was still open, which kind of freaked me out.

"You sure she's asleep?" I asked.

Ringo nodded, "Yeah, nobody can get her up. Brian and Paul both tried."

"Remind me never to sleep in the same room as her."

"Ditto."

Her one eye was staring off into oblivion. It was beginning to turn red, which was slightly concerning. I moved to kneel on the seat next to her and shake her shoulder, "Elly, wake up. Wake up, Elly."

She didn't even stir. I glanced at Ringo who shrugged. Turning back to Ellen, I frowned, "Ellen, wake up, I broke my arm."

Ellen's other eye shot wide open. She lunged to a sitting position and immediately grabbed my left arm, "Oh my God, what happened?"

"Mornin' sunshine," I grinned, "Nothing happened, just had to get you up."

Ringo leaned in closer, "We all tried, you wouldn't wake for nothin'."

"So you scare me half to death?" Ellen glared at me angrily.

I shrugged, "Got you up, didn't it?"

Ellen sighed and shook her head. Ringo grinned his wonky grin and said, "We better get going, they're waiting in the car."

"Of course, yes, let's go."

She grabbed her bag and began to lead us out. Ringo and I exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed her out. There were six different cars waiting for all of the actors and equipment. We saw George climbing into one car where two mop-tops could already be seen sitting inside of. He gestured to Ringo who winked at me and said, "See you at the studio."

"Don't get lost."

"Don't worry, we won't let John have the map."

I cackled as Ellen gave us a confused stare. Ringo trotted off to the car which quickly took off down the road. Ellen looked around and said, "Peter was supposed to meet us here, but I suppose he got lost."

"What is it with men and getting lost? Is that a manly trait or somethin'?" I asked.

"Seems like it," Ellen chuckled, "It doesn't matter, we'll just take my car."

She gestured to a bright blue Volkswagen Beetle. As soon as I saw it, I busted out in laughter. Ellen stopped at the driver side door and glanced at me, "What's so funny?"

"You drive a beetle!" I exclaimed, "You drive a beetle, we work with Beatles, this world is filled with beetles!"

Ellen smiled, "Yes, I suppose so. They do say that one in four animals is a beetle."

"I'd say that's off by three."

Ellen laughed as we both slid into the car. She put it in gear and sped down the streets. I had seen many people drive, but nobody drives as cautiously as Ellen. She seemed to be aware of every single speck of dust that blew past the car, and she was ready to avoid them. There was nothing safer than being in a car when Ellen Marie was behind the wheel.

We arrived back at the studio at near midday. As Ellen parked, I frowned, "Why the bloody fuck did we drive there only to take the train back?"

"You drove there?" she asked.

I nodded, "Brian drove us there. Took an hour."

"I took the train," Ellen commented, "The same train as the boys. I wonder why Brian drove you."

"Because he was too anxious to think it through, probably."

"That does sound like Brian."

We both got out of the car and went into the studio. I crossed my arms over my chest and trailed behind Ellen like a child trailing behind their mother.

"Ah, good, you made it," Richard was halfway talking to us and halfway directing the stagehands, "Go to that room over there and wait for your scene."

He gestured to a secluded room on the opposite wall. Ellen nodded thanks before leading me in that direction. I glanced around to look for the lads, but they were nowhere to be seen. Had it been quieter in there, I would have heard them doing an interview in the next room. Everybody was bustling around the studio talking in loud voices and making loud noises. It was enough to give me a headache.

The room we were told to wait in was a simple hotel room. It was a set, of course, not a real hotel room. There was a couch, a piano, a cupboard, and several different types of tables decorating the room. The same Queen book I was reading on the train earlier sat on a chair in the corner by the piano. I supposed that was where I had to sit.

"Could have gotten a more comfortable chair," I commented.

I pulled my legs to the criss-cross position on the chair. The script clearly said my legs were crossed in a 'casual yet elegant way', but there was no way I was doing that. Instead, I sat like a child on a set where I was supposed to be an adult. To my surprise, Ellen didn't tell me otherwise.

"You won't be there for long," Ellen stated, "I believe this scene is short."

I sighed, "Good, then I can go back to sleep."

"I must say, this is wonderful," Ellen smiled.

"What? Me sitting in an uncomfortable chair?"

"No, you being in a movie. It acts as great publicity."

I shrugged, "Didn't think of that. I just did it to help out the lads."

"I know, and that is very noble of you. The publicity is simply a bonus."

The door to the fake hotel room opened. The same stagehand from the train poked his head in and said, "Scene in five minutes. Miss Marie, if you would."

"Of course. Good luck, Amelia," Ellen smiled at me before following the stagehand out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, the film crew entered. They set up the cameras and the microphones in a matter of seconds. Richard Lester sat behind the camera in his director's chair and crossed his legs.

"Alright, Amelia, get the book," he directed.

I grabbed the book and stared at it for a moment, "Is this some sort of running gag?"

"What?"

"Hiding my face behind a book every time I come on camera," I answered, "Is it a running gag or somethin'? Seems kinda dumb if you ask me."

Richard sighed, "I didn't. Just put it in front of your face and remember your lines."

I rolled my eyes and obeyed. Opening to a page picturing the entire royal family, I hid my face and waited for my cue. As Richard called action, the door opened and four familiar lads walked in followed by two men I had never seen before. One was a tall twig-like fellow and the other was a short, stocky, grouchy sort of fellow. They both wore suits and carried different bags. I half expected the short man to bite my head off while the tall man apologized for him. 

"Can't believe it took so long to get here," Paul commented, sitting down on the piano near me.

He glanced at me and winked. I tried to stifle my laughter. I couldn't see what the others were doing, but I could hear a chair moving and the couch creaking as someone fell on it.

"Ey, how'd you get here before us?" John asked.

I dropped my magazine and shrugged, "I'm fast."

"Rubbish," John replied, "You left after us."

"Doesn't mean I'm not fast."

Wilfred frowned, "Always a snarky one, Amy is."

For a single beat, we glared at each other. Real tension was building in a fake scene. I was about ready to stand up and hit him for real, but I kept my cool for the sake of the film. Paul was ready to stand up and stop me, fully knowing what I was feeling.

"Never liked me anyway," I muttered, "Paulie always was the favorite."

"Isn't he always?" John winked at Paul and laughed.

I rolled my eyes and stood, "It's already claustrophobic in here. I'm off."

"What about us?" Ringo asked.

I grinned at him, "I'm not the one on a leash."

I jerked near my neck as if pulling a leash and barked mockingly. They all shouted at me as I hurried out the door. As soon as I left, I was met with Ellen and Brian. The two were in the hall having an intense discussion. They were leaning close together and Ellen was gesturing dramatically with her hands. I walked up behind her and asked, "Can I go home now?"

"You still have one more scene," Ellen replied.

"Aw, come on, I'm tired and hungry and I want to go home."

Ellen shook her head, "You agreed to this, Amelia."

"I know, but I'm still gonna complain."

Ellen pinched the bridge of her nose as she often did when it came to me. A mischievous grin crossed my lips as I hid my hands behind my back and tried to look as innocent as possible. That only made Ellen sigh even louder.

"Thank you for doing this, Amelia," Brian told me.

I grinned, "Always a pleasure to help out my mates."

"You still have twenty minutes until you are needed for your final scene," Ellen said, "Come, I'll take you to wait in the dressing room."

"I have a dressing room?"

"No, but The Beatles do. Brian said you could borrow it while they're filming."

I grinned, "Oh, the possibilities."

Ellen gave me a glare, telling me not to try anything that could ruin our reputation. Once again, I gave her an innocent smile which earned another sigh.

She led me through the studio and across a set containing the lads' instruments. As we passed Ringo's drums, I tapped my fingers on it, feeling an air of familiarity wash over me. In a place where nothing was familiar and everything was tense, it was nice to find something calming like that.

We moved through the set and tried to avoid all of the hurrying stagehands. With only a week left of filming, they were hurrying to get it done. The lads had already been filming for two weeks and were sick of it, I could see it in their demeanor. The rest of the crew was no better off. With the filming times, I had to wonder if I was an afterthought or a suggestion.

As we crossed a line of cameras and other technical equipment, my eyes caught sight of a familiar mop top across the studio. He was sitting cross-legged on an amp and eating something I couldn't quite see. I grinned and shouted, "Ey! Georgie!"

He jumped slightly before turning to glance at me. Even from across the studio, I could see his bushy eyebrow quirk in confusion. I vigorously waved, much like a child trying to get the attention of their parents from far away. He smiled, and I could have sworn I heard him laugh as he waved back. Ellen chuckled, "Come on, Amelia."

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

The Beatles dressing room was large. It was the biggest one to date, perhaps even overtaking my bedroom back home. There were two couches, six mirrors and vanities with matching stools, two racks of clothing, a table and chairs, and a television in the corner. On the television, I could see various scenes they were filming. The current film was a music part. The crew was setting up the set Ellen and I had just walked through with instruments and decor fit for the movie.

"Wonder if Georgie hid any food in here," I commented, "I'm starved."

"Mister Lester insisted that you wait in here until your next scene. I'll go to the canteen and see what I can find," Ellen replied.

I shook my head, "I'll go and be back before he even realizes I'm gone."

"No, Amelia, stay here," Ellen's voice was stern, "They may call you earlier, and you must be ready."

"But-"

"Amelia."

Ellen and I stared at each other for a moment. It ended with me sighing loudly and falling onto the couch, "Fine, but I won't be happy about it."

"You don't have to be."

I watched as Ellen left. Had it been possible, I'm sure she would have locked me in the room. I was left in an empty room with my only source of entertainment being the sounds coming from the television. I rolled over to brace my chin on the arm of the couch and watch as the lads appeared on the screen.

They looked tired, but they did well with hiding it. It was odd for me to see them in black-and-white when I lived with them in color every day. For a moment, I had forgotten what Paul's hair looked like or what color Ringo's eyes were. I watched as they moved to their instruments and prepared to mime.

"Revolution should get a movie," I muttered, "All about us kicking society in the arse. Why? Because it's a dirty bastard."

If Molly were there, she would have laughed before telling me off. As I did many times in my life, I found myself lonely while surrounded by people. Four of my dearest friends were just outside of that door, and yet, I felt separated from them. Not just by a few walls, but by continents. With no one to talk to, no one to laugh with, even for a few minutes, I was lonely.

Loneliness was the emotion I was most prone to. I always have been and always will be a social person, I don't do well being alone even for a few minutes. That's what made me such a great performer. I worked best when surrounded by people, especially when surrounded by those I cared about.

Just as I was ready to leave the room and find someone to talk to, Ellen opened the door. She carried a plate with two slices of toast slathered with jam and a cup of tea. She handed me the toast while keeping the tea for herself.

"You're the best, Elly," I said, biting into the toast.

She sat on one of the stools and smiled, "So you've said."

"Mean every word."

Ellen's smile widened. I practically mowed over the toast, I barely even tasted it. It was the first thing I had eaten all day, which explained my intense exhaustion. Once I had a full stomach, I felt more energized than ever.

"You're needed on set," one of the stagehands popped his head in.

He gestured for me to follow him. I abandoned the empty plate on the cluttered table and hurried to follow him. He led me down into the basement area where a cameraman, two actors, and Richard Lester waited. Ellen came up behind us.

"Good, Amelia, are you ready for your final scene?" Richard asked.

I nodded, "Born ready."

"Good," he handed me The Queen magazine, "Walk through this hall with your face hidden by the magazine. You'll talk to John, then 'Norm'. Remember your lines?"

I looked at the magazine before looking at him, "Course I remember my lines, but doo I have to do the magazine? It still seems a bit daft."

"I'm the director and I say you do."

"Amelia," Ellen warned.

I glanced at her before sighing, "Fine. I feel like a git, but fine."

I went to the end of the hall and hid my face in the magazine, leaning against the wall casually. It didn't even look like I was reading it like Richard intended, but more like I was purposefully hiding my face. The entire gag seemed incredibly stupid to me, but I was left with no choice in the matter. It seemed to be more often than not that I was left with little to no say over my own actions, not just in movies but in day to day life.

After a few minutes, the door at the end of the hall opened. Paul, John, and George all appeared, glancing around the hall as if looking for something. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see George grabbed Paul's shoulder and gesture to me. Paul tapped John and they began to head towards me. 

"Oi, Melly," John called, "You seen Ringo?"

I dropped the magazine and cocked my head, "Course I've seen him, I'm not blind, am I?"

"Cheeky. We meant recently, Lia," Paul replied. 

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Why do you need him?"

John groaned, "We can't very well go on stage without a bloody drummer, now can we?"

"I dunno, I think you'll do a bang up job anyway."

George snorted, causing Paul to elbow him. From behind the camera, I could hear Richard Lester sigh deeply. John leaned on the wall and glared down at me, "You're bloody Grandfather put ideas in his head. He's gone mad."

"Thinks we don't appreciate him," Paul added. 

"I told you Grandfather's a menace," I groaned, "Ringo's probably gone out parading."

"Yeah, and we want to know where," George replied. 

John tapped my head, causing me to brush him off, "Which brings us back to the original question, have you seen him?"

"He went out the back about twenty minutes ago," I replied. 

Paul clapped my shoulder, "Cheers, Lia."

"We'll find him," John puffed out his chest and I did my best not to laugh, "You keep the swine busy, yeah?"

I rolled my eyes, "Alright, Johnny Boy, just don't get arrested."

"No promises."

With a laugh, the three lads were off, running down the hall leaving only laughter in their wake and a single wave from George. One camera followed them while another was trained on me. Richard Lester gestured to me to replace the magazine in front of my face. I rolled my eyes and grumbled a few obscenities before complying. The camera followed me as I began to walk through the halls. 

It was difficult to walk straight with my face blocked by a magazine. I stumbled a few times but managed to stay upright. As I passed the stout actor from earlier along with his lanky friend, I heard them conversing.

"It's Lennon, I tell you, he's out to get me," the short one said, "It's a battle of nerves."

"But John hasn't got any," the tall one replied.

"Hasn't got any what?"

"Nerves."

I rolled my eyes, doing my best not to chuckle. Had John heard them say that he would have hit someone. As it was I felt a need to defend my friend, but I kept my head.

"Ey, Amy, have you seen the lads?" the short one asked.

Having so many people call me Amy was beginning to get on my nerves. That name was like nails on a chalkboard, making me want to hit whoever was calling me that. For the sake of appearing professional, I forced a cool smile. I stopped at the end of the hall and turned around, dropping the magazine and glancing at them, "Yeah, why?"

"Brilliant!" both men converged on me, "Where are they?"

I shrugged, "Around."

"Around where?"

"Just around."

The short man groaned, "You're just like them, you know, nothin' more than a child."

"Norm," the tall one sighed. 

"Least I can reach the top shelf," I taunted.

Norm looked like he wanted to hit me, but the tall man kept him back. Instead, Norm simply glared at me, "Have you seen them in the last half hour?"

"Perhaps."

"Well?"

"Last I saw, they went down to the canteen lookin' for Ringo," I lied, "Honestly, Norm, you're the worst babysitter I've ever heard of."

"I'm not a babysitter," Norm grumbled. 

I grinned, "Right you are, swine."

I snorted, causing Norm to lunge forward. With a laugh, I began to sprint away, dropping the magazine in the process. As soon as I had made it around the corner, I stopped, doing my best to catch my breath. A head popped out of the nearby doorway and laughed, "You look a state, Mel."

"Bugger off, John," I sighed.

Paul and George's heads both appeared above him. all three laughed as I glared at them. It took a lot of willpower not to laugh right along with them.

"Say, where's your magazine?" Paul teased.

I shrugged, "I dropped it."

"Too bad," John shook his head, "You looked much better behind the face of The Queen."

"John, you git!"

All four lads vanished behind the door with me close behind. Despite doing my best to act angry, I couldn't help but laugh. Even the cockiest of playful insults could be hilarious when it was between friends. Before I could make it to the door, I heard a familiar throat being cleared. 

"Amelia, please stop fighting," Ellen sighed, "You're going to make a bad impression."

I turned around and frowned, "It's only John, Elly."

"Amelia, please." 

"But-"

Ellen glared at me, telling me to be quiet. Richard Lester and Brian came around the corner, conversing silently. Whenever Richard saw me, he nodded, "Thank you, Amelia, you're done for the day."

"Bloody hell, finally," I groaned, "I need a nap and some hot cocoa."

Brian clapped my shoulder in thanks. The two men began to follow the lads, presumably going to film the next scene. Ellen gestured for me to follow her. As we passed the door, I glanced inside to see the lads talking to Richard and Brian. Both men had their backs turned to me, but the lads could see me. I stuck my tongue out and spread my hands out from the side of my face, causing all three to burst out in laughter. John replied by sticking his tongue in his bottom lip and crossing his eyes. My laughter echoed behind me.

As soon as we arrived in Ellen's car, I fell into the seat and groaned, "I'm exhausted."

"Just be lucky you only had a few scenes," Ellen buckled her seatbelt, "The Beatles are still filming for another two weeks."

I chuckled, "Oh, I'm going to hear about this later."

Ellen giggled as we left the parking lot and headed for home. Even from so far away, I could hear a cup of Janice's hot cocoa calling to me. The thought made me smile.


	94. The Good, The Bad, and The Okay I Guess

Some of the greatest moments in my life were not those on stage in front of thousands of people or even those where we received awards or honors. No, the greatest moments in my life all happened behind closed doors. They occurred with the people I was closest to when nobody could see us. It was those moments that stand out, even in a life of music.

We had two hours until Ellen was going to come and pick us up for the Hard Days Night premiere. In the meantime, Molly and I were relaxing on her bed. I was leaning against the wall with my legs outstretched in front of me. She had her head in my lap and her legs going off the end of the bed. I played with her hair, threading it through my fingers and braiding it only to pull it apart and restart all over again. The moment was peaceful and loving; there is no better combination.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Molly asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Course, doesn't everybody?"

"What do you imagine it to be like?"

"There's flying cars," I replied, "And toasters that would toast your toast to perfection every single time. The sun shines every day and they invented a way to make records portable."

Molly listened before chuckling, "No, I mean what do you think the future looks like for you? What do you think you'll be doing in fifty years or so?"

She sat up in order to look at me. I knitted my eyebrows together in thought as she took one of my hands and began to play with my fingers. My mind flashed back to the life I saw every time I looked into Molly's eyes.

"I'll be with you," I told her, "We'll have a happy life with a white picket fence and a house where we can be safe. Maybe we'll have a few kids, and a dog, I've always wanted a dog. We'll live in a world where we don't have to hide, and where we're safe wherever we go. We'll play our music without any sexist bastards or shadows we're forced to hide under. Most of all, we'll be happy, we'll be safe, and we'll be together."

Molly moved to where she could lean her head against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, allowing her hair to cover my face. She lovingly traced lines on my arm with her fingertips.

"That sounds like the perfect life," she kissed my chin.

I smiled, "It will be. We'll live a happy life with all of our friends nearby."

"I can't wait."

I kissed the top of her head, a large smile growing across my lips. In that moment, I decided exactly how our future would be. If I had to fight a losing battle, I would. The life we wanted seemed just out of reach, but we could work to get closer. Nobody ever finds bliss without first fighting for it. You had to work to get into Heaven, and I was prepared to do just that.

The front door slammed shut, alarming Molly slightly. She jumped, only calming when I tightened my grip on her. We both watched the open door to see a tired looking Janice shuffle in.

"Jan!" I exclaimed, making her jump.

She turned to look at us and lift an eyebrow. I grinned, "Come on, come join us!"

"Oh, I don't want to impose," Janice mumbled.

Molly laughed, "You're not imposing, Jan, you're our friend too. Come on, join the party."

"Yeah, Jan, come on."

A small smile crossed her lips as she shuffled into the room. She kicked her boots off and sat at the end of the bed right next to my legs. Molly and I both sat up to where we were all facing each other, our smiles acting as mirrors to each other. Molly placed her chin in her hand and gave Janice a smug grin, "So, Jan, were you visiting Peter again?"

Dark red spread from Janice's cheeks all over her face. Her eyes widened as she lost the ability to talk. I had to resist the urge to cackle. Janice was the easiest person to fluster; all you had to do was talk to her. It took months for her to warm up to us enough to where she wouldn't blush every time we looked at her. Getting her to blush so hard she looked like a Christmas ornament was always a funny sight.

"Wha-I don't-I," Janice stuttered.

I clapped her shoulder, "Come off it, Jan, we all know you fancy him."

"I-"

She stopped talking completely, staring at us with eyes as wide and saucers. Molly and I exchanged glances before busting out in laughter. That only made Janice's blush worsen. Anybody would have thought we replaced Janice with a cherry, because of how red she had gotten. 

"We're gonna have to play matchmaker or something, this is going nowhere," I said, "Neither of you has the guts to admit to the other you bloody fancy each other!"

Molly tapped her fingertips together, "We could arrange a fancy dinner? Lock you in a closet together?"

"Oh my God," Janice mumbled, burying her face in her hands.

I continued to cackle as Molly rubbed her back, "It's alright, Jan, we won't interfere in your love life."

"Unless you want us to, of course," I winked.

Janice looked at us from between her fingers and whimpered. Once again, I laughed loud enough to wake the neighbors. Molly elbowed me before busting out in laughter. Janice continued to get redder and redder as the minutes ticked by.

***

"I cannot believe I agreed to this," I muttered, "Why can't I wear my bloody stage clothes?!"

I glared at myself in the mirror. Somehow, Ellen had coaxed me into a dress, or, more precisely, she bribed me into it. I was promised a free vacation day if I wore a dress to this event. That's how I found myself in a dark purple dress that barely fell to my knees and heels that threatened to break my ankles.

"Is a free vacation worth it?" Molly asked.

"I'm beginning to question that."

She came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. Her teal dress complimented her figure in the most perfect of ways. Janice had done her hair in a braided crown with flowers in it to give it a hippie aesthetic. Molly propped her chin on my shoulder and smiled, "Ah, but you look lovely."

"Thank you, but I still hate it," I replied, "You, however, look positively beautiful."

Molly smiled, "Thank you, even though you're obligated to say that."

"Am I now? I didn't know."

Molly laughed loudly. She released me and straightened her dress, "We better get down there, Ellen and Peter are supposed to arrive at any moment."

"I bet Jan's excited."

I was the only one who laughed. The two of us made our way through the hall to meet Janice at the door. She was wearing a bright red dress, one that made her eyes stand out as well as the flowers in her hair.

Ellen and Peter were waiting at the curb. To my surprise, Brian was with them, dressed in a perfectly pressed suit. He and Ellen were laughing together like best friends and leaning against a larger than life limousine. It seemed to be twice as big as a normal limo, making it large enough to hold two bands and their managers.

As soon as Peter and Janice saw each other, they both began to blush. You couldn't tell where the dress ended and Janice began. They were both walking cherries in formal clothing. Molly and I exchanged knowing glances.

"You girls look lovely," Brian smiled.

I did a mock curtsey, "Why thank you, Brian."

"Get in the car, we're leaving soon," Ellen gestured for us to get in the car.

"We're all riding together?"

Molly and I slid into the limo together. Ellen sat beside of us with a spot for Brian on the opposite seat. Janice and Peter were left to sit next to each other, which only made them blush harder. Janice crossed her hands in her lap and stared out the window awkwardly. Brian remained standing outside of the limo in anticipation, though he could still talk to us.

"Yes, we thought it would be good for both bands to be seen together," Brian smiled, "For the press."

I lifted an eyebrow in confusion but didn't question it. Brian and Ellen knew things about this business that I could never even begin to understand. Questioning them would only leave me more confused than I started out.

The sound of a door slamming alerted all of us to a new presence. I spun around just in time to see Ringo sprinting from the front of the building to the car. He practically jumped in, coming to land directly across from me. Brian spun around and shouted, "Good Heavens, Richard, what was that?"

"Thought there'd be fans," Ringo shrugged.

"So you nearly kill yourself?"

"No, just ran."

Brian shook his head. He slid in next to Ringo and shut the door. As soon as we were all in, the driver sped off to pick up the next Beatle.

"You all look lovely," Ringo winked at us.

Janice blushed even harder, if that were possible, as I grinned, "As do you, Ringsy."

"You alright there, Janice? You're a bit red," Ringo asked.

Janice was unable to reply. Molly took a deep breath, "She's alright, just a bit flustered is all."

"Was it somethin' I said?"

I shook my head. Ringo simply shrugged and took to straightening his bowtie. That was the first time I had ever seen him in a bowtie, and I have to say, it suited him better than a tie.

The next stop was John's building. He strolled up to the limo with his usual relaxed stride. Ringo seemed to be the only one who expected to be mobbed by a group of fans, John came out just as he would if he weren't a Beatle.

"'Ello mates," John greeted as he slid into the empty seat.

Ringo nodded at him as Molly waved. I gave him a slight wave of acknowledgment, my mind focused on the stockings Ellen told me to wear. They were itchy and one size too small. By the end of the night, I fully expected my leg to be covered in hives and without any blood circulation.

"Amelia, stop messing with your stockings, you'll make the threads come loose," Ellen batted my hand away from my stocking.

I groaned, "But they itch!"

"Just ignore it."

We drove up to Paul's next. The curbside was empty save for a trash bin and a park bench. We all waited, with Brian looking at his watch several times. Finally, it was John who groaned loudly.

"Probably doing his makeup or something," John said, "Macca's gotta look the part, they don't call him The Pretty Beatle for nothing."

Brian shook his head, "Nonsense, I'm sure he just lost track of time."

"Yeah, putting on his eyeliner," I stated.

John cackled, "Told ya, Eppy."

Brian sighed. He left the car and hurried into the building. We all watched him go. John leaned forward and grinned, "Two pounds says they don't come out for five minutes."

"I bet ten," I replied.

Molly shook her head disapprovingly. Both John and I were pleasantly surprised when Brian and Paul emerged not even a full minute later. Paul slid in next to John while Brian returned to his seat. As the car started, Paul glanced at each of us individually, "What? Why're you all looking at me wonky?"

"You've got a bit of somethin' right here," I pointed to the corner of my eye.

He began to wipe while John grinned, "Looks like eyeliner to me."

"Aw, sod off, the both of you!"

John cackled loudly. Paul punched his shoulder, a grin spreading across his lips. Even Molly laughed this time.

I turned to face Ringo to see him looking at me with a smirk. I lifted an eyebrow, but he simply shook his head. Something in his eyes looked like he knew something, but I couldn't tell what. As if a suspicion he had had for years had finally been confirmed.

George's flat was close to the theater. He slid in next to me, his jacket only halfway on and a biscuit dangling from his lips. When Brian sighed loudly, George shrugged, "What?"

"You were supposed to be ready, George," Brian replied.

"I am, I am, just got a bit peckish is all."

George finished his biscuit as we made our way to the theater. As soon as we arrived, we were met with thousands of screaming teenagers. It was just as I had expected. The entire theater was surrounded by boys and girls alike, all screaming for their idols. Had it not been for the police officers standing around, the teens might have mobbed the car. We would have been caught for sure, but The London Police were ready and waiting.

"Alright, the police will keep the fans back, don't worry. Just wave and smile," Brian told them.

John looked out over the fans and shook his head, "Push Paulie out first, he's the prettiest."

"John, you wanker!" Paul exclaimed.

John laughed loudly. We all faced the swarm of teenagers with a slight edge in our demeanor. My mind flashed back to all of the other times we were faced with mobs like this. A few times, we had gotten injured because of it. Some of us had lost hair or clothing or both. One time, Janice was nearly trampled by the crowd.

"Alright, boys, you go first," Brian said, "The girls will follow soon after."

He exited the car as soon as Neil came around to open the door. The lads were close behind, with Paul and John taking the lead. As soon as they stepped out of the limo, the crowd was in an uproar. Their screaming had been loud before and the arrival of their idols only made them even louder. I had to plug my ears before we even left the limo.

"We're not even outside yet and I already have a headache," I sighed.

Ellen shook her head, "Once we get in the theater, it will be better."

"You underestimate them."

The lads made it into the theater without a problem. Ellen stepped out next with us close to follow. To my surprise, when we stepped out, we were met with the same greeting as The Beatles. Teenagers all screamed our names. Not just our band name, but our actual names.

"Molly!"

"Amelia!"

"Janice!"

"I love you!"

I couldn't hold back my laughter. The three of us locked arms as we made our way towards the theater. I was in the middle and shot winning smiles to the crowd. Molly and Janice waved. The teens tried to get past the police to get to us, but the police were stronger. We made it into the theater without so much of a scratch.

"Ladies! Can a have a few photos?" a reporter asked.

He ran up to us and held up his hands, showing us a shiny new camera. Molly, Janice, and I all exchanged glances before nodding. We posed against a crimson wall for him. He snapped several pictures, all while shouting compliments. Just a few meters away, the lads were doing the same thing.

"Me too! Me too!" another reporter asked.

All in all, Revolution took photos for three different magazines. We were also pushed to the lads and were made to take photographs with them. As everybody was sectioned off for a few questions, Paul and I got pushed in the same direction.

"Paul! Amelia! Over here!" one photographer called.

Paul laughed loudly. He grabbed my hand and pulled it over my head, nearly lifting me off the ground. I laughed as well and threw my other arm up.

We had so many pictures taken, I lost count. The reporters and photographers would have pestered us more if it weren't for our dutiful managers pulling us away. Brian took the lads first with Ellen and us shortly behind. We were all led to a private booth on the wall of the theater. Ten chairs waited there, all made with the same crimson velvet and gold painted wood.

"Fancy," I commented, sitting in a chair next to Molly and behind Paul.

Brian smiled, "You won't be bothered here."

"They'll figure it out," John clasped his hands behind his head, "They always do."

"Hush, the movie's starting."

The lights dimmed and the camera began to roll. The entire theater went silent in anticipation. As soon as the first piano chord was hit, the show began with three familiar lads running from a crowd who wanted nothing more than to take them home.

"It's been a Hard Day's Night."


	95. Only Those You Trust The Most

It's one thing to live your life hidden away from society, but it's another to hide away from your friends. Friends are meant to support you and love you no matter what, even if you went against the common ideals of the world. If there's anyone you should never have to hide from, it's your friends.

I was faced with the moral dilemma of telling two of my closest friends. The only ones who knew about Molly and me were Paul, Janice, Brian, and Regina. Besides them, the entire world simply saw us as two of the closest best friends to ever exist. Each and every one of them was supportive. There was no way we would have made it through this without them.

George, Ringo, and John still didn't know. They were completely in the dark during one of the hardest times in my life. I found myself aching to tell them. I wanted to hear them tell me they didn't care who I loved.

Brian told me to tell only those I trust the most. In this entire world, there are only eight people who I trust with my life. More importantly; who I trust with the secret that could get Molly and I both killed. George, Ringo, and John were three of the eight.

I was nervous to tell George and Ringo, but I was absolutely petrified to tell John. He was the one who would always leap at the opportunity to make a queer joke. It was John that was the least tolerant. While I knew he wouldn't report me, if not for me then for Paul, I knew he wouldn't be kind about it. Either he would make obscene and hurtful jokes at every possible opportunity, or he would completely cut me off. I didn't want to lose him, which was why I decided to stay in the closet with him.

George and Ringo, however, were different. Never once had I heard them make a real queer joke. They knew about Brian, and Ringo was the very first to tell him they didn't care. Deep down, I knew they wouldn't care that I was gay, but my anxiety didn't listen. I stood in front of Ringo's door at a time when I knew George would be there with my knees knocking and my muscles trembling.

Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to run. Even the parts that longed for love told me to run, but my heart said otherwise. My heart pumped blood through my veins with enough force to launch me forward. I found myself knocking before I even realized what was happening.

"Mel? You look pale as a sheet," Ringo commented as soon as he opened the door.

I coughed, "Just feeling a bit under the weather. Nothin' bad."

"Maybe I shouldn't invite you in," Ringo smirked, "Might get us all sick."

"Aw, bugger off, Ringo, it's cold out here."

Ringo laughed before stepping aside and letting me in. His flat was a few floors above mine, but it didn't look any different. He even had the same couch, which made me chuckle a bit. George sat on that couch setting up a game of Monopoly.

"Good, we needed another player," George commented.

I fell to sit next to him, "Hello to you too, Georgie."

He rolled his eyes. Ringo sat in the armchair across from us and handed us each a bottle of pop. I gratefully took it, hoping the bubbles would help calm my nerves. As it happens, the caffeine simply made me shake more. I began to shake so much that the pop sloshed around in the bottle. Ringo took notice and asked, "You sure you're alright, Mel?"

"You're shaking worse than me Mum," George commented.

"Nerves, is all."

"Why?" George smirked, "Scared we'll beat you in Monopoly?"

I rolled my eyes, "Course not, I can wipe the floor with you two gits."

"I'd like to see you try."

I glared at him before suddenly remembering my reason for being there. It would be easy to put it off and say I was just sick. Monopoly was the perfect way to procrastinate, but I knew I had to do it. Putting this off would only make it worse. The longer I waited, the more time I had to think, and the worse my doubts became. I had to do it without thinking about it.

"No, I came here for a reason," I placed my pop on the table and took a deep breath, "I've got something to tell you lads."

Ringo and George both put their full attention on me. They could hear the worry in my voice, and my trembles didn't help. That was one of the reasons I loved them so much; they were always ready to help. The two of them would move mountains for their friends. George was a great listener and Ringo was the greatest at comforting the people around him.

"What is it? Is everything alright?" Ringo asked.

Ringo's face was filled with concern while George had a placid expression. I had known him long enough to know he was hiding his concern underneath many layers. George could get a handle on his emotions better than anyone. Where Ringo looked like he was going to start pacing out of anxiety, George looked completely calm.

"I just-I-I did something and you have to promise not to hate me when I tell you," I replied.

George clapped my back, "We could never hate you, Mel."

"You're our best friend, we'd love you no matter what," Ringo smiled.

My courage was slowly ebbing away. They kept staring at me, anxiously waiting for my explanation, but I was left with nothing. I couldn't make my tongue work, the anxiety kept my mouth clamped shut as I struggled to find a single thread of courage to hang on to.

"Well? Come on, don't leave us waiting," Ringo pestered.

I took a deep breath, "I'm in love with Molly."

The entire flat fell silent. Ringo and George stared at me with unblinking eyes. Nobody moved and not a single noise was heard. I sucked in a silent breath and waited for their reaction. Just as I was about to burst into tears, Ringo jumped up and shouted, "I knew it!"

"Wait, what?" I asked, "You knew?"

Ringo grinned, "Course I did, I knew before you did, didn't I?"

Flashbacks of our trip to London ran through my mind. Our last day there was the day I truly began to realize that I was in love with Molly, and it wasn't on my own accord. Ringo had made a comment about her being jealous. Previously, I thought he meant she was jealous that I was replacing her as my best friend with Ringo, but now I see otherwise.

"So that's what you meant when you said she was jealous?" I asked.

Ringo nodded, "She loved you then and you were both too daft to see it."

"But you knew?"

"Saw it in your eyes."

I slapped my forehead, "Of course you did. Christ, I'm an idiot."

Ringo laughed. George had yet to make a single move, still staring at me with wide eyes. Both Ringo and I turned to look at him.

"Georgie?" I asked cautiously.

He blinked, "You're queer?"

Part of me knew that word should hurt, but it didn't. It seemed natural to hear that. Amelia McCartney, The Queer; a title which I took on proudly. Some people used it in a demeaning fashion, but I didn't think it was. It was the perfect way to describe me and those like me.

"Yeah," I replied.

George rubbed his head, "Bloody hell, that explains a lot."

"It does?"

"Course it does," he sighed, "Me and Paul and all our other friends went through hundreds of girlfriends in school and you didn't even look at anyone. Explains why you were always third-wheeling."

I stared at him for a moment before breaking out into a grin, "I s'pose it does."

Ringo laughed heartily. I felt the need to laugh along with him, but all I could do was smile. All my troubles seemed so far away as a wave of relief hit me like a tsunami. All at once, my nerves stopped quaking and my breathing returned to normal.

"Can't believe you were scared to tell us," Ringo shook his head.

I shrugged, "Neither can I. Fear works in weird ways."

"That's true," George replied, "Didja tell anyone else?"

"Molly, of course, Paul, Brian, Janice, and Molly told her sister, Regina. Otherwise, it's just us."

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "Are you gonna tell John?"

"No," I shook my head, "You've heard the jokes, the insults. He insults Brian on a daily basis, imagine what he'd do to me."

"He's doing it all in good fun, he doesn't mean any of it," George replied.

"Maybe not. I dunno, I'm not going to tell him just yet."

Ringo shrugged, "It's all in what you prefer, mate. He'll find out eventually."

"I know. I just- I'll tell him, eventually."

I wanted to tell John. I wanted all of the people I loved to know because I didn't want to hide from them. While I trusted John with my life, I wasn't quite ready to hear one of my greatest friends laugh at my relationship. He would know, eventually, whether I told him or he found out, I knew he would know. That was in the future, and you can't ever fully prepare for the future. All you can do is enjoy the present, which for me meant focusing on winning a game against two smiling lads.


	96. Hold Me Again

I hate Halloween. While children dressed up and went door-to-door searching for candy, I locked myself in my room and cried. Halloween was, mythologically, supposed to be the day where the border between the realms of the living and the dead was the thinnest. Spirits could cross over to the living, but, as it happens, Halloween was the day the spirit of my Mother crossed over into the realm of the dead.

Mary McCartney died on the thirty-first of October, 1956. She was a loving mother, the greatest mother anyone could ask for. I was thirteen when she died. Paul was fourteen while Michael was only twelve. We were all so young, too young to go through such a tragedy.

I still remember the day it happened. Mum had gone into surgery to try and stop cancer from spreading, but it didn't work. I remember Dad sitting us down and telling us. He did his best to hold back his tears, but it was impossible when the person you loved most in the world was gone forever. He began to sob while I stared at him. Michael understood immediately and dove into Dad's arms to sob with him. Paul and I simply stared. It hit Paul first, soon he was in Dad's arms as well, but I simply sat there. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that my mother was dead. I remember watching the door every night for the next two months just waiting for her to walk in and tell me it was all a dream.

She never did.

Each Halloween served as a painful reminder that I would never see her again. I would never hear her voice whenever she sang me to sleep or feel her warmth whenever she hugged me. Never again would I feel the love of my mother. All I wanted was for her to hold me again and tell me again how she loved me.

I sat on my bed, scratching the words to a song. It had hit me that morning, and the words were flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup. A hurricane of words stormed from my mind and onto the paper with swift movements of my hand. In under an hour, I had a song.

Emotions were a writer's greatest weapons, especially a songwriter. You write what you know, and you know what you feel better than anyone. A good writer can channel their emotions into their work, perhaps even working to relieve a bit of stress along with it. They can convey any meaning they want in just one paper. 

It wasn't the first song I had written about my mother. I had several locked away in a binder where no one could ever see them. This one seemed different, it was special. Eight years after her death, I finally wrote the song that would stand as my ever-lasting tribute to her.

"Melly?" a voice called.

I closed the notebook and sighed, "You don't have to knock, Molly."

She opened the door and stepped inside, careful to shut it behind her. I had yet to leave all day. She had seen me in this state before. I always got this way on Halloween, and Molly's been there each time for the past six years. She knew how I could get, and she knew what I would do if someone wasn't there to hold me back.

Without a single word, she sat behind me and pulled me to her. I practically fell into her lap. My upper torso was on her lap while I held her stomach. She stroked my hair and leaned in to kiss my temple, "It's going to be alright."

"I miss her so much," I whimpered.

Most people would start crying. They would cry for themselves, not the one they lost, but I couldn't find it. It seemed as if I had cried all of the tears I could for my mother.

"I know you do," Molly replied, "Someone once told me that, when someone you love dies, you're left with grief and memories. It's the memories and the love you have for your mother that will get you through a life without her. Hold onto the happy memories and let them be the light in your darkness."

I chuckled, "That was me that said that."

"And it's as true as I am blonde."

Once again, I laughed. I curled tighter around her, closing my eyes and picturing my mother. I could still see her smile. It was almost as if I were a child coming home from school once again. She would hug me and ask me to tell her about my day before she had to go to work.

Molly rubbed circles on my back as she hummed a light tune. It took me a moment to realize she was humming When I Loved. As soon as I realized, I began to hum with her.

We sat like that for nearly an hour. Perhaps we would have stayed like that if the phone hadn't have rung. I mentally cursed whoever was on the other line. All I wanted was to stay there, with Molly, until the entire cursed day passed. That, however, was impossible, mainly because there was a certain someone I had to visit.

"I'll get it," Molly muttered.

Janice wasn't home at the time. While she wouldn't tell us where she was going, Molly and I had our suspicions. She had been vanishing more frequently, and Molly and I both suspected it had something to do with Peter. They both vanished during the Hard Day's Night premiere and came back with faces redder than ever. In time, Janice would tell us, or we would figure it out.

Molly left the room. I sat up and picked up my notepad, my eyes grazing over the song I had written. It was a simple love song that anyone could mistake as someone singing to a love they had lost, not a child singing to their dead mother.

"Hold me again," I sang quietly, "Love me again, tell me again, how the world is not dark."

It was a short song, but it meant everything to me. In my mind, I could hear the guitar and piano I wanted to accompany these lyrics. I gripped the notebook tightly and blinked.

Molly was still on the phone when I shuffled out. I shrugged on my jacket as she leaned on her elbows and sighed, "Gina, calm down, this isn't a new thing, he'll turn up."

I kissed her cheek and whispered, "I'm gonna visit Paul, see you later."

She nodded and waved as I left. Still clutching the notebook, I made my way through the streets of London. The first snow of the year was falling. It was an odd night to start, but it fit all the same. Children walked around in costumes while snowflakes fell onto their heads.

It had become a tradition for Paul, Michael, and I to spend Halloween together. When we were little, we would go trick-or-treating, but it developed into something else whenever we got older. Now, we would get together and spend the entire day just being in each other's presence. When Paul and I moved to London, it became harder to visit with Michael. This was the first Halloween we would spend apart.

When I arrived at Paul's flat, I mentally prayed for Jane to be out. As much as I did enjoy her company, Paul and I needed to be alone. Jane couldn't understand what we were going through. Try as they might, nobody could comfort us as well as we could comfort each other.

"It's open!" Paul called out.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the warm flat. Aromas of cinnamon and chocolate reached my nose making me believe Paul was making hot cocoa. He always liked his with a dash of cinnamon, which I found weird.

"Paulie?" I called.

He looked around the wall and grinned, "Lia, I was expecting you."

"Of course you were, when are you not?"

He laughed and vanished back into the kitchen. I followed him, abandoning my coat on the coat rack. He already had two cups ready and waiting for the hot cocoa. I sat on one of the chairs at the island and perched my chin on my hands.

"Jane's at an audition in Sussex," Paul explained, "Just us today."

I nodded in understanding. He finished the hot cocoa and placed one in front of me before sitting on the stool next to mine. For a moment, we both sipped in silence. Both of us had a million things to say, but no words to say it with. I finally broke the silence.

"I miss her," I mumbled.

Paul nodded, "Me too. I miss her every day."

"Do you remember the stories she used to tell us?"

"The fairy tales," Paul replied, "She used to do the voices and everything."

I smiled at the memory. Paul took a deep breath, "I wished we could have said goodbye."

"Why does goodbye matter?" I asked, "She knew we loved her, isn't that the point?"

"Yeah, I s'pose, it would have been nice to have a bit of closure," Paul replied.

"Even if we had said goodbye, we would still miss her all the same."

Paul didn't reply. We sat in silence for another few minutes. Finally, I took a breath and asked, "Where's your piano?"

"In the living room, why?"

"I wrote a song and I want you to hear it."

I abandoned the stool and headed into the living room. Paul followed with both cups. He sat on the couch as I opened the piano.

The song started off with a piano solo that sounded a bit like the entrance of a dream sequence. It gave the listener a wistful feeling as they listened to a song about a lost love. My fingers danced across the keys as I sang.

"I need you, I love you, I want you to hold me again. Love me again. Tell me again how I'm still your, baby. Hold me again, love me again, come back to me. Please."

When I finished, tears were in my eyes. I had thought I cried every tear I possibly could, but that proved to be false. When you love someone more than anything, and then you lose them, you can never truly run out of tears.

I glanced back to see Paul was crying as well. Both of us had tears running down our cheeks. We made rivers through our grief.

Without a single word, Paul lunged forward and pulled me into an embrace. I buried my face in his chest as he squeezed me tightly. I could feel tears on my scalp from where he buried his face in my hair.

Nothing could ever cure me of the pain, but somethings could make it bearable. Being with Paul made it bearable. I didn't lose love the day Mum died, and Paul was just living proof. I'm sure I acted the same way for him. While nothing could ever cure the pain of losing Mum, being together could help us live through it.

"She would have loved it," Paul whispered.

I choked back a sob, "I miss her so much."


	97. Number One

I played Hold Me Again for Mitch, who instantly decided to release it as a single. It was the A side while Molly's Marty was the B side. At first, I was hesitant at allowing the song I wrote about Mum to be out in the world. It held a special place in my heart and I wasn't sure I would be able to handle any hate against it. The song was a sort of private thing that only Paul, Michael, and I understood, putting it out into the world seemed like a bad idea. Yet, I didn't object, and the song was released barely a week later.

As it neared December, England got colder. I practically refused to leave the flat unless I was carrying a heater. Snow was always covering the streets, you couldn't breathe without freezing your lungs, and you took the risk of slipping anytime you stepped outside.

"Can't believe we're going on another world tour," I shook my head.

Molly smiled, "I can, the lads were bound to get another hit."

"The entire bloody album was a hit. Honestly, their egos don't need any more fueling."

Molly and Janice both laughed. Molly was curled up on the armchair in four different blankets. Janice was on the floor, two comforters around her shoulders, drawing. I was lying on the couch with just as many blankets as Molly. Even with the warmth of four thick blankets and a roaring fire, I was still freezing.

"I hope we go back to Australia," Janice muttered, "I want to pet a kangaroo."

I chuckled, "I don't think that's such a good idea, Jan."

"Why?"

"It'll kill ya."

Janice shook her head, "It won't, it's cute."

"The cute ones are always the deadliest," Molly said.

Janice glanced between the two of us before shaking her head. I pulled the blankets closer to me and shivered, "I'm sick of being bloody cold."

"Welcome to England," Molly replied.

"It's better than being hot," Janice replied, "We're so used to the cold, hot would make us melt."

"At least then I could feel my body."

Nobody replied. I burrowed under the blankets to the point where every part of my body was covered. Even then, I was still cold. It didn't help that the building had a crappy heating system. All of us expected it to break any day. I vowed that my next flat would have the greatest heating system man can create.

The doorbell made me jump slightly. With the snow falling outside and the freeze setting in, I didn't expect anyone. Nobody in their right minds would go out in that cold, unless, of course, they had a purpose.

"It's open!" Molly shouted.

The door opened and shut rather quickly. I unburied my face just enough to see Ellen walk in. Her cheeks were rosy and her hair had snowflakes adorning it like gems. She quickly shook herself off and sighed, "Remind me to have a chat with you three about security."

"You know we're not going to do that," I replied.

Ellen looked around before she saw me under the blankets. Molly glanced up at her and said, "It's not like anyone knows where we live, expect our mates, of course."

"Nevertheless, it is important that you remain safe," Ellen replied, "I want you to lock the door and always check who is on the other side before you open it. Understood?"

"You sound like my Mum," Molly muttered.

Janice smiled, "I love your Mum."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Ellen replied, "I didn't come here to lecture you, I have wonderful news!"

I pushed the blankets off and asked, "Does it have to do with the tour?"

"No, this is much better."

Ellen reached into her bag and pulled out a newspaper. She opened it to the charts which told of all of that week's biggest songs. It was a complete list of every song that had sold the most that week. To nobody's surprise, The Beatles held most of those spots. Except the most revered one.

"Hold Me Again has reached number one!" Ellen exclaimed.

None of us reacted. We all stared at her, our eyes wide and our mouths gaping. Nobody was as shocked as I was. The song I had written about my lost mother had reached the number one spot. Everybody thought it was a simple song about a lost love, but I knew different. My tribute to my mother had become the first number one hit of The Revolution. 

"You're joking," I said.

Ellen shook her head and handed me the paper. I opened it, my eyes widening even more as I read. Just as Ellen said, Hold Me Again was number one with Eight Days a Week resting just below it. While the lads had been at number one for quite some time, it was our turn.

"I can't bloody believe it!" I exclaimed, leaping up to stand on the couch, "We have a number one hit!"

"We have a number one!" Molly screamed.

She jumped onto the couch and began to bounce with me. Janice joined us until all three of us were holding hands and bouncing on the couch. Our laughter rang through the room, perhaps even through the entire building. I was laughing too loud to hear the snap of a camera shutter. Ellen held my camera with a bright grin on her face. The pride in seeing the girls she had brought from a nothing club in Liverpool hit number one shone in every line in her face. 

I knew that, with enough persistence and creative brilliance, we would have a number one, but never did I expect Hold Me Again to get us there. It was a song I had written for a woman I lost eight years ago, one I wrote on the Day of The Dead, hit number one. It was unbelievable. The high I experienced after hearing the news was like winning the lottery. I wanted to dance and sing on clouds made of pure joy.

"I knew you girls could do it," Ellen smiled, "You've finally hit the top."

Molly, Janice, and I all simultaneously stopped jumping. We glanced at Ellen, with Janice and me peering around Molly. As if scripted, we began to smile.

"Elly!" I screeched.

"Oh no," Ellen muttered.

We jumped off the couch and tackled her. This time, she actually went down. We were all in a heap on the floor, and the three of us were bear hugging Ellen. Instead of getting mad, she laughed loudly.

"I'm so proud of my girls," Ellen pulled all three of us into her embrace.

Molly laughed, "We couldn't have done this without you, Elly."

"If it weren't for you, we would still be playing dingy clubs," I smiled, "But now we have a number one hit!"

Ellen squeezed us all. Had I been looking, I would have seen the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes. We may have been happy, but nobody was as happy as Ellen. She invested so much of her time, energy, and love into us, and it was finally paying off. Finally, her girls were getting somewhere.

"We've got to tell everybody!" I exclaimed, "Paul, John, George, Ringo, Regina, Reggie, Mrs. Mackenzie, Mrs. Hallieford, Brian-"

"Amelia, calm down, you're getting ahead of yourself," Ellen placed her hands on my shoulder.

Molly smiled, "Mum always reads the paper, I bet she already knows."

"And Brian most likely told the boys," Ellen continued, "As for the rest of the world, I have arranged a press conference at Aubergine Studios this evening."

Molly gasped, "Our first press conference."

"I can't believe it!" I screamed.

The excitement was overwhelming; it blurred my senses. Without even thinking, I grabbed Molly's cheeks and kissed her furiously. I could feel her skin buzzing with excitement as well.

Whenever we pulled apart, I remembered Ellen was there. Both of us looked at her with terrified expressions. Instead of yelling at us, she simply smiled and shook her head, "Be ready by seven."

Molly was shocked at her reaction, but I simply grinned. Ellen was a caring woman, it didn't surprise me that she didn't care if we were queer. She carried on like nothing had happened because, to her, it hadn't. She was caring and she was observant, I'm sure she knew way before we did.

I grabbed Molly's cheeks and kissed her again. When we pulled apart for the second time, I pulled both her and Janice into an embrace. Janice's head slammed onto my shoulder as Molly casually fell into it. I squeezed their sides and laughed, "We're at number one!"

***

A press conference and an interview were two entirely different things. One was a secluded thing where you could focus on the question of one person. The other was completely chaotic. There were reporters at every angle asking a thousand different questions, it was impossible to keep up with.

Molly, Janice, and I were waiting just outside of the studio area for the press conference. Ellen was going to go and answer a few early questions while we finished 'getting ready'. In reality, we were all bored out of our minds in the control room. I spun around in a swirly chair.

"You're going to make yourself sick," Molly commented.

I grinned, "They'll have one helluva story, then."

"Amelia, please don't throw up on the reporters," Mitch glanced at me.

I sighed deeply. We could see the reporters outside of the window. Ellen had vanished, but not for long. The door to the control room opened and she arrived, "Come along, girls, it's your turn."

Molly, Janice, and I all stood. We made our way to the studio. Janice took the middle, her anxiety beginning to get the better of her. She was becoming as pale as a sheet and her muscles trembled. I reached forward and patted her shoulder.

As soon as we stepped into the studio, we were met with several camera flashes and questions. Ellen held up her hands to silence them. I couldn't see anything, spots flew across my vision from where the flashes had blinded me. I blinked rapidly and rubbed my eyes in an effort to see once again.

"Hello everybody," Molly said into the microphone.

I leaned around her, "'Ello!"

I was the only one to wave. Each and every reporter stuck their hands up. Ellen was the one to choose who would ask first. She pointed to the only female reporter in the audience; a woman with hazelnut hair and thick-rimmed glasses. She held up a tape recorder and asked, "Can you tell us what this song is about? Who wrote it?"

"Melly wrote it," Molly jerked her head towards me.

"What about?"

I gulped. Part of me didn't want to tell her. I didn't want to tell the entire world our first number one hit was about my Mum. They could see us as childish or dependent on our parents. They didn't know my mother was dead, yet.

The other part of me wanted to tell them. This song meant one thing and one thing only; I still loved my mother and I knew she still loved me, but I wanted nothing more than to hear her say it again. This song meant too much to me, I couldn't lie about it. Only one story would suit the background of this song.

"My Mother," I replied, "I wrote it on the anniversary of her death."

Another reporter was chosen, "How does it feel to have knocked The Beatles, your friends and competitors, off the charts?"

"We're not competitors, save for a bit of friendly competition," Molly laughed, "They were happy for us, just like we're happy for them whenever they get number ones."

I nodded, "It's not all competition here, we're all good friends."

The next reporter was a man, as they all seemed to be. Ellen called on him and he asked, "Is it any harder for a woman in the music industry than for a man?"

Molly, Janice, and I stared at him. I could feel my anger bubbling to the top. A thousand and one cuss words came to mind, but not a single one exited my lips. Ellen was staring holes into us, silently warning us to watch what we say.

"Course is it, but I think you already knew that," I glared at him.

Molly cleared her throat, "What Amelia is trying to say is; it is a bit more difficult for us than for a man. People tend not to take us seriously because we're women. It's difficult to get past the bias, but we manage."

"Just because we're women, we have to put up with your bloody-" I began, but Molly quickly elbowed me.

Ellen cleared her throat, "Another question, perhaps?"

Once again, every hand in the room shot up. Ellen scanned her eyes over them before choosing a stout reporter in the front. He held up a notepad and asked, "Are any of you in relationships?"

Molly and I did our best not to look at each other. I could feel Ellen gazing at us warily as if she were worried we would slip up. Once again, I thought of a thousand and one insults, but not a single one made it past my lips. Instead, I took the microphone and smiled, "If you count our jobs, then yeah. Music is the world's greatest lover."

I winked at the reporter, causing the entire room to erupt into laughter. One laugh, in particular, caught my ear. It was familiar, almost too familiar. The same deep giggle I'd heard a thousand times that sounded like a cross between a whale and a child. Only one person had that laugh.

As Molly answered the next question, my eyes scanned the crowd. It was difficult to see due to the lights shining on us and the constant snap of the cameras. I noticed a video camera I hadn't seen earlier watching our every move from the corner. To the right of that were four 'reporters' dressed in very obvious disguises.

Four men stood awkwardly close together. Each wore long trench coats with obviously fake reporters badges hung off the pockets. Two held cameras while the others carried notepads, though neither took notes. They all wore the same hat which covered their heads, but that didn't hide them from me. Through the fake eyeglasses and stuck-on beards, I knew exactly who had shown up at our press conference.

"I'm going to burn those bloody beards," I muttered.

Luckily, the microphones didn't catch what I said, but Molly did. She glanced at me questioningly before following my gaze to the lads. John, Paul, George, and Ringo, all dressed in disguises that didn't quite work, smiled up at us. It was Ringo whom I had heard laughing.

Molly gripped my arm and shook her head enough for only me to notice. Ringo snapped a picture of us as John whispered something to Paul and George. The four lads laughed and Paul stuck his hand in the air. Much to my dismay, Ellen pointed to him.

"Yes, thank you. Amelia, what is it like to have a brother as magnificent as Paul McCartney?" he asked, his eyes shining mischievously.

I sneered. During any other occasion, I would quip back with something witty and humorous, but I had a reputation to uphold. Calling Paul an arse, like I usually would, would tarnish Revolution's reputation. I was left with only one choice.

"I dunno, he's still my brother," I answered, "Girls all over the world fling themselves at his feet, but he's still just Paul to me. Same old loving brother."

"Handsome too," Paul winked.

I glared at him, "Yes, I s'pose so."

I'm sure he could tell how much I wanted to hit him just by looking at my eyes. He began to laugh as did the other lads. Just as we were about to move on, the perfect way to get back at him popped into my mind.

"And, might I say, what a glorious beard you have," I smiled, my voice drowning in sarcasm, "I'm sure it takes a lot of product and a lot of time in the bathroom keeping it that luxurious."

Paul looked like he wanted to flip me the bird, but he restrained himself. I winked before we moved on to the next question. Every so often, I would catch one of the lads making a stupid face at us. Each time, I had to hold myself back from responding. Once the press conference was over, we were ushered off the stage despite the reporters calling for more questions. Ellen led us back to the production room with Mitch. As soon as the doors shut, I turned to Molly and Janice and exclaimed, "That's it, I'm burning those beards!"


	98. The First McCartney Family Expansion

"You don't find it a little weird that he invited us to dinner now?" I asked, "I mean, he's had opportunities before, why now?"

Paul shrugged, "Because he's Da, I dunno. Why does there have to be a catch?"

"You said it yourself, because he's Da."

Paul rolled his eyes. The train jerked to the left, causing me to slam into the wall. I rubbed my head and grumbled a few obscenities while Paul laughed.

He might not find it weird, but I did. Dad had so many opportunities to reconcile with us, but he chooses now, nearly five years after he kicked us out. I hadn't seen him since the dinner with Paul, Michael, and Jane, and I wasn't looking forward to tonight. For Dad to invite us to his house without any holiday or previous inclination, something had to be up.

Dad could easily be trying to make things right with us. It was about time he got his head out of his arse and realized we weren't kids anymore. He had missed a large portion of our lives, it seemed a bit late for him to be realizing this. It also seemed to be coincidental that Dad finally invites us back when The Beatles are at the height of their popularity and Revolution just got their first number one single. 

My biggest guess was that he wanted to mooch off of our success, more specifically Paul's. Had he truly wanted to make up with us, he would have already tried. He had my number, I told Michael to give it to him, and he still hasn't called me. Paul was the one to receive the call for us to come home that Sunday in November.

There was no way this would be an ordinary family dinner because we weren't an ordinary family. Two of the three kids were famous musicians, one of the two being world-famous, the third was steadily growing his musical talents, and the Father had proved more than once that he never truly cared about his children. Something else was afoot here, I could smell it, even as we pulled into the familiar Liverpool train station.

"Christ's sake, Lia, stop reading into this," Paul sighed, "He's just inviting us to dinner, is all."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "There is something fishy going on, I tell you! There's some sort of catch."

"Maybe he just wants to make it right with us. You can't tell me you don't want Da back."

He and I connected eyes for a moment. His hope for Dad's return blinded him to logic. I wanted Dad back just as much as he did, but I could see through the lies. If Dad really and truly wanted us back, he would have already done it, and he would have come to us not the other way around.

"Fine," I replied, "I want him back too."

Paul clapped my shoulder, "There ya go. Just keep your hopes up, Lia, maybe we'll get Da back after all."

He stood and grabbed both of our bags, handing mine to me. We had made plans to stay with Michael for the night. Dad had invited us back to our old rooms, but we both jumped to deny. Going home for dinner was one thing, staying was another step none of us were ready to take.

Liverpool never changed. I hadn't been back since Mr. Mackenzie died, which was only a few months before. The same gray clouds covered the sky to where the sun seemed like nothing more than a fairy tale. People wandered around with the same dull expressions and pale complexions.

"We should pop by The Cavern, for old time's sake," Paul suggested.

He slapped on a hat and sunglasses as well as pulled his coat tighter around his body. Having started out as a hometown band, The Beatles had more fans in Liverpool than anywhere else in the world. It was more imperative for Paul to keep his identity hidden there than any other city. I was guilty by association and had to hide as well. I wrapped my scarf around my neck to where it also covered my mouth and pulled my stocking cap over my ears. The only thing people could see was my eyes, and I covered that with sunglasses.

"Wonder what bands they have playing there now," I thought out loud, "None as good as you lads, I'm sure."

Paul grinned at the compliment. He used his scarf to hide his face just like I did. We stepped out onto the Liverpool streets, both of us instantly being hit with an air of nostalgia.

I had spent many years running up and down those same streets. Some in my childhood where I was chasing a friend or a brother, others I had spent following my mates while we all lugged about our instruments. Liverpool held many memories; from the laughter shared between friends to the first strings of a local group called The Quarrymen. All left me with a wistful smile across my lips and a daydream glaze in my eyes.

"Look, it's our park," Paul gestured across the street.

Our favorite park was covered in snow, just like the rest of the city. Another wistful smiled crawled across my lips as I remembered all of the good memories there. If I concentrated, I could see three McCartney children running around the playground while their Mother watched on lovingly.

"Never thought I'd say this," I sighed, "But I did miss Liverpool."

Paul chuckled, "Me too. Wouldn't move back, but I miss it."

"We should visit more often."

"If things go well with Da, we just might."

I glanced up at him before shaking my head. Paul's optimism could often be mistaken for stupidity. When facing something such as our father, his optimism blinded him to the truth. I let my pessimism take hold and guide me to the logical side. Paul could stay in his daydream fantasy as long as he wanted, I had enough logic for the two of us.

Whenever our childhood home came into view, I sucked in a deep breath. Nothing had changed. It still had the same chipped paint, the same cracked stairs, and the same tarnished windows from years of weather. Mum's lace curtains still hung on each window despite their yellowing. Dad hadn't changed a single thing.

"See, it's not so bad," Paul grinned at me.

I frowned, "We're not inside yet."

He gazed at me for a moment before rolling his eyes. I followed him up the stairs. There had been many days where I had sat on that stoop writing, smoking, singing, or hanging out with Paul and George. Later in life, Molly joined me on that stoop.

Michael was the one to answer the door. The first thing I thought was how old he looked. He was twenty, a fact which I often forgot, but he looked older than any of us. The hint of a beard was growing on his chin with a matching mustache. All of his baby fat had been shed and replaced with chiseled features. He looked a lot like Dad did in his youth, right down to the box-like head. When he saw us, he smiled. At least his smile hadn't changed, it was the same goofy grin he'd had since he was born.

"Paulie, Lia, glad you could make it," Michael pulled Paul into a hug.

Paul ruffled his brother's hair, "Course we came, Mikey, wouldn't miss it."

Michael pulled away from Paul and moved to hug me. He had always been tall, but now he stood over even Paul. I didn't stand a chance. Whenever we pulled apart, he smirked, "Tiny as ever, Lia."

"Bugger off, Mikey," I replied, "I'm not tiny."

Michael placed a hand on the top of his head and pulled it out to where it hovered a foot over my head to show the distance between us, "Are you sure?"

"Fuck off."

Michael and Paul both cackled loudly. I sneered at them and crossed my arms, falling into a pout. Paul ruffled my hair, causing my hat to fall off, "Come off it, Lia, you're just fun size."

That only made Michael laugh harder. I had half a mind to hit them both, but I settled for a deep sigh. I shot them each a glare, "You oafs."

"Michael? Who's there?" a voice called from the kitchen.

Both Paul and I glanced that way with hesitant expressions. Dad came around the corner with oven mitts on his hands and bifocals on the tip of his nose. When he saw us, he broke out into a grin, "Wonderful! It is good to see you two."

He abandoned his mitts on the dining room table and rushed forward to hug us. It seemed like he was longing for a hug from his children, much like a smoker longs for a cigarette. I found that suspicious. He hugged Paul with a forced love. Paul didn't realize, instead choosing to hug Dad back with his bountiful genuine love.

In my entire life, I had never seen Dad as happy as he was that day. His very being seemed to glow with a newfound joy. Even his hair smiled, something which I didn't think possible. This was a different Dad than the one who kicked his two eldest children to the streets, or the one who told his only daughter she couldn't follow her dreams because she was a woman. Had it not been for Michael standing right behind me, I would have thought we went to the wrong house. This wasn't the Dad I knew. 

"I have missed you," Dad muttered.

Paul squeezed him, "Miss you too, Da."

They released each other and Dad spun to hug me. He opened his arms, but I didn't dive right in. Instead, I shot Paul a glance, hesitated for a moment, but finally accepted his embrace.

"You look beautiful, Amelia, just like I knew you would," he pulled me away to look at him, "I've missed you so much."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "I've missed you too."

If he noticed the insincerity in my voice, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he clapped his hands and announced, "Dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes. Our guests should be here soon as well."

"Guests? What guests?" Paul asked as chipper as ever.

Both he and Michael were smiling as brightly as the moon as they looked at Dad. I stood behind them, my arms crossed and my eyebrows sewn together. Worry crept into my mind. This entire thing was nice, almost too nice. Dad was more upbeat than normal, and he never once called me beautiful. Mum was the only one who ever called her children beautiful or handsome, never Dad. He never said he missed us either. Even when we were little and he would spend months away from home, he would come back without a single 'I missed you'. Not even to Mum.

"Just a friend of mine and her daughter," Dad replied, "Wanted you to meet them."

Dad vanished into the kitchen. Paul glanced at Michael who simply shrugged, he didn't know either. I stared at the place Dad once stood with worry and suspicion lacing every part of my face.

"Calm down," Paul told me, "It's just a couple of friends."

I deepened my frown, "Are you honestly not suspicious right now?"

"No? Come off it, Lia, this is just Da wanting to make friends again."

"It's not and I know it. Since when did he say he misses us? Since when did he ever call any of us beautiful?"

Michael rolled his eyes, "Can't you just take a compliment?"

"Not you too," I shook my head, "Fine, if you two want to be oblivious dolts, go ahead, I have enough sense for the three of us."

"It's the exhaustion, making her wonky," Paul told Michael.

Michael lifted an eyebrow, "Still not sleeping well?"

"Insomnia doesn't just go away, Mikey," I replied, "This has nothing to do with that, it has everything to do with the fact that I know Da. This isn't natural for him."

Paul and Michael decided to drop the subject. Paul went to make himself a drink while Michael fell to sit on the couch. Both of them acted like they had never left. They seemed so comfortable while I was about as uncomfortable as one can get. My nerves were frayed and my mind told me to leave, but I stayed.

I wished Molly were there with me, at least she would listen to me. She would know I'm not crazy. As it is, she offered to come with me, but I told her this was something Paul and I had to face on our own. When I stood in that house on the verge of a mental breakdown, I wished I wouldn't have said that.

To distract myself, I went to the staircase to gaze at the pictures I knew by heart. Family photographs lined the wall going up the stairs and had since Paul was born. The very first one was of Paul, Michael, and me. I was about six at the time, making Paul seven and Michael five. We were all sitting in the middle of the yard on a blanket. All of us smiled at the camera. 

"That was your mother's favorite photo of the three of you," a voice said behind me.

I jumped a little before turning. Dad stood just behind me. The hall was empty except for the two of us. He moved to stand next to me, but I took a step away, purposefully trying to get him to notice.

"I like it too," I replied.

Dad smiled. His smile was a bit sad, but his eyes still sparkled. Alarm bells went off in my head as he glanced up at me.

"I was worried you wouldn't come," his smile grew wider, "But I'm glad you did."

I gazed at him with a neutral expression, "Almost didn't. Paul convinced me."

"I'm glad he did. It gives me a chance to apologize."

"For what?" I demanded, "Kicking me out? Telling me I'm not good enough? Telling me I can't do what I love because I'm a woman?"

Dad sighed, "All of it. I've had some time to reflect recently, and I've realized, what I did was wrong. I'm sorry Amelia."

His apology seemed genuine, but I saw straight through it. There had been many times he had apologized without ever really apologizing. Dad was a born liar, it's what he did best. If he really wanted to apologize, it would show in his actions, and over an extended period of time.

"Like I said before, I want to forgive you, but I'm not going to," I replied, "Not yet, anyway. This isn't something easily forgotten."

There was a small child buried deep inside of my heart that cried out for her father. That child wanted nothing more than to jump into her father's arm and tell him everything would be alright. The child in me wanted her Dad back, but I knew that was exactly what he wanted.

"I know, I just hope tonight will help begin to make amends," Dad smiled.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Is that why you invited us down here? To make amends?"

"Partly, yes," Dad replied, "Also because I have some news to share with all of you."

"What?"

"You'll soon know, over dinner."

I furrowed my brows for what seemed like the thousandth time that evening. Dad smiled at me once again as an alarm went off in the kitchen. He hurried to get it, leaving me alone in the front hall.

"Since when could he cook?" I muttered. 

Instinct told me to leave, curiosity kept me rooted in place. This entire situation was toxic, and I wasn't sure if it was all Dad. He was known to lie and cheat his way into getting what he wanted, I had been the victim of it one too many times. As much as I wanted Dad back, I didn't want to have to deal with the situation I was currently standing in.

A doorbell made me jump. I glanced at the front door to see a blurry figure standing there. It looked like a woman. I lifted an eyebrow before shouting, "I've got it!"

It was, in fact, a woman on the other side. She looked to be about Dad's age, give or take a few years. She wore a floral dress I had seen George's Mum wear hundreds of times. She had brown hair with streaks of silver and the same Liverpudlian pale skin. Her smile was warm, much like a mother's, and her eyes sparkled.

She held the hand of a little girl. The child couldn't have been more than four. She had the same brown hair as her mother, but it was close shaven to her head. Her plaid dress was a little too short, but she made up for it in bright yellow socks. Her smile showed a few missing teeth.

"Oh, you must be Amelia, I've heard so much about you," the woman's voice dripped with sickening sweetness, "I'm Angela and this is my daughter, Ruth."

She reached out to shake my hand. I obliged. When we separated, she could tell I had no idea who she was. A smile crossed her lips, "I'm a friend of your fathers. He invited us over for dinner."

"Oh, uh, yes, of course. Come on in."

She stepped inside. Instantly, the room became warmer than usual, even with the heater running downstairs. It's as if her mere presence created warmth. When she walked by, I smelled gingerbread fresh out of the oven. Mum used to bake gingerbread all the time, it was like her perfume, always fermented into her skin and her clothes. This woman seemed similar. I was instantly put off.

"How old are you?" Ruth asked.

I gazed down at her, "Twenty-one."

"I'm four and a half!" Ruth held up four fingers, "I know how to ride a bike!"

"That's-er-that's wonderful."

I wasn't entirely sure how to act around these two strangers whom I was supposed to share dinner with. Angela waltzed in like she owned the place, making me believe she had been there many times. Even Ruth hurried into the living room as if she lived here.

"Jim?" Angela called.

"Angie, is that you?"

Dad appeared from the kitchen. I followed Angela in as she hurried to hug my Dad. Paul and Michael appeared from the living room with confused looks on their faces. I'm sure mine mirrored theirs.

"Angela, these are my children," Dad gestured to us, "Paul, Amelia, and Michael. Children, this is Angela Williams and her daughter Ruth."

Ruth had appeared from the living room and jumped up for Dad to pick her up. He did, much to the astonishment of Paul, Michael, and I. We all watched on, at a complete loss for words.

Whenever he looked at Angela, he had a sparkle in his eyes I had only ever seen when he looked at Mum. He held Ruth like she was his own child. He smiled at her like he had never smiled at me. She was the daughter he always wanted, I could see it in his eyes. My heart broke a little bit more. 

"It's wonderful to finally meet you all," Angela smiled.

Paul, being ever the charismatic one of us, flashed her a winning smile, "Pleasure, really."

"Dinner's on the table."

We all filed into the dining room. I sat between Paul and Michael while Dad, Angela, and Ruth sat on the opposite side of the table. I was directly opposite of Dad, something which I think he intended. He smiled at me before reciting the blessing.

Each of us filled our plates. We ate in silence, with Angela shooting looks at Dad. He looked nervous. His hands shook every time he lifted the fork to his mouth. This didn't go unnoticed. Paul, Michael, and I kept glancing at each other as if searching for an answer none of us knew. 

"It's delicious, Da," Michael commented.

Dad smiled, "Thank you, Michael."

"I agree, this roast beef is the best," Paul smiled.

Dad nodded thanks. He glanced at me as if waiting for me to say something, but I simply continued to chew. Paul was the one to finally get to the root of the problem, "So, Da, you said you had something to tell us?"

"Yeah, some sort of news?" Michael asked.

Dad glanced between them before smiling, "Yes, actually, I did. Great news."

"What is it?"

"Angela and I are getting married."

The entire table fell into silence. The only noise came from Ruth as she happily chewed her carrots, completely oblivious to the fight brewing. Paul, Michael, and I all stared at Dad. I was sure they were feeling the exact same thing I was. Even if I couldn't quite identify it, I knew it wasn't good.

It'd only been eight years since we lost Mum. The anniversary of her death was barely a week before that dinner. If Dad truly loved Mum, he would never marry again because his heart would always belong to her. You can't get over true love in as little as eight years. It seemed impossible to me. The only solution was that Dad had never truly loved Mum. 

My emotions were blinding me, I know that now. In the future, I would learn that true love never washes away. True love can come more than once in a lifetime for those who are lucky. At the time, I was already angry at him and this only added fuel to the fire. 

"Da, that's great," Michael smiled.

"What?" I asked, "Are you serious?"

I glanced between Michael and Dad. Michael shrugged while Dad looked at me hopefully, "Isn't it wonderful? I finally found someone who loves me, and I love her back."

He kissed Angela's cheek for emphasis. Paul was completely silent, his look almost unreadable. I felt like running out of the house and never looking back.

"What do you mean finally? What about Mum? Didn't you love her?" I asked.

Dad nodded, "Yes, of course, I did, I absolutely adored your mother. It's been hard since she left us, it would be nice to be loved again."

"She may not be here, but she still loves you. It's obvious, you don't feel the same," I grumbled, "I can't believe you did this, bloody hell."

I stood up and prepared to walk out, but a strong grip latched onto my arm. I glanced down to see Paul looking up at me with steely eyes. His emotions were invisible, which wasn't natural for him. As soon as we connected eyes, I was completely paralyzed. 

"Lia, you of all people should know love isn't a choice. Dad's in love, and you should be the first to be happy for him," Paul's voice was monotone.

Just by looking at him, I knew exactly what he was talking about. What right did I have to judge Dad for falling in love again when I had to hide my love away? Dad was in love, I was breaking the law, what room did I have to judge him?

"You're right," I sighed, sitting back down, "I'm sorry, Da, I lost my head there for a second. I'm happy for you, for both of you."

Dad and Angela both smiled. He reached forward and grabbed my hand. It took all of my willpower not to jerk away.

"Thank you, Amelia," Dad smiled, "I'm so happy you three are alright with this."

Michael smiled, "We couldn't be happier for you."

Paul and I exchanged glances. He may be able to keep a straight face, but I could see right through him. Neither of us was comfortable with this, but we had hopes. Perhaps Angela could help Dad become a better man, thus getting closer to us once again.

"When's the wedding?" Michael asked.

Michael was the only one of the three of us to be completely cool with this. Paul and I were on edge, I could sense his desire to get out just as much as mine. The only difference was that Paul managed to keep his head straight through this entire conversation, whereas I had nearly lost mine twice.

"In a fortnight," Dad replied, "Paul, Michael, I want you to be groomsmen."

"And I would like Amelia to be a bridesmaid," Angela smiled.

Once again, Paul and I exchanged glances. Paul spoke up, "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"I didn't think you would want to hear from me," Dad replied, "I was waiting for the right time, I suppose."

There were so many things I wanted to say, but I kept my mouth shut. I knew, if I opened my lips, the wrong thing would come out and I would have a table of angry people. The best I could do was remain quiet.

"I can't wait," Michael smiled.

"I can," I mumbled under my breath.

Only Paul heard me.


	99. Stand By Me

It was difficult to decide which half of me would take over when dealing with my emotions. I was split in half; one part angry at Dad for not loving Mum and the other telling me to be happy for him. Never once did he say he didn't love Mum, in fact, he said he was destroyed after she died. Angela could help him, she could give him a light in his dark and a smile through his tears. It was selfish to be angry at him, but I had yet to learn how to control my emotions.

Paul was the same, but he knew which side was the better one. After a few days of being upset and trying to figure out how he truly felt, he came to the conclusion that he would be happy for Dad. Once he figured his mind out, he set to convince me as well.

"It's not all bad, Lia," Paul shrugged, "It's getting better all the time, you know? Maybe Angela will help Da. He's never been the same since Mum died, she could help him."

I frowned, "I know, I know, you've said that at least nine different times."

"Eight and a half, you interrupted him that one time," Molly commented.

I shot her a glare, "Not helping."

Molly shrugged. Jane shook her head, "It doesn't matter, what matters is that your Dad is happy. You should be happy for him."

"I know, I guess I am, in a way."

Paul simply shook his head. He rested an arm on Jane's shoulders. They sat across from us in the train with Jane claiming the window seat. Seeing as how we were allowed to bring dates, we brought our significant others, though everybody thought I had brought Molly as a friend. Only Paul, Molly, and I knew differently. Really, that's all that mattered. So long as we knew, nobody else's opinions mattered. 

"Just remember to smile," Molly said.

"I'll try."

Paul glanced at me before looking at Jane and rolling his eyes. Jane giggled and leaned into his side. His smile grew wider and more genuine than ever before; she was his sun and he was her world.

Never had I seen Paul look at anyone like he looked at Jane. He had thousands of girlfriends, some that lasted a long time, but never did he smile like he did with Jane. The looks he gave her when she wasn't looking were like those in paintings of two lovers. His eyes were filled with a joy no one could quite understand. I came close, I could see, in his eyes, the same feelings I had whenever I looked at Molly. It was the feeling of finally finding something you had been looking for all your life, something that fulfills you. It was finding the final missing piece to a puzzle you had been working on for years. It was finally finding someone who felt like home. Deep down, a part of me wondered if Dad had found that as well. 

"Let's go get a cuppa, shall we?" Paul asked Jane.

Jane smiled, "I'd love to."

"Care to join us?"

Paul and Jane both looked at Molly and me. Simultaneously, we both shook our heads having seen our chance to be alone together. Paul understood, and a sly grin crossed his lips, "Alright, we'll see you lasses in a bit. Don't go getting into trouble, you know?"

He winked at me, causing me to chuckle. Molly went bright red. Luckily, Jane didn't realize as she allowed Paul to lead her out. They shut the door, leaving Molly and me in complete solitude. Even the door was blacked out, the glass having black plastic over it to ensure privacy. The two of us were as alone as we ever would be.

"You know, this is a good thing," Molly gripped my hand and smiled.

I sighed, "I know- I just- Mum's been gone eight years, you would think I would get over it. Da sure seems to have."

"Just because he's getting married doesn't mean he's gotten over it," Molly smiled, "Take it from me, when you lose someone you love, the greatest comfort you could possibly have is in someone else who loves you. It's impossible to get through something that monumental without having someone there with you."

"He had us."

"Had. He doesn't even have Michael anymore, he had to find someone. He's not replacing your Mum or you, you know that, right?"

I took a deep breath, "I know. You're right, I should be happy for him. This is good for him."

"Exactly."

"He's still an arse, though."

Molly laughed, "Good to see it runs in the family."

"Wow, harsh."

Molly cupped my cheeks and placed a firm kiss on my lips, "Ah, but I love you anyways."

"By golly, Miss Molly, what did I ever do without you?" I asked, smiling onto her lips.

"Wait for me."

She kissed me again, this time deeper and more sensual. I kissed back. Her kisses were like matches lighting a flame inside my body. Our souls danced an eternal waltz in the world of stars everytime we touched.

When we pulled apart, she rested her head on my shoulder. Our fingers were still intertwined on my lap. I began to play with her fingers while she watched on.

"Thanks for coming with me," I said.

Molly smiled, "Wouldn't miss it. It's a rare occasion to see you in a dress, I need photo evidence."

"Bugger off."

She laughed. The lock on the door turned, causing us both to jump apart. Jane and Paul had returned carrying a cup each. Paul glanced at Molly and me and winked, "Brought you birds some biscuits."

"Oh, Paulie, you're too kind."

***

"You should wear dresses more often, you look lovely," Michael commented.

I glared at him, "These things are disgusting. There's a draft, my thighs are chafing, and I feel bloody starker!"

The white dress Angela had given me was wool and knitted like a table dolly. It hugged me in all of the right spots and hung loosely right where it should. With all of the holes and the thin material of the dress, I was freezing. It was late November in Liverpool and as chilly as ever. I swear it was colder that day simply to make me more miserable. I stood there, in the back room of the church with the rest of the wedding party, shivering so violently I could cause an Earthquake.

Even so, I felt like I was about to walk out in a wedding procession completely starker. My stockings only went up to my knees making me feel as if I wasn't wearing any pants at all. For what the dress was worth, I might as well have been completely naked. That dress would do better as a tablecloth rather than an article of clothing. 

"Come off it, you look beautiful," Michael replied.

I crossed my arms, "No amount of compliments will make this better."

"Can't say I didn't try."

Michael wandered off to talk to Paul. They were lucky, they got to wear black suits that didn't make them feel naked. Their outfits were warm and I felt like I was about to freeze to death! All I wanted was to get this wedding over with so I could go home and curl up in the bed.

I stood there grumbling until I felt a light tug on the bottom of my dress. Ruth was looking up at me with the smile of a child about to go out and play. She wore a pink dress with a tutu and flowers running along her upper torso. Her hair was hidden beneath a flower crown and she carried a white basket almost as big as she was. Inside were rose petals meant to be dropped along the aisle.

"Mummy said I get to be a princess today," Ruth beamed.

I smiled and crouched to where I was at her level, "Really? I thought you were a Princess every day."

"Am I?" her eyes sparkled even more.

"Course you are, your highness," I bowed my head, "Princesses aren't made in a day, you're born a princess. You live everyday as a princess. And you, my dear, are the greatest princess of all."

She looked like she was just told the greatest news of her life. Her face completely lit up as she giggled loudly. She moved forward to hug me, her basket poking into my side. I hugged back with a smile on my lips.

"Are you a princess too?" she asked.

I shook my head, "There's only one princess, Princess Ruth. I'll be apart of the royal band, if it's all the same to you."

"Yeah!" Ruth exclaimed, "You and Paulie and Mikey can be the royal band! And Mummy and Daddy Jim will be the royal Mummy and Daddy!"

"What a fine kingdom you have," I told her.

Ruth nodded. She looked like she was about to say more, but we were interrupted by Mike. He stood above us and smiled, "Come on, Melly, Ruth, it's time for the wedding."

"Oh, what joy," I sighed, making Michael laugh.

"You can at least pretend to be happy for Da," Michael said as we got into the line.

Ruth took up the lead as the flower girl. Paul was just behind her with one of Angela's friends on his arm. Michael and I were right behind them with another bridesmaid and groomsmen just behind us. Finally, Angela took up the rear.

"I don't have to pretend, I am happy for Dad," I replied, "He's still an arse, though, and I still hate this dress."

Michael shook his head. I glared at him, "What?"

"You can't just forget about all that for one day?"

I didn't reply. As hard as I tried to focus on being happy for Dad, I couldn't seem to get over everything else. I had yet to forgive him for what he did to Paul and me, though Paul seemed to have left that all behind. I was still hung up on the past to where I couldn't be happy in the present.

All of that changed after the doors to the church opened. The music began to play and the procession made their way down the aisle. Ruth dropped flowers along the aisle, skipping and smiling the entire way. I looped my arm in Michael's and smiled as we walked down the aisle.

Molly and Jane were sitting together in the middle of the pews on the right side of the church. Dad's family was on the right side while Angela's family was on the left. Jane sat between Molly and our second cousin, Egbert. They both smiled and watched as we went down the aisle. Whenever we passed them, Molly caught my eye and smiled. My smile became genuine at that point.

When we arrived at the altar, Michael and I separated. I went to stand with the other bridesmaids as Michael went to stand with Paul and the other groomsmen. As soon as the music changed, the doors opened once again to reveal Angela.

She looked beautiful in her white flowing dress and the thin veil that covered her rosy face. Her brother walked her down the aisle with a smile equally as large as hers. As soon as she stepped out, I heard a sniffle from the groom's side of the altar.

Dad was crying. Actual tears fell down his face as he looked at Angela. My heart panged as I was hit with the true realization; Dad was really and truly in love. He wasn't forgetting Mum or abandoning us, he was marrying Angela because he was in love. He looked at her like she was an angel descended from Heaven who could wash away all his sorrows. He looked at her like I looked at Molly.

For the first time in eight years, Dad was happy.

All of my anger washed away. Everything I held against Dad in that moment was completely gone. I felt genuine joy well up inside and fuel a real smile. I was happy for my father. Even if he had done bad things in the past, what mattered was that moment. In that moment he was the happiest I had ever seen him.

"James McCartney, do you take this woman to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse so long as you both shall live?" the pastor asked.

Dad nodded, "I-I do."

Even his voice was trembling. I felt a surge of affection well up in my chest. Ever since he kicked us out, I pictured him as this cold and unloving bastard. That day, I saw that he could still love despite everything he's been through. I began to wonder if this was entirely his fault. He had tried several times before to apologize, but I was the one who always turned him down. Seeing him cry when looking at the woman he loved gave me a new perspective of my father. He wasn't a cold person, he was just hurt. He had lost his wife and, through his own actions, lost two of his children. I knew exactly what he was going through. In that moment, every single anger I had against him completely vanished.

"You may now kiss the bride," the pastor smiled.

Dad pushed back Angela's veil and kissed her with a passion. Paul, Michael, and I all clapped vigorously. I felt a few tears fall down my own face as I watched my father kiss the woman he loved. When he pulled away, his cheeks were rosy and his smile was wider than ever. He and Angela turned to the crowd and raised their hands in triumph, causing even more applause.

We all began to leave the altar. Michael looped his arm in mine once again. Smirking at me, he said, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were crying."

"Bugger off, Mikey," I replied, "I'm just happy is all."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I don't know, maybe you and Paul and Molly were right. Dad's happy, he's really happy, and I should be happy for him," I shrugged.

Michael grinned, "Now you just have to tell that to Da."

I glanced at the floor and nodded. We all went to the reception hall where the celebration would truly begin. The wedding party had their own table where their dates could go as well. Michael and I sat next to each other with his girlfriend on the other side of him. Molly plopped down next to me and said, "That was a beautiful ceremony."

"Dad was crying," I muttered, "I've never seen him so happy before. He was practically glowing."

Molly gently held my hand under the table, "Melly? You alright?"

"Yeah, fine."

I stared at the table. Angela and Dad were cutting the first slice of cake, but I didn't even realize. My mind was too focused on the picture of my father crying tears of joy.

Dad had lied and manipulated me a lot in my childhood. More than once, he apologized without meaning a single word he said. I caved every time, which is why I was so determined not to forgive him this time. After seeing him feel genuine joy, my perspective changed. I began to wonder if he was truly trying to makeup for what he did. Perhaps Angela had given him a new perspective on life, one where all he wanted was to have his family back. He had Michael, and even Paul had forgiven him. I was the last child left who still turned the cold shoulder.

Perhaps I was wrong to do that. Maybe it was time to finally let down the walls and begin to make real efforts in forgiving him. It wouldn't be immediate, I still harboured too many negative feelings, but they would fade eventually. All I had to do was make the first move.

After dinner and cake, the couple had their first dance. Several people joined in, including Molly and me. We danced near Paul and Jane.

"I'm going to go get a drink," Molly whispered whenever the first song had finished, "Why don't you go talk to him?"

She glanced at my father before smiling at me. I gulped nervously and nodded, watching her go off towards the bar. Whenever I turned to my father, my nerves took over. I felt like vomiting as I walked to him.

"Excuse me, can I cut in?" I asked Angela.

Both Dad and Angela looked at me in surprise. Angela quickly smiled and nodded, pulling up her dress and going over to dance with her brother. I grabbed Dad's hands and began to dance with him.

"Thank you for doing this," Dad smiled, "I know it must have been hard for you, what with everything I did. And-"

"Dad, please, you've apologized enough. I'm happy for you. You and Angela look nice together," I replied.

Dad nodded, "I do love her. Amelia, I'm not replacing your mother."

"I know that, Da," I sighed, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten angry that day, and I should have listened to you sooner."

"Amelia?" Dad asked, his voice filled with hope.

I glanced up at him. For a moment, I felt like a little girl once again. I was the child that loved her Dad with all her heart and wanted him back. For the first time, I allowed that child to take over.

"I'm sorry," I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes, "I miss you, a lot, and I'm sorry I kept pushing you away. Will you forgive me?"

Dad pulled me to his chest and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, "Amelia, there's nothing to forgive. You had a right to be angry with me, and you still do. It's me who should be asking for forgiveness."

I held some of his suit in my fists and I blinked back tears, "I love you, Da."

"I love you too, Amelia."

"And, I forgive you."

He held me tighter than ever that day. We stopped dancing and simply stood there hugging. Tears fell from my eyes despite my efforts to keep them in.

I finally had my Dad back.


	100. About Time

Rainy days were all too common in Northern London. A day of pure sunshine was rare and worth celebrating. Just two weeks before the second Beatles world tour, Molly, Janice, and I were all trapped in our flat while the rain poured from the sky in buckets larger than all of London. The rain fell quicker than a speeding bullet and harder than a rock. It was so thick, you wouldn't be able to see your hand right in front of your face. At two in the afternoon, it looked like night.

"You know, I'm beginning to hate rain," I muttered.

Molly shrugged, "Without rain, how would you appreciate the sunshine?"

"By golly, Miss Molly, you're a poet at heart."

Molly laughed. Thunder cracked outside, causing us both to jump slightly and laugh even harder. We were on the couch, under a blanket, waiting for Janice to join us for a movie. She was in the kitchen making her delectable hot cocoa. My mouth watered at the mere thought of her creation. 

"I don't hate the rain," Molly muttered, "A lot of good things happened during the rain."

"Like what?"

"Well, we kissed for the first time during a storm a lot like this one."

I smiled, "I'll never forget that."

Molly leaned over and pecked my lips. I pulled her back into a longer kiss. Any chill still remaining in my body vanished.

She pulled away and I rested my head in her lap. She stroked my hair, twirling it in between her fingers and braiding it. I sighed into her touch.

"We better cherish these moments while they last," Molly sighed, "We won't have any privacy as soon as we go on tour."

I smiled, "We'll still have night, whenever all the shows are over and the reporters have left for their own homes."

"Even then, there's always a chance of a fan breaking in or a reporter waiting to catch us in our knickers."

"I'm pretty sure one already caught Paul," I commented.

"That doesn't surprise me."

We both cackled. Molly leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. I curled my legs to my chest and smiled, in taking a deep breath of hot cocoa and peppermint candles.

Janice rounded the corner with three mugs of hot cocoa and a bright smile. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, a crack of thunder shook the building and the lights blinked out. The only light we had was one candle behind a wall in the kitchen and the lightning striking outside.

"Bloody hell!" Molly screamed.

Janice whimpered a bit. I sat up abruptly and gripped Molly's hand, "It's alright, just a power outage."

"That means the heater went out too," Molly said, "We'll freeze in a few minutes."

"Calm down, Mols, I'll start a fire."

I could still hear Janice whimpering, but she never once cried. Swinging my hands in front of me, I slowly made my way to the fireplace. There were already logs ready and waiting for a fire to slowly destroy them.

Fire was a beautiful thing. It caused life and death simultaneously. It could easily burn us to a crisp, and yet, humans were drawn to the warmth the light produced. Without it's warmth, we would die, but with it's flames, it kills us. Fire was the one thing that killed humans, but we couldn't live without it. In a way, it was beautiful. A beautiful thing that caused the cruelest fate. 

After a few minutes of trying to make the lighter work, I finally had a fair sized flame rolling over the logs. It whipped and cracked in the air, sending embers up the chimney. The firelight flicked over my face as I smiled brightly.

Molly and Janice both moved to sit closer to the fire. Molly dragged over as many blankets as she could while Janice brought the hot cocoa. I wrapped a blanket around my arms and sat with my legs stretched out, wiggling my toes in my socks and grinning to myself. Molly didn't hesitate in sitting between my legs and leaning on my stomach. I had to lean against the side of the fireplace to keep from falling. We both faced Janice, who sat alone with her legs crossed underneath her and three different blankets.

"At least we won't freeze now," I commented.

Janice nodded, "And the fire is pretty."

Molly sipped her hot cocoa and moaned, "Christ, Jan, if your hot cocoa was a person, I would marry it."

"I'm not entirely sure how to feel about that," I commented, earning a smirk from Molly.

Janice went bright red, "Oh, thank you. I think."

I took a sip of the hot cocoa and nearly snorted the whip cream. Janice knew exactly where to get the world's most delectable whip cream. It tasted like a Christmas at home with family. Had I had the opportunity, I would have eaten an entire tub of that whip cream.

"You've got a bit of something on your lip," Molly gazed up at me and smiled.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Where?"

"Everywhere."

She reached up and wiped it off, ultimately bringing her hand down to my chin and pulling me in for a kiss. Usually, we wouldn't be seen touching each other, but the only other person there to see was Janice. She was more okay with it than we were.

When we pulled apart we saw Janice looking at us with a dreamy smile. She quickly fell out of her trance and shook herself, her cheeks turning crimson. She busied herself with drinking her cocoa as if pretending nothing had happened, but Molly and I exchanged mischievous smirks.

"Why so red, Jan?" I asked.

Janice shook her head, "I-I'm always red."

"Only when something trips you up."

Janice hesitated. She stared at the fire for a moment before finally saying, "You two are so sweet together."

"If anyone should be blushing, it's us," Molly said.

I grinned, "Does this have anything to do with Peter?"

Janice went so red I was sure her skin had been replaced with blood. Her hands began to tremble, so she put her cup down on the ground and burrowed further into her blanket. The only part of her we could see was her eyes.

"I'll take that as a yes," I muttered.

Molly smiled, "Have you two been hanging out together?"

Janice couldn't reply. She burrowed even further into the blanket like a mole trying to get away from a predator. The blanket completely covered her body, but I could still feel the heat radiating off of her.

"Come on, Jan, you can tell us," I said.

A few mumbles came from under the blanket. Molly and I exchanged glances before crawling over to her. We both kneeled at the edge of the blanket where Janice's head was. I lifted up a corner to see her doe-eyes looking back at me.

"Sorry, dear, couldn't quite hear you," I smiled.

"He told me he fancied me," she whispered, "And then he kissed me."

Her voice was so quiet, I could barely hear her. Luckily, I had gotten used to Janice being quieter than a mouse. Both Molly and I understood her just as well as we would've if she were talking normally. I cheered as Molly clapped her hands.

"Jan, that's wonderful!" Molly exclaimed.

Janice slowly sat up. Molly hugged her on one side while I latched onto her other side. If it was possible for her to blush more, she did, but she smiled brighter too. When we pulled away, Molly asked, "When did this happen?"

"A week ago," Janice replied, "When we were playing at that concert hall, Peter and I got trapped out in the snow when the stage door closed behind us. It happened just before Ellen found us."

"I bloody well knew it!" I exclaimed, "It's about time the two of you finally admitted your undying love for each other."

Molly elbowed me, but I simply laughed. The two us had a running bet on when Janice and Peter would get together. Both of them were such a bundle of nerves, I doubted either had the guts to make the first move. I figured they would live their life in awkwardly close proximity to each other until someone finally had enough and forced them together. Most likely, that someone would have been me. 

"What Melly means to say is, we're so happy for you!" Molly hugged Janice once again.

Janice beamed, "Thank you. I-I was going to tell you sooner, but it took a while for me to actually believe it."

"Maybe now you'll finally relax when you're together," I smiled, "I swear, the sexual tension is too much, even for me."

"Melly!" Molly exclaimed.

Janice blushed even harder as her mouth gaped open. I simply winked, "Ah, always a pleasure to leave the ladies speechless."

"That's it, I want a divorce," Molly teased.

I frowned, "How could I ever live without you? Give me another chance, I'll change, honest."

I fake pleaded, clasping my hands together and shaking them. Molly gazed at me for a moment before breaking out into laughter. Even Janice laughed, and her cheeks turned back to normal. I grinned and kissed Molly's cheeks.

"And they all lived happily ever after," Molly announced, throwing an arm over Janice and my shoulders.

Janice smiled as I laughed, "I sure hope so, Molly."


	101. Welcome to The Family

Marriages seemed to have become a common trait in my life. Two of my closest friends and my Dad had gotten married in the span of a few years. The universe seemed to be taunting me with marriages around every corner all because I knew I could never get married.

I loved seeing the people I love happy, but watching them seal their lives together forever caused my heart to ache ever so slightly. Weddings only stood to remind me that I could never have one of my own. Never would I be able to marry the woman I fell in love with, because she was exactly that; a woman.

Despite the ache in my heart, I wore a smile for wedding. John and Cynthia's was easy, I didn't even know I was queer then. Dad and Angela's was a bit harder, but for different reasons. When it came to Ringo and Maureen getting married, I was able to completely focus on the fact that everyone I knew had someone they could marry while I was left to hide in a closet all my life.

Ringo and Maureen didn't have a wedding, exactly. They both got dolled up and went to the courthouse to sign the papers. Neither Starkey wanted to make a big deal of their marriage, and they definitely didn't want the press to get involved. They had told everyone they knew not to show up for celebrations nor to get them presents.

I, of course, didn't listen.

I waited two days before I went to visit them with a present wrapped in white paper underneath my arm. There was no way I was letting my best friend get married without some sort of celebration, even if that celebration was just the three of us drinking in the living room.

"Amelia?" Maureen answered the door.

I beamed at her, "'Ello, Mrs. Starkey, good day to you."

"And to you," Maureen looked confused, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to visit the happy couple, of course, and I come bearing gifts!"

I showed her the box in triumph. She looked at the box and then at me, "Amelia, I'm flattered, but we said no presents."

"Ah, but I never listen, just one of my many endearing traits."

Ringo appeared behind Maureen and snorted, "Annoying is more like it."

"Well, if it isn't the handsome groom. How does it feel to be a married man?"

"Wonderful. Come ed, you might as well come in."

I followed Ringo and Maureen into the living room, making sure to shut the door behind me. Maureen daintily sat on the couch while Ringo stood near the fireplace. I placed the gift on the table and moved to give him a hug, laughing the entire time.

"We didn't expect you for a visit," Ringo commented.

I shrugged, "Expect the unexpected, that's what I always say."

"You've never said that in your life."

"How do you know?"

Ringo shook his head, "You shouldn't have brought us a gift, we said no gifts."

"I know, but I got you one anyways," I replied, "You get it whether you like it or not."

"Thank you, Amelia," Maureen moved to open the gift.

I watched as she gingerly peeled back the paper. She pulled the box from the paper and opened it. I had gotten them two things, one for each half of the happy couple. Maureen got a hand mirror I had found at an antique shop near Carnaby Street. The back was inlaid with fake jewels and the front was like a crystal. As soon as I saw it, I instantly thought of Maureen. She gingerly lifted it out of the box, her eyes sparkling the entire time. 

"Oh, it's beautiful," Maureen took to admiring the jewels.

I grinned, "I saw it and thought of you."

"Thank you."

While Maureen admired her new mirror, Ringo picked his gift out of the box. I had gotten him what was perhaps the most cliche gift anyone could ever get Ringo Starr; a new ring. This one had a silver band and a small blue jewel on the top. Inside of the jewel were cracks in the shape of music notes. I had never seen a ring like that, and I knew Ringo had to have it.

"It's gear!" Ringo exclaimed, "Thanks, Mel."

He gave me a side hug. I grinned, "Only the best for me best mate."

He slid his ring on and admired it. I grabbed my camera from it's spot dangling off my neck and snapped a picture of the two admiring their gifts. Ringo laughed, "One for the book?"

"We're on the second album now."

"The more the better."

Maureen stood and showed Ringo her mirror. They both held a side of it, their fingers almost touching. Ringo looked at Maureen with eyes sparkling brighter than every star in the sky. I snapped a picture of the moment where their love was as obvious as ever before, and on display for the world to see. My heart ached, but I smiled for my friends. 

"How about a drink?" Ringo asked.

I grinned, "Love one."

Ringo nodded and vanished into the kitchen, leaving Maureen and me alone. I quickly strode up to her and flung my arm around her shoulder. She seemed shocked, maybe a tad bit uncomfortable, but she smiled all the same.

"Welcome to the family, Mo," I grinned, "Now, it's official."

She smiled. Maureen knew just as well as anybody; when you married one of us, you married all of us. One didn't simply marry one friend without expecting everyone else to show up at your door at odd times. By marrying Ringo, Maureen had officially made herself apart of the family with John, Paul, George, Ringo, Janice, Molly, and myself. Maureen and Cynthia were the only two, so far, to marry into a family as large and as odd as our own. I did expect Jane to eventually join the family, and even Pattie, though I had only ever met her twice. She was just as busy, if not busier, than George, meaning I often went to visit him when she wasn't around. 

"What's this?" Ringo asked when he rounded the corner to see my arm around Maureen's shoulder.

I grinned at him, "Just welcoming her to the family, is all."

I released Maureen and took my drink from him with a grateful nod. He nodded back, his smile as bright and as wonky as ever. This time, it was Ringo to rest his arm across Maureen's shoulders. The two looked at each other with immense happiness.

"Congratulations and many happy wishes to Mr. and Mrs. Starkey," I raised my glass and smiled.

Maureen and Ringo both tapped their glasses against mine. We all sipped and laughed together, with Ringo laughing the loudest of us all. His laugh only made Maureen and I laugh harder until each of us had tears pouring down our faces.

A family can be something you're born into, something you marry into, or something you find all on your own. I had Dad, Michael, and Paul, but my family was larger than ever before. My heart belonged to each and every member. We were all one, big, happy family even with all of our annoying quirks and arguments. We may be dysfunctional, confusing, and annoying at times, but, at the end of the day, we were always smiling with each other.

Sometimes, families cause the greatest pain of all.


	102. America and Attitude

I spent the better half of the sixties locked in hotel rooms or trapped in a theater of screaming girls. Touring was both exhilarating and exhausting. We were barely given anytime to do anything except perform, we barely even had time to sleep. It seemed that, just as soon as we finished one show, Brian and Ellen dragged us off to another show in another city, sometimes even another country. As much as I loved touring, I despised it.

America hadn't changed since the first time I arrived on the shores. It was still filled with crazy fans trying to get a hold of their idols. Their love for The Beatles knew no bounds. They were willing to go through any endeavors they could think of, no matter how daft they were, to get to the four lads they loved the most. Even if they had to go through the opening band to do so, they would.

"I'm getting tired of this bloody tour," John frowned, "So far all we've seen is a car and a room and a room and a room, that's it!"

Paul sighed, "It's not like we can go out, John."

"I fucking know that, Macca, doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"At least we're safe," Ringo commented.

George tried to peer over his shoulder at his cards, but Molly slapped his shoulder. The four of us and Janice were sitting on the floor of the Lennon-McCartney hotel room playing cards. The famed duo themselves did what they did best, write songs.

"Safe my arse," John huffed, "I'm bored."

I rolled my eyes, "We've barely been on tour for a week, John, stop your bloody complaining."

"Piss off."

I groaned before turning my attention back to the cards. It had barely been a week, and we were all already getting claustrophobic. We were at the top of the world, in the sights of everyone and everything, and yet we saw nothing but walls and crowds. We saw nothing while everyone saw us, it was enough to drive one mad.

A knock on the door interrupted all of us. Brian walked in without waiting for an answer and sighed as soon as he saw us, "Why aren't you all dressed?"

"There's still two hours until the show," Paul replied.

"We have to be at the theater an hour early," Brian replied, "Come on, get dressed, it's time to go."

All of the lads sighed. Molly and Janice both stood, ready and willing to work, while I groaned loudly. Molly lugged me up and smiled at Brian as we passed by him.

"Come on, Melly, it's not that bad," Molly said.

I frowned, "Like John said, I'm bloody bored. I'd like to see more than a car, a room, and a plane."

"We see the theaters too," Janice mumbled, earning a glare from me.

Molly sighed, "You'll be better once we get on stage."

"My hands are aching for a bit of a drum."

Molly nodded triumphantly. We all vanished into our shared hotel room where our stage clothes hung neatly in the closet. Ellen was always diligent on making sure the clothes were washed and ironed after every show. Sometimes the hotel staff did it, and others, Ellen did it herself. Never once would she let us do it, insisting that it had to be done just right. I had even seen her re-do it after the hotel staff.

Ellen worried me sometimes. She was a perfectionist who was easily prone to stress. If things weren't exactly to her liking, she would have a complete panic attack and tear everything down in order to fix it. I often worried she would make herself sick in her endeavors. The only thing I could do to help her was to be on my best behavior and do everything she told me too, even if I didn't like it. 

Once we were dressed, we left the hotel room to find Ellen out in the hall. She looked tired, but calm. Her anxiety seemed to be low that day, which was good. Whenever Ellen got anxious, the rest of us were bound to panic. 

"Wonderful, I was hoping you would be ready," Ellen smiled at us, "Come, there's a car waiting."

I glanced at Molly who shook her head. My point was only proven further. We all followed Ellen into the lift. As soon as the doors were closed, I rolled my head to look at Ellen with a sweet smile and the puppy dog eyes Paul had completely mastered, "Hey, Elly?"

"Yes?" Ellen was already skeptical of my sudden sweetness.

"Do you think we could do a bit of sightseeing before we leave?" I blinked my eyelashes, "Maybe go to a park? Please?"

She stared at me for a moment before sighing, "I know you are all tired of being trapped in the hotels, but it's for your own safety. Anybody would love to get their hands on you."

"It's the eyes, isn't it? Christ, how does Paulie do that?" I muttered.

Ellen shook her head, "I'm sorry, Amelia, I would love to give you three girls a day off, but it is simply too dangerous."

"We understand, Elly," Molly smiled at her.

Ellen smiled back. I sighed, but ultimately smiled. Ellen knew what was best for us, I had learned that time and time again. It was her job as both a manager and a friend to keep us safe. It was my job as a client and a friend to listen, even if I didn't like it.

In every city we went to, we were given the same black car with blacked out windows. We could see out while people couldn't see in. It waited for us at the back of the hotel, making us go through the kitchen to get to it. Several of the staff gave us dirty looks, but allowed us to pass. I took up the rear and shot them the same looks they gave us.

We made it to the theater with an hour left until the show. Ellen ushered us inside, shooting a thanks to the driver before we vanished into the building. For the first time in our expansive career, we were given our own dressing room.

"This is lovely," Molly commented, gingerly sitting on the couch.

We were given a small room with one couch and two vanities with matching stools. Molly and Janice's guitars were there, as was Peter, who was just pulling in one of our amps. As soon as he and Janice connected eyes, they smiled. Molly and I both exchanged excited glances as we watched their lovey dovey stare.

"Oh, get a room," I rolled my eyes.

Janice and Peter both blushed. Peter continued to move the amp across the room as Janice shot me a glare, "I could say the same to you."

"Says the girl undressing the lad with her eyes."

Janice looked like she was going to faint. Ellen chuckled as Molly sighed, "Bugger off, Melly, let the poor kids be."

"Alright, alright."

I fell to sit on one of the stools and took to brushing my hair. It was still a bit tangled in the back, seeing as how I didn't brush it that morning. As I pulled the tangles out, Molly and Janice practiced a few strums on their guitars. I watched Peter move to sit behind Janice and whisper something in her ear. Those two were so cute together, it was honestly sickening. I felt like throwing up every time Janice giggled quietly, even though I knew Molly and I had been doing the same thing for years.

"Well, I'm going to the canteen for a cuppa," I stated, "Anyone care to join me?"

Molly and Janice both shook their heads. I was a bit surprised Molly didn't want to come with me, but, at the same time, I did remember her saying she wanted to practice the chords before our show.

"Amelia, please-" Ellen began, but I interrupted.

"Don't worry, Elly, I'll be back in a jiffy."

Ellen opened her mouth to argue some more, but I was gone before she could say a single syllable. I vanished into the thin, twisting hallways of the theater. I searched for signs pointing me to the canteen before remembering it was a cafeteria in America. A few signs on the back wall pointed me in the right direction.

The canteen was filled with stagehands and theater staff. Nobody seemed to recognize me, which was good when I wanted a peaceful tea break. I went up to the lady behind the counter and asked, "One tea, please."

"Hot or cold?" she asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Uh, hot?"

"Sweet or unsweet?"

"Unsweet? With milk and honey, please."

She tapped a few buttons on her register and said, "Three dollars and fifty cents is your total."

Ellen had given us each a few American dollars just in case of emergency. I dug in my pocket to produce four crumpled bills. The woman took it and gave me my change before pointing behind her to the counter.

My tea came out a few minutes later and I settled down at a quiet table in the back corner. People bustled around the room with an urgency I had found fermenting the very roots of show business. It seemed as if you couldn't be any sort of performer without an urgency to everything you do. Every breath you take, every move you make is quick and urgent in order for you to move on to the next thing. With that comes stress, which creates an unhealthy mixture. That's why many performers had breakdowns or quit altogether. So far, we seemed alright, save for the few shouting matches.

"Ey! Mel!" a voice called from across the canteen.

I looked up to see George just getting his tea from the counter. He waved at me, a gesture which I returned. I waved at him to come sit with me. Once he had his tea, and his sandwich, he pushed through the crowd of people to fall into the seat across from me.

"'Ello, Georgie," I smiled, "Have to say, I'm surprised Brian let you come here alone."

"What he doesn't know what hurt him."

I blinked before laughing. George grinned slightly. He began to chew his sandwich as I took a sip of my tea.

"Does it seem like everybody's a bit stressed today?" George asked.

"Isn't that normal?"

George shook his head, "No, it's different today. Everybody's so anxious, more than usual. Like they're dreading something, but I can't for the life of me think what."

"I noticed it too. I dunno, Georgie, maybe it's the claustrophobia."

"No, it's more than that, somethin's wrong, Mel, I'm telling you."

I shrugged, "People get anxious, it's nothing new. Just cause everyone's a bit stressed doesn't mean anything is wrong."

George simply shook his head and sipped his tea. I should have listened to him, he always had a way with these things. He could grasp other people's emotions before they could. More than once he had predicted something bad was going to happen, and he was right. It seemed a bit daft to me, people can't predict a surprise event, so they sure as hell can't be anxious for something they don't know is going to happen. I ignored the obvious signs George was trying to present to me.

We talked about various things as we finished our food. When the last drop of tea was completed, we barely had ten minutes until showtime. Both George and I hurried back, laughing the entire way.

"Amelia, thank God," Ellen breathed as soon as I entered the dressing room.

I smiled, "Told ya I'd be back in time."

"You almost weren't," Ellen sighed, "That doesn't matter. You're needed on stage."

"Jolly good."

Molly and Janice grabbed their guitars. They went out first as I hurried to grab my drumsticks. Each show, I insisted on using the same sticks. They were my lucky sticks, decorated in designs Janice had drawn for me. Some had been worn off from my playing, but it was beautiful all the same. I felt as if my playing wouldn't be the same without them.

Molly, Janice, and I positioned ourselves behind the curtain. We could hear the crowd screaming on the other side like they always did. Their screaming drowned out our playing making it nearly pointless, but we played on. The screaming for us was bad, but it was nothing compared to The Beatles. The screams of their fans could shatter buildings and cause deaf people to hear again, if only for a second. 

"Ready?" I asked the two girls in front of me.

Janice turned around and nodded. Molly glanced at me, a small smile crossing her lips, "Always."

"Let's bloody well do it, then."

The curtain rose and we began playing. At the first few notes, the crowd screamed louder. They were going absolutely insane and the band they had really come to see hadn't even made an appearance yet. I laughed as the shrieks of girls made my skull rattle.

Everything went well for a few songs. Molly, Janice, and I played with every ounce of passion we had, and we had fun with it. Music isn't music unless you're having fun, then it's just work. You can't make art into work or else it won't have any purpose anymore. Art is only good if you're laughing and smiling while doing it.

Around the fifth song, things went sour. The screaming became more like a chant than a scream, like a religious cult reciting their mantra. Each person said something different, but they all fell along the lines of 'we love you'. The screaming became louder and louder until my brain was beginning to turn to mush.

I could barely focus on playing. My head throbbed as I stared at the drums. I tried to focus on the beat and ignore the screaming, but I had no idea where we were in the song. I had to watch Molly bobbing up and down as she sang.

All at once, everything went to hell. The fence holding back the fans gave out and they began to mob the stage. Hundreds, if not thousands, of teenagers broke past the borders and began to climb the stage. The three of us stopped playing as we realized what was happening.

Molly and Janice were the closest to the front of the stage. The mob was getting closer, and I knew exactly was was about to happen. This wasn't the first time we were faced with mob mentality. I quickly leaped up and ran to the two paralyzed girls as the teenagers got closer.

"Move!" I screamed, "You have to move!"

I managed to tear both girls away from the front of the stage just as the mob made it to them. Janice ran in front of us, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. Several people had appeared backstage, but I couldn't tell who it was due to the bright lights. I focused on pushing Molly in front of me as we rushed away from the crowd.

One teen managed to leap from the side and grab Molly's legs. She was in tears, desperate to hug someone close to her idols, if not her idols. Molly nearly tripped over her, but I pulled her back up. I quickly pushed the girl off and shouted, "Bugger off, you gits!"

The girl was still in tears when I pulled Molly from her grasp. I felt a few hands grab my suspenders and pull me back, but I wasn't about to go without a fight. I quickly pushed Molly ahead of me and watched her stumble into the protective backstage. Several cops had appeared and were fighting the mob to get them back.

I was overtaken by a sea of hormonal teenagers. They clawed at me and clung to me like crazy heathens. My limbs were pinned. No amount of struggling could get me loose from the people trying their best to get a piece of me. I was too focused on the teens to realize I had fallen off the stage and was now in the pit. Later, I would learn that the crowd was too thick for them to realize they had me pinned. They had no idea it was me they were trampling. 

"Get off me you bloody heathens!" I shouted, "Fucking hell, let me go!"

Every move I made was smothered by the arms of teenagers. I was completely overtaken to where all I saw were clothes and limbs. Panic began to set in as the teens cramped closer and closer. They pinched and pulled at me, screaming and crying and trying to latch onto me for dear life. A few actually managed to trap me in a death embrace.

I felt my breathing become shallow as my heart sped up. Pure panic took over my muscles. I screamed at them to let me go, but they didn't hear me. The mob mentality had taken over and there was no stopping them. I was completely trapped.

"Help!" I screamed, "Somebody, help!"

It was insane. These teenagers were nearly killing me all because they loved me. It wasn't even me they loved the most, but the lads I was close to. Their love for us was so strong it took over all their senses until they were reduced to a frenzy. It seemed like a work of exaggerated fiction; nobody would ever believe it if they didn't see it. I not only saw it, but I felt it too.

"Back away!" a deep voice called.

My muscles went rigid as I squeezed my eyes shut. I was on the ground at that point and several people were stepping on me. The crowd parted and I felt two strong arms lift me off the ground. I bounced as the figure ran away from the mob, carrying me the entire way. My eyes opened to see a police officer carrying me backstage. Behind him, I could see the rest of the police working to contain the crowd.

"Are you alright?" he asked once we were far enough from the screams.

I nodded, "Y-Yeah, thank you."

"Of course."

He set me down, but didn't release my arms when he realized my muscles were trembling. I felt like I was going to faint and cry all at the same time. Miraculously, nothing had been broken. I made it out of the debacle with nothing more than a few bruises, scrapes, and a black eye.

The officer put me down just in time for Molly to run forward and practically tackled me with Janice and Ellen just behind her. She wrapped me in a tight embrace. I relaxed slightly, melting into her hold. She held me up as I rested my head on her shoulder and wrapped my arms around her stomach.

"I'm alright, Mols," I muttered.

Ellen came up on the other side and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Are you sure? Is anything broken?"

"No, I'm just a little shaken, is all," I replied, "These fans are fucking insane! Bloody hell!"

Molly squeezed me tighter, "All the matters is that you're alright."

"I am so sorry that happened. The security was supposed to be solid," Ellen told me.

I shook my head, "Gotta learn somehow, I s'pose."

"Yes, security will be tighter from now on, I'll make sure of it. Still, I am sorry this happened."

"It's not your fault, Elly."

Molly pulled away to cup my cheek and look me in the eye, "Blimey, Melly, you've got a shiner."

"Hurts like Hell."

"Let's get you to the dressing room and get some ice on that," Ellen smiled.

Molly looped one of my arms around her shoulders and helped me to the dressing room. I could easily walk on my own, but I didn't object, mostly because I wanted to be in contact with Molly. I felt safe when she was there, touching her made it feel all the more real. With her, nobody could touch me.

On our way to the dressing room, a voice stopped us, "Lia!"

Paul, John, George, and Ringo were all hurrying down the hall towards us. Molly released me so Paul could rush up and hug me. I accepted his embrace, squeezing his middle as he squeezed my shoulders.

"What happened?" he asked.

John peered around his shoulders, "All we heard was a bunch of screams, and Eppy locked us in the dressing room."

"The fans went completely and utterly ballistic!" I replied, "They mobbed the stage and I got trampled."

"Bloody hell," Paul cupped my cheeks and looked at my swollen eye.

John sneered, "Those bloody heathens."

"Are you alright?" Ringo asked, wringing his hands together.

"Alright as I can be," I replied, pushing Paul off, "Just a few bruises and scrapes, nothing to serious."

"Except a black eye," Molly interjected.

"Even that's not too bad. I can still play, that's what matters, right?"

Ellen frowned, "You're done for today. I'm taking you back to the hotel to rest."

"I'm fine, Elly, honest."

"Amelia, don't argue, you need ice and bandages."

Paul grinned at me, "We'll catch you later, then."

"We're still playing?" George asked.

"I doubt it," John replied, "Come on, let's ask Eppy."

Paul winked at me before the four lads vanished. Molly took my arm once again and smiled, "Come on, Melly, let's get you back to the hotel."


	103. Fools On The Rooftop

One of the most common questions I am asked is what did I learn during my musical career. My answer is always the same, expect the unexpected. Everybody takes this as some sort of deep philosophical statement about how you cannot predict the future, but they're wrong. I say this because I spent most of my life with four lads who were as unpredictable as one could possibly be. They came up with outlandish ideas that, even to this day, I question.

"I'm tellin' you, I'm sick and tired of being locked up like some circus animal!" John exclaimed.

In an effort to get away, we all congregated in the largest bathroom we had. Molly, Janice, George, and I were all sitting in the bathtub with our heads propped on the wall and our legs going over the edge of the tub. It was a bit of a squeeze, but we made it. John and Paul were sitting on the counter, with John resting his legs on Paul's lap. Ringo was the only one to sit on the floor.

"It's not like we could sneak out," Paul replied, "They've got cops all over the place."

After the mob at our last show, Brian and Ellen made sure the security was multiplied ten times. Now, we couldn't go anywhere without at least three cops in sight. Sometimes I wondered if they were even in the bathroom, watching us through a peephole or something, like some sort of wonderwall.

"We could go down the fire escape," George suggested.

John snorted, "What fire escape? This building doesn't have one."

"What kind of building doesn't have a fire escape?" I scoffed.

"This one."

I rolled my eyes. Ringo pushed himself off the door and looked at John, "They're not guarding the roof."

"What do ya expect us to do?" Paul asked, "Leap off of it like some superhero or somethin'?"

John snapped his fingers, "No, the lad's got a point."

"What point?" George asked.

"The rooftop. It's outside, and it's unguarded, nobody could spot us there."

Paul sighed, "It's still not leaving."

"Fucking hell, Macca, it's the best option we've got. Take it or leave it."

"I vote we take it," I said.

Molly, Janice, George, and Ringo all nodded their agreements. All of us were so eager to get outside and away from prying eyes, we would take anything, even if it were as outlandish as a rooftop. Paul finally sighed and nodded, "Alright, let's go then."

"I'll get the drinks," John laughed.

He jumped up and flung the door open, vanishing into the dark room outside. I stood up next and turned to help Molly, Janice, and George out, "I'll get the blankets."

"Blankets?" Paul asked.

"It's February," I replied, "You think it'll be warm?"

Paul rolled his eyes at my sarcasm. Ringo grinned, "I'll help you, Mel."

"Ta."

The two of us left the bathroom and began to gather blankets. Ringo took every blanket from the room he shared with George. I did the same from the girl's room and we both took blankets from John and Paul's room.

There were no cops in the hallways or in the lift, which was good for us to get up on the roof undetected. One would think, if you truly wanted to protect someone, you would position guards at the bedroom door. Perhaps our managers were willing to give us a little bit of privacy.

Ringo and I met the other five up on the rooftop, our arms overflowing with blankets. John had several plastic cups and three large bottles of whiskey. I glanced between him and the bottle and asked, "Where'd you get the whiskey?"

"It's a secret," John laughed.

Paul rolled his eyes, "He snuck it in his suitcase."

"Macca!"

"I don't even want to know," I muttered.

Everybody was able to have two blankets. That, plus whatever we were wearing, was enough to keep us all warm. I sat down between Molly and Janice. Both girls had their guitars and a cup next to them. Only then did I notice all of the guitars strewn about the rooftop. Even Ringo had two bongos. He passed one to me and smiled as I thanked him.

"See? We're close to freedom," John gestured to the night sky above us.

Star twinkled down on the sleepy town of Chicago. Even the buildings themselves seemed like stars fallen to Earth, their lights twinkling. Cars were honking, dogs were barking, and, in the distance, an owl was hooting. Despite all the noise, it was peaceful. I sucked in a deep breath of chilly night air and felt all of my previous stress slowly melt away.

If I looked at the stars long enough, I could imagine myself among them. No more fans clawing their way to me, nobody screaming for a piece of me, and no cops surrounding me during every waking moment. I was free to fly around and dance with the stars without worrying about what's around the corner. The stars were more free than anything else in the universe. I longed to be a star; free to float about the universe doing anything I pleased. With no schedule to adhere to or people to please, I would truly be free. 

"I s'pose it's better than nothing," Paul closed his eyes and looked at the sky.

John stared at him for a moment, a smile slowly crossing his lips. It was a sweet smile, one I never thought John could produce. John often surprised me when it came to Paul. He showed emotions I didn't think he even possessed.

George was the first one to pick up his guitar and began strumming. It was odd, we came up here for a break but we brought the job with us. In a way, it wasn't work, because we loved it so much. I don't know who I would be if it weren't for music. Music ran in my blood, it was in my heart and in my soul. Without it, I was a hollow shell of a person without anything to live for.

Pretty soon, everyone else joined him. We all drank to our heart's content and played any music we liked. Ringo and I were the only two without a guitar, but we had the bongos. We kept the rhythm while the other five strummed any odd chords.

"A working class hero is something to be," John sang, his voice slurring.

John was the most tolerant to alcohol out of the lot of us. Most of us were lightweights, we got drunk after just two cups, but John took an entire bottle. As he became tipsy, the rest of us were sloshed.

"What's that, Johnny?" Paul asked.

John shrugged, "I dunno. Somethin' that came to mind."

I glanced down the side of the building, my eyes landing on a tree. There was barely any wind, but the trunk was so thin, I thought it might fall over. Leaves blew out from it's branches and scattered across the streets. I watched it with a serene smile across my lips. 

"It's a tree," I muttered, "I'd like to be."

George cackled, "A pretty tree you'd be. I'd be a pine, it'll all be fine."

"Cypress, you dolts, I aim to impress," Paul added.

"Doesn't sound right," John muttered.

"Sounds right enough."

Molly giggled, "I'm an oak and quite a fine bloke."

"You're not a bloke," John argued.

"Bugger off."

All of us cackled, still playing away to a song that wouldn't be remembered. Had we been smart, we would have limited our alcohol consumption so we would be ready for our show the next day. Of course, us being us, we got completely plastered and were forced to deal with the hangover of the next day, all while hiding it from our managers.

"I'll be a bush," Ringo laughed, "Whoosh."

John cackled, "This is why you don't write songs, Ritchie."

"Eh, I tried."

We all laughed harder than we should have. I fell backwards in a tangle of blankets and limbs. My eyes fell on the stars that seemed to laugh right along with us. I could hear heavenly giggles as one star shot across the sky. To this day, I swear I heard my mother laughing right alongside of me.

"This is way better than those daft beards," I said.

Paul frowned, "The beards are gear, Lia, bugger off."

"They're bloody stupid, they are! You look like a bunch of gits wearin' em!"

"Doesn't matter what you think, we'll wear them if we want to," John retorted.

I rolled my eyes, "Wanker."

"Tosser."

"Git."

"Nutter."

"Shut up, the both of ye," Molly interrupted, "You give me the boke, you do. Gah, like a couple of Dunderheids, shut yer geggie."

All of us stared at her for a moment, blinking rapidly. A small smile crossed my face as I began to laugh uncontrollably. John hiccuped, "I have no idea what you just said, but fuck off."

"Good to know you're still a Scot at heart, Mols," I laughed.

Molly looked at me with a confused expression. Over her time in Liverpool, she had practically lost her old Scottish twang. She conformed to Liverpool twang and even developed a bit of the accent. When she got drunk, however, all of that was reversed. She became a foul-mouthed Scotsman with the thickest accent you can imagine. It sounded like she was speaking a foreign language, which, in a way, she was.

"You're all a bunch of gits," I hiccuped, "But-but I love ye anyways."

Paul laughed, "Good, cause yer stuck with us."

"I'm stuck with the lot of ye," John laughed, "You bloody wankers."

George, Paul, and Ringo all laughed, Paul clapped John's shoulder and smiled, "Love you too, Johnny Boy."

"You're all so sappy, it makes me sick," George stuck his tongue out for emphasis.

I rolled my eyes, "You're just jealous. We love you too, Georgie."

George fake gagged, making us all laugh. John furiously strummed on his guitar and we all started a rousing rendition of Jailhouse Rock. Most of the words were wrong, and the few that weren't were slurred and out of key. It was a terrible cover, but we found it hilarious.


	104. Do You Want To Know A Secret?

It is difficult to see clearly when you have the entire weight of the world on your shoulders. Your vision becomes blurry and things don't seem to make as much sense as they used to. When you have a secret as deadly as a knife and as heavy as the world, sometimes you just want to crumble beneath it, but you have to remain strong. The relationships you have with other people help you remain strong, but you begin to question even those. Later on, you look back and you ask yourself why. Why would you question a friend whom you know would never turn their back on you?

As I said, when you have a secret as heavy as the relationships between Molly and me, your vision is blinded. Borders are blurred and relationships questioned. You're left wondering who in life you truly trust. Some you trust without a doubt, others you question even when there was nothing to question.

Almost everyone I cared about knew about Molly and me. Paul, George, Ringo, Janice, Ellen, and even Brian. My father and my other brother didn't know, but I knew I would tell Michael eventually. Dad would be less than tolerant. We already had enough issues, I didn't want something else.

That left John. Of all the people in this world I'm close to, John was near the top. Sometimes I think I was closer to him than Janice, and I lived with Janice. My heart yearned to tell him, but my brain said otherwise. I remembered all of the queer jokes he made and all the times he made a derogatory comment. My mind told me he wouldn't accept me. If I told him, I would lose him, and I thought hiding would be better than losing him. My heart, however, thought differently. 

"Something wrong?" Molly asked, interrupting my consciousness.

I glanced up at her. The two of us were alone in the hotel room, since Janice had gone off to have dinner with Peter. Half-eaten pasta sat abandoned on the table near us with open soda cans. Molly sat with her guitar in her lap, strumming a few chords to a new song we were working on. I had borrowed Janice's guitar and was playing right along with her.

"Nothin', Mols, just thinking," I replied.

Molly frowned, "You've got that look in your eyes."

"What look?"

"Like you have glass eyeballs. You get that look every time you're thinking of something that's bothering you."

I shrugged, "How can you tell? One of my eyes is still swollen."

"Ah, but I can sense it."

She abandoned her guitar on the floor and crawled to sit next to me. I watched her for a moment. She grabbed Janice's guitar from my grip and placed it next to hers. She grabbed my hands and smiled at me, "Want to talk about it?"

"It's not a big deal," I replied, "Just the tour and all, it's a bit stressful."

"This doesn't have anything to do with you getting trampled, does it?"

She was sitting in between my open legs, just close enough to where I could feel her breath against my face. I smiled, "I'm planning how I'm gonna fight them next time."

"Melly, you can't beat up the fans."

"Why not? They did it to me."

"They didn't mean to," Molly replied, "They got excited, is all, they didn't know what they were doing."

I frowned, "Seemed like they knew well enough."

"You know just as well as I do that there's nothing we can do about it."

"I can be ready to go out with fists flying."

"Melly, please."

She gazed at me with a stern glare. Finally, I sighed, "Alright, alright, fine, I won't hit the wankers."

"Good. Hopefully, you won't have a chance. Ellen and Brian are both making sure the security is tighter for our next shows," Molly smiled.

I shook my head, "Didn't stop them before."

"There's only so much teenagers can do."

"I s'pose it doesn't matter," I chuckled, "So long as you're safe, that's all that matters."

Molly cupped my cheek, "You too. You don't need another shiner."

"I'd be matching then."

We both laughed. Molly caressed my cheek with her thumb before pulling me into a kiss. At first, it was a simple peck on the lips, but I pulled her deeper. She scooted closer as my arms snaked around her middle. We were so close, we were practically one person. Both of us so wrapped up in the moment, we didn't hear a knocking on the door.

"Do you birds not know how to answer a door? We've been-"

The voice fell short. Molly and I quickly jumped apart and turned to see John and Paul standing by the open door. John's mouth was wide open as he stared at us with unblinking eyes. Paul was completely unphased, instead turning to face his mate, "John-"

"What the bloody fuck?!" John exclaimed.

Molly was completely frozen, paralyzed with the fear that one of our best mates might be our downfall. I held her hand in one of mine and raised the other, "John, calm down, it's not what it looks like."

"You two are a couple of bloody queers?!" John exclaimed.

"Okay, it's exactly what it looks like," I replied, "John, please, take a breath."

"I can't bloody believe this! Fucking hell!" John spun around and began to storm out.

"John!" Paul exclaimed.

John furiously stomped to the room he shared with Paul. The door slamming jarred us all. I glanced at Molly to see unshed tears creating a glass shield over her eyes. All of the color left her face and her muscles were trembling.

"It'll be alright, I'll go talk to him," Paul said.

"No, let me," I glanced at Molly, "It's going to be alright, Molly."

I doubted my own words, but I had to stay strong for Molly. She seemed to doubt me as well, but nodded all the same. I stood and moved to the door to stand across from Paul, "I'll talk to him. Stay here with Molly, will you?"

"Course. Good luck, Lia."

"Thanks."

I made my way to the Lennon-McCartney hotel room with full intentions of talking John down and convincing him not to report us. If he was going to use this against us with jokes, there was no stopping him, but I might be able to keep him from reporting us. I could handle any jokes so long as Molly and I were safe.

The door wasn't locked when I approached it, which I found odd. I expected John to have locked all of us out, even Paul. To him, Paul was guilty by association. Once he dug deeper, he would realize everyone he knew was guilty by association. He would be completely isolated on this tour unless he listened to what I had to say. I stepped in with ease.

"John?" I called.

There was no answer. I went deeper into the room to see him pacing the floor. His face was beet red and his fists were clenched. He was mumbling under his breath, but I couldn't make out a single word he said.

"John?" I asked, more demanding this time.

He didn't even look at me, "You're a bloody queer, Amelia?"

"No, I was just snogging my best mate when no one was around," I spat, "Yes, John, I'm queer."

Sarcasm was, perhaps, not the best approach, but I couldn't help it. Jokes and sarcasm were the best weapon I had. It was easy to seem strong whenever I was joking, even when, inside, I felt like crumbling.

"I can't fucking believe this," John grumbled.

I crossed my arms, "I don't understand why you're so angry. Molly and I are queer. So what? Do you really hate queers that badly?"

John stopped pacing and turned to look at me. There was something else in his eyes, but I couldn't tell what. It wasn't anger, it wasn't even hatred, it was something softer. Something I felt drawn to. Somewhere, deep down, I knew I had that look plenty of times. Only someone lost in a sea of directions could have that look. 

"I'm not angry because you're queer, Amelia," John spat, "What gave you that stupid idea?"

"The fact that you started yelling and stormed off whenever you caught me kissing Molly."

John frowned, "Come off it, Amelia, you absolute git."

"Git? You're the git here, John, you're the one that's angry for no bloody reason!"

"I have a bloody reason, alright?!" John practically shouted, "How long?"

I lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"How fucking long has this been going on?"

"Nine months."

"Nine fucking months!" John exclaimed, "I can't bloody believe you, Amelia!"

I flung my arms up, "What? You're making no sense, John!"

"Nine fucking months, and you never told me!"

"What?" I asked, "That's why you're mad? Because I didn't tell you?"

"That's exactly why I'm mad!"

For a moment, I simply stared at him. That soft emotion in his eyes spread across his face until I identified the one thing I never thought I'd see in John; hurt. John wasn't angry, he was hurt. Something took over inside of me and I quickly dropped my guard. He was lost and hurt, a feeling which I knew all too well. In that moment, I felt more connected with John Lennon than I ever had before. 

"And you thought I was angry because you're queer!" John shouted, "I'm still friends with Brian, aren't I? The bloke's fucking in love with me and I'm still friends with him. Did you think I would report you or something?"

I blinked rapidly, "I don't know! I was scared, is all."

"Scared? I've known you for eight damn years, and you're scared I'd report you?"

"No!" I exclaimed, "I wasn't scared you'd report me, John, don't be daft. I was scared you'd hate me. You're my friend, John, and I didn't want to lose you."

John frowned, "You're a fucking git, Amelia. I wouldn't stop being your mate just cause you're a bloody queer."

"Well, you don't make it obvious," I spat, "What with all the jokes and the demeaning comments, you'd think you hated people like me."

"They're just jokes, Melly, they didn't mean anything!"

"I can see that now!"

We both stared at each other. John was always a confusing person, especially when it came to his emotions. He had a lot of deep-rooted pain, and his only methods of coping were humor and anger, sometimes both at the same time. To get to the real John, you had to read between the lines and see the emotions between the anger and the jokes. Even to this day, I still have difficulty reading him. There are only two people in this world who were ever able to know exactly what John was feeling, and I was not one of them.

At that moment, I could see enough to know that John was legitimately hurt. He didn't think I trusted him, and I realized I didn't. That conversation made my mind change. I saw him in a different light after that day. I could see I had been wrong about John that entire time.

"I'm sorry," I finally admitted, "I should have told you. I was scared, and I'm sorry."

John frowned, "Do you not trust me or something?"

"Course I trust you. What Molly and I are doing is illegal, we could get killed, I barely trust myself with this secret."

John stared at me for a moment. I half-expected him to start shouting again, as he usually did, but he just remained quiet. When he did speak, he said the last thing I ever expected him to say.

"I guess I'm sorry too," John sighed, "For the jokes and all, and for getting angry."

"Do my ears deceive me or did John Lennon actually apologize?" I gasped.

John snorted, "Don't press your luck, Melly."

"One more time?"

Before he could answer, I rushed up and hugged him. A hug was the best way to apologize. It sealed the deal and made everything seem alright. John curled away at first, huffing and making sure not to touch me. Once he realized I wasn't letting go, he reluctantly wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

"Alright, get off me, ya sap," John pushed me off after a few seconds.

I laughed, "Come off it, even the great John Lennon needs a hug every once in awhile."

"You're making me sound like a bleeding bird."

"And what's wrong with that?"

We both stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. That was what truly sealed the deal. I felt instantly relieved, like some great burden had been lifted from my shoulders.

"Your secret's safe with me, Melly," John grinned.

I laughed, "As I knew it would be."


	105. Nonsense News

One of the greatest lessons I've learned in this business is to never read articles about yourself. When you're in the public eye, every reporter and their dog jumps at the chance to interview you. Each and every one of them wants some new juicy tidbit nobody had previously known about you, and they'll get it even if they have to lie about it. You can never, under any circumstances, trust the media. They will leave you with more confusion and fear than answers. If you're anyone in the spotlight, it is best to avoid any sort of media at all costs. If you don't, there's a chance you might never feel the same way about yourself again.

America was supposed to be a beautiful country with many sights to see and places to be, but all we saw were rooms, cars, and planes. It was impossible to do any sightseeing when you were close to the most famous band in the world. Any step taken outside could result in serious injury inflicted by crazy fans. That meant, anytime anyone mentioned America, all I could think of were gray walls and screaming teens.

We had a day off from touring and decided to take the day at the theater we would be performing at for the next two nights. It seemed a bit daft to be at work on a day off, but we enjoyed it. All seven of us decided to practice our set lists. We had gotten a bit foggy on our playing, because we couldn't hear it on the stage.

"It's G, Macca, not A," John spat, "Get it right."

Paul sneered, "I'm playing G."

"You're playing A."

"How do you know?"

"I can hear it!"

"Can you two stop fighting for one minute?" I asked.

Being cooped up together for so long was enough to make even the greatest friends lash out at each other. It seemed as if Molly, Ringo, and I were the only ones not fighting. Ringo and Molly weren't fighting at all, they were the peacekeepers. I didn't fight with them, but I was more than willing to fight with everyone else. Janice sat in the corner looking like she was going to cry every time anyone raised their voice, even if it wasn't at her. 

"Sod off, Melly," John retorted.

"Only when you shut your gob!"

Molly raised her hands in a call for peace, "Everyone, just take a deep breath. We're all still friends."

"Paul was playing G, John," George calmly said.

John frowned, but didn't reply. He motioned for the group to go through it one more time. As they began to run through I Want To Hold Your Hand, we focused on our own set list. Molly, Janice, and I sat on the opposite side of the storage room with our instruments next to us. We were in a circle with our knees touching and a paper being passed between us.

After so long of playing the same list, we decided to change it up. We only had two albums out, and we were working on a third, but those two albums gave us enough for a full set list. That and our few singles made for a perfect puzzle.

"What about Hold Me Again?" Molly glanced up at me.

I smiled, "We could play that, it is our number one hit, after all."

"Would you be comfortable with that?" Janice asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Course. I think Mum would enjoy it in any sense."

Molly laughed and scratched it down. We were all wrapped up in our own world until the offbeat of a drum pulled us out of it. The practicing nearby completely stopped. I turned to see Ringo looking sheepish as two angry lads turned to him.

"Fucking hell, Ringo!" John exclaimed.

Paul frowned, "What'd you do that for?"

"I didn't mean too," Ringo replied, "Me hand slipped, is all."

"Well, make it not slip!"

"Sod off, John, the chap didn't mean it," George wrinkled his nose in disdain.

"Piss off, Harrison."

George simply sneered. John turned back to Ringo and waggled an accusing finger, "Don't go messing up the number again."

"For fuck's sake, John, will you stop acting like a child?!" Paul shouted.

"I'm not a child, Macca!"

The two became a heated argument over nothing in particular. This wasn't them talking, it was the cabin fever. We were all on edge, John and Paul just had more gusto than the rest of us.

George and Ringo looked like two trapped children watching their parents fight. I could have sworn Ringo looked like he was going to cry. George simply sneered. Molly glanced at me as I sighed deeply and stood. She looked like she wanted to stop me, but she knew there was no point. I was just as pissed off as the rest of them, and I was about to tell them as much. 

"Oi! Gits!" I shouted, "Shut the fuck up!"

John glared at me, "Stay out of this, Mel."

"Not until you two stop acting like a couple of tossers and more like professionals."

"We're more professional than you," Paul spat.

"Really? You're not acting like it," I replied, "You're fighting more than you're playing, doesn't seem very professional to me."

"Oh, shut up," John groaned.

I glared at him, "You first."

"I'm not about to listen to some bird, sod off."

"Alright, that's it, get over here you cheeky bastard."

John and I began advancing towards each other, but quickly stopped whenever Molly appeared behind me to pull me away. She stood between us and held up her hands, "We're all feeling a bit out of sorts. Let's just step back and take a deep breath, alright?"

"I'm going for a walk," I grumbled.

"Good riddance," John replied.

"Sod off, Lennon!"

Without another word, I vanished into the halls. All of my attempts at playing peacekeeper always seemed to blow up in my face. Molly was much better at it, I should just leave it to her. Besides, I wasn't even a Beatle, there's no reason I had to get mixed up in their arguments. Then again, I was their friend, and I hated to see them fighting. Even as I walked away, I could hear John and Paul shouting at each other.

It seemed as if the greatest friends had the worst fights. John and Paul were two of the greatest friends I had ever seen, but they had the worst rows imaginable. Sometimes, I expected them to beat each other to a pulp. One moment they're fighting, and the next John is asking Paul to hitchhike to Paris with him. That's the thing about great friends; they can fight until they swear never to see each other again, but they always make up in the end.

The same went for John and Paul, and the same went for the rest of us. We could be at each other's throats now, but soon, we would all be one, big, happy family once again. All we needed was a bit of a breather; a vacation, per say. Both from the stress of our jobs and the claustrophobia of being in the same general place with the same people every day for months. That, however, was a long ways away, as the tour wasn't even halfway over.

I turned a corner to see Ellen and Brain sitting together in the seats of the theater. They were right next to each other, and Ellen was patting Brian's back reassuringly. Brian had his head in his hands with his face turned to the wall. He stared at it blankly, his mind clearly somewhere else. His cheek shone with dried tears. At the time, I barely noticed this, my own anger overruling anything else. I stomped up to the two and huffed.

"Bri, your boys are a bunch of gits," I told him.

Brian didn't even look at me. I barely noticed him dropping a paper onto the floor and scooting it under the chair with his foot. Ellen sighed and looked up at me, "Amelia, they're not gits."

"They're sure acting like it!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air, "Fighting like a bunch of children, Christ!"

Brian looked up at Ellen who smiled sadly, "I'll handle them, Brian."

"Thank you," he mumbled.

He stood and shuffled away from us. I watched as he shuffled towards the dressing rooms, in the opposite direction than where the lads were. Only then did I realize something was wrong. Brian always walked like a tin soldier ready for war, his back straight and his strides long. As he walked away, however, I noticed how he looked more like Quasimodo than a tin soldier. His back was hunched, he shuffled like a zombie, and his head hung so low, I was scared it would fall off. This was so distinctly un-Brian, I knew something terrible had happened. 

"What bit him in the arse?" I asked, "He'd usually jump to lecture them."

Ellen shook her head sadly, "An American tabloid published a rather- er- demeaning article about him."

"About what? What could they possibly have against a man like Brian?"

Ellen reached below the chair and pulled out a magazine. I fell to sit next to her as she unfolded it and handed it to me. One one of the pages near the middle, in a tiny article in the corner, was the bolded headline, 'Brian Epstein, world famous manager of The Beatles, a homosexual?'

"What?" I asked, "How the bloody hell did they find that out?"

Ellen shushed me, "Amelia, not so loud. They didn't 'find it out', necessarily. This is a gossip column, nothing more than rumours and a few presumptions."

"Why is Brian listening to them, then?"

"They don't know it's true," Ellen spoke it a whispered tone, "But he does. What they say in here is less than kind. While they thought they were speaking of nothing more than a rumour, Brian took it to heart."

I glanced at the paper before glancing at her, "How long have you known?"

"Since the day I met him. It's not hard to see."

"You're a smart one, Elly," I grinned, "Let's see what they said, then."

"Amelia, I'm not sure if that's a good idea," Ellen replied.

I shrugged, "I won't let what they said get to me. Reporters are nothing more than a bunch of gits anyways."

Ellen didn't try to stop me after that. I quickly read the short article, my eyebrows crawling further up my head as I did so. The article had more criticisms against Brian than anything else. It was racy even for my standards. The dreaded six-letter F word was thrown around in nearly every sentence. They said he was unfit to manage a male group because he was attracted to men. They even brought up their religious views on it, which eventually led into them degrading him for being Jewish, which wasn't a hidden fact. They knew he was Jewish, but his sexuality was nothing more than a rumour at that time. They had no right to talk about him like that, even if it were published fact.

"Rubbish! The lot of it!" I threw the magazine onto the floor, "I'll cripple the lot of them!"

Ellen grabbed my arms in an attempt to calm me down, "Amelia, relax, these are just rumours published in a low-publicized magazine. Nobody will take them to heart."

"Brian did, the chap seemed gutted."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you can go out and fight the reporters," Ellen scolded, "What we need to do is comfort Brian."

I nodded, "Right oh, Elly. You take care of the lads, and I'll take care of Brian."

"Amelia-"

"Come on, Elly, I'm probably the best option he has," I smiled, "After all, we're on the same wavelength here."

Ellen stared at me for a moment before nodding, "That is a good point. Go ahead, but don't do anything abrupt."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

I sauntered off in the direction Brian had vanished. There were only two dressing rooms in the entire establishment; one being used by The Beatles and the other being used by Revolution. I knew exactly which one Brian was in.

Without even bothering to knock, I opened the door to find Brian in the exact same position as earlier. His head was in his hands with his face turned to the wall in a blank gaze. A half drunken bottle of whiskey sat on the table along with a closed bottle of anxiety medication. His cheeks were wet with tears. Whenever he heard me come in, he hurried to try and correct himself.

"Oh, Amelia, you gave me a start," he tried to hide his trembling voice.

I closed the door behind me and smiled, "I'm known for that. Sorry, Bri."

"It's alright. I just wasn't expecting- company."

He hesitated before saying company as if he was put off by the fact. Whether he wanted to be alone or not, I didn't care, I knew he needed company. He might have tried to ignore the fact, but he needed someone who understood what he was going through. While I hadn't had anyone demean me for being gay, I understood what it was like to live with the brutality of society threatening to unleash on you at any slip up. Most of all, I knew what it was like to have to hide because of who you loved.

"Expect it or not, you've got it," I fell to sit next to him and eyed the drink, "I don't think I've ever seen you drink more than a shot. Was that full?"

Brian shook his head, "It doesn't matter."

He had all but confirmed it. I smiled sadly and patted his shoulder, "Bri, you don't have to hide with me, you know that. We're friends, you can cry all you want."

Brian glanced at me before bursting into tears. He dug his palms into his eye sockets and sobbed. I rubbed his back comfortingly, waiting for him to take a breath.

"How could I be so stupid?" Brian sniffed, "To think, I could manage a world phenomenon in my condition? Ridiculous."

I scoffed, "Brian, you don't have any sort of condition. You're the one who told me we're not some disease to be cured. All we're guilty for is loving someone, and who can really be guilty for that?"

"The laws say-" Brian began.

"The laws are a bunch of rubbish. I've said it once and I'll say it a thousand times, rubbish!" I exclaimed.

Brian rubbed his eyes, "Beyond that, being a homosexual isn't respectable. The Beatles could lose their reputation all because of me."

"That's why it's a secret," I replied, "I hate hiding away just as much as you do, but it's for our own safety, like you said. That magazine is just a gossip tabloid, nobody believes them."

"But what if they do?" Brian mumbled.

"Then, we deny. You've got the greatest band in the world to support you plus the weight of Revolution. If that's not enough, Ellen can get them to shut their gobs in a second, believe me, I've seen her."

Brian chuckled a bit. He ended with a deep sigh, "Yes, I suppose you're right. I shouldn't let what they say get to me."

"Exactly," I replied, "I know it's hard, but you've got to look past it. Instead of focusing on the hateful comments, focus on the good ones. Focus on the people that support you. John, Paul, George, Ringo, Molly, Janice, Ellen, and I all support you. Even Moxie, Freda, and Peter are here to back you up. If they dare to attack you, well, you've got an army all your own."

Brian sniffled, "Thank you."

"Of course, we're always here for you, Bri," I flung one of my arms over his shoulders and stretched my other arm out as if painting a picture, "Just picture it, soon, sooner than you could imagine, we won't have to hide anymore. We'll come out with all our blazing colors and teach the world that love is love no matter what. No bias, no stigmas, no hate, and no stupid laws telling us who we can and cannot love."

"I sure hope so, Amelia," Brian smiled wistfully.

I looked at him and grinned, "Hope has nothing to do with it."

"What do you mean?"

"Did I ever tell you why we're called Revolution?"


	106. Two Of Us?

"My fingers feel like chewed up jerky," I said.

I wiggled my bandaged fingers, wincing as I did. After nightly shows with practice in between, the skin on my fingers was finally giving out. The wood of the drumsticks easily cut into the calluses I had built up making them as tender as ever. I felt like I had just picked up the sticks for the first time. 

"I don't think I even have fingers," Janice mumbled.

Peter, who was sitting right next to her, whispered something. She put her hands in his lap and he inspected the bandages. Molly looked at her own bandages and sighed, "They hurt like hell, I'll tell you that."

"Want me to kiss it, make it better?" I wiggled my eyebrows.

Molly rolled her eyes, "You're such a sap, Melly."

"But you love me for it."

I took her hands and gently kissed her fingers, causing her to giggle. Janice rolled her eyes. Ellen, from the driver's seat, glanced at us in the mirror, "Don't pull at the bandages, you'll only make it worse. We'll put ointment on it back at the hotel."

"That rubbish burns," I replied, "I'm not letting it anywhere near my fingers."

I hid my hands behind my back protectively. Ellen sighed, "The burning means it's working."

"You've got to do it, Melly, even if I have to hold you down," Molly's eyes sparkled.

I smirked, "Oh, I think I can get behind that."

"Bloody hell," Janice rubbed her temples, "This is what I have to live with."

I cackled, "Yes, and you love us still!"

"Sometimes."

Both Molly and I laughed. Ellen pulled up to the hotel The Beatles and Revolution would stay in during the California leg of the tour. The lads were already inside, having gone straight from the airport to the hotel. Ellen had promised us a short drive around, just to see a few sights and get out for a bit, so long as we stayed in the car. It was the best she could do for us, and we were forever grateful. Even a short car ride was better than being locked in a hotel for hours on end. 

We all exited the car and were met with hundreds of screaming Beatlemaniacs. I was hit with a wave of anger as they rushed towards us. Molly grabbed my hand and practically dragged me into the hotel, leaping and bouncing to avoid the reaching hands. Through some form of miracle, we made it into the hotel untouched.

"Those bloody heathens," I muttered.

Molly straightened her dress, "At least they didn't mob us."

"This time," I replied, "Just wait, they'll do it again."

"Not with the new security," Ellen stated.

She didn't give me a chance to argue. We entered the elevator where a steward was waiting to take us up. Ellen told him our floor and he hit the button. It seemed a bit odd to me, paying someone for nothing more than hitting a button. His entire job was pressing buttons and riding a lift, that was it. Of all the jobs in the world, that one seemed the most ridiculous.

On the ride up, Ellen smacked my hands twice for playing with the bandages. They were itchy and uncomfortable. All I wanted was to peel them off, but my wounds had yet to heal. I could still feel the sticky ointment Ellen had made me put on that morning clinging to my skin. My fingers were itchy, achy, and sticky, a combination which made for an irritable Amelia. 

We heard the shouts before we saw anything. All five of us stepped out of the lift and onto the floor Brian had rented. Despite only needing a few rooms, we had an entire floor, probably for extra security. It was practically abandoned except for the two pairs of shouting voices just down the hall. As soon as I heard them, I knew exactly who they were. Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. 

"Is that John and Paul?" Molly asked.

I furrowed my brow, "It sounds like them."

Our answer came when the door at the very end of the hall flung open. A very angry John stormed out, his face beet red and his eyes practically on fire. Paul shouted something from inside of the room and John spun around and screamed, "Go fuck yourself, McCartney!"

John slammed the door shut and turned to see us. The group looked confused, but I knew exactly what was going on. I stepped forward to talk to him.

"What the bloody fuck are you looking at?!" John shouted, "Fuck off, I'm not some zoo animal, bloody hell!"

He stomped off down the hall. I didn't know where he was going, but I knew he wouldn't be back for a long time, if at all. John and Paul argued often, but they usually ended up making amends within a few minutes. This time seemed different. John was angrier than usual, which is a hard task to accomplish. He only ever calls Paul 'McCartney' when he's so pissed off he can't stand it.

"What was that all about?" Ellen asked.

Janice gripped onto Molly's arm, "They don't usually argue like that."

"I'm going to talk to him. Paul, I mean, see if I can find out what happened," I answered.

Molly squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. I locked my gaze on the door and hurried over there. It was still cracked open slightly. Without even bothering to knock, I stepped inside, letting the door shut behind me. As soon as it clicked, I heard rushed footsteps. Paul appeared around the corner and flung a shoe at me before vanishing back into the bedroom.

"What the bloody fuck?!" I exclaimed, quickly ducking, "Paul!"

The brother in question didn't reply. I picked the shoe up and went further into the dark room. Paul was in the bedroom he shared with John, face first on the bed with only one shoe. He was a complete mess; from the top of his disheveled hair to the bottom of his wrinkled suit. All I could see was his back and his mop-top of hair. I dropped his shoe by his foot and moved to sit next to him.

"I thought you were John," his voice was muffled by the quilt.

I frowned, "I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented."

"Both," Paul replied, "That fucking git! The bloody bastard! I can't believe him!"

Paul hit the mattress, grumbling a few obscenities I didn't understand. I had seen him angry before, and this wasn't it. When Paul was angry, he became melancholy. He would speak calmly as if nothing had upset him at all. His eyes would become cold and every muscle would become rigid. Never did he scream when he was angry, only when he was upset, when he was truly hurt inside and wanted to sob.

"What happened?" I asked.

"What happened is I'm best mates with a git," Paul grumbled.

I rolled my eyes, "Please, I've got four of those. Come on, Paul, tell me what happened."

"We couldn't agree on a song," Paul replied.

"So?" I asked, "You two hardly ever agree on songs. What was different this time?"

Paul shook his head, "That's just it, nothing was, it was exactly the same as ever. I wanted a slow tempo, John wanted fast. We just couldn't compromise."

Paul buried his face deeper into the mattress. I rubbed his back comfortingly, sighing deeply as I did. When they wrote together, they disagreed more than they agreed, but that's what made such great songs. They never went with one thing, they tried each and every conceivable version, and argued about each one. They only ever settled when one finally gave out. It was because of the competition that they created such beautiful music.

"Paul, it's gonna be alright. You'll make up, you always do," I told him.

He sucked in a deep breath, "What if we don't?"

"What?"

He lifted his head from the mattress for the first time, allowing me to see his tear-stained cheeks. His eyes were puffy and his lips were quivering. At any second, I expected him to start bawling. As it was, there was an outline of his face made in tears on the quilt.

"We've been fighting so much lately," Paul sniffled, "What if this is the time we never make up?"

I gave him a comforting smile, "You'll always make up, I can promise you that. John has a temper, and you're both stubborn, it's bound to cause conflict eventually. You're best mates, you'll make up."

Paul shook his head. Tears began to make tiny rivers down his cheeks. I grabbed him a tissue from the box on the nightstand, and he took it gratefully. As he wiped his tears, he said, "We've been fighting more than ever lately. What if we're reaching the end? We can't be best mates forever, can we? We'll grow apart eventually."

"Paul, no, look at me," I made him look me in the eye, "Do you love John?"

"What?"

"Do you love him?"

Paul looked like he was going to object, but caught himself. For a moment, he stared at me blankly. Eventually, he nodded, "I-I do."

"And I can promise you he loves you too, even if he has trouble saying it," I said, "You two are two of the closest friends I have ever seen, a love like that doesn't just go away. You wouldn't know what to do without each other. Things are stressful right now, what with the tour and the next album, but you'll get through it."

Paul smiled, "Thanks, Lia."

"Anytime."

I pulled him into a hug. As he hugged me back, he muttered, "I'm not a bloody queer, you know."

"Well, you don't make it obvious," I replied.

"Wanker."

"Tosser."

We both laughed. When he pulled away, he smiled. It was a sad smile, but I knew he could only make it better by talking to John. We were all a bit sick of each other, even if we still loved each other, it was best to step back for a moment.

One thing I knew for sure; John and Paul were destined to be together. They were a match made in Heaven, soulmates destined to meet in this life and the next. Paul had two soulmates in his life, and John was the first. They were the greatest friends I knew and loved each other so. No petty argument could shatter a friendship as beautiful as theirs. Their friendship is what gave me hope for a few relationships of my own.


	107. Now Would Be A Good Time To Be Anyone But Me

There are few things I despise more than a press conference. It was a way for several reporters to get to us all at the same time, and there was no way we could fight back. Most of the time, we were put on a pedestal for the reporters to view us like some tourist attraction. Very seldom do we have a press conference where we're shoved into a room filled with people eager to get a piece of us. We're all on the floor together in a sea of shouting people. It's chaotic, stressful, and dangerous all at the same time.

"I'm not going to do it," I said.

Ellen sighed, "Stop acting like a child, Amelia."

"I will act like a child if I bloody well please. I'm not going to do it!"

I fell onto the couch and pouted. Ellen pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed the deepest sigh I had ever heard her produce. Molly and Janice both looked at her sympathetically, but didn't do anything to make me move. They knew how stubborn I was, and they knew exactly how this would end. Ellen was the only person who was able to coax me to do things that I was adamantly opposed to. To this day, she's the only person ever able to coax me into a dress.

"You don't have a choice," Ellen replied, "You are a part of one of the current most popular bands, and with that comes certain responsibilities."

I sneered, "Like walking into a room filled with bloodthirsty heathens? They all want a piece of me, but they're not going to get it."

"Reporters aren't bloodthirsty heathens, Melly," Molly added.

I glared at her, "You can't honestly say you want to do this."

"No, but, like Ellen said, we have a responsibility to the press and to our fans," Molly replied, "It's just a few questions."

"It's more than that, Mols. We'll be on the floor with them! Need I remind you of what happened in Baltimore?" I asked, pointing to the almost completely faded remnants of my black eye.

Ellen looked like she was ready to drag me down to the press conference kicking and screaming. I wouldn't put it past her to do so. Her stress levels were high, she was already going gray and she wasn't even forty yet. I knew most of the gray hairs were my fault. As much as I wanted to make life easier for Ellen, there were times when it was beneficial to my sanity for me to be as stubborn as possible. 

"This is different," Ellen stated, "There will be security there, and these people are professionals. They are only here for a few questions and that's it. Nobody will be harmed."

I crossed my arms and pouted, "That's what you said last time."

"Oh, bloody hell, Amelia, will you stop your whining and just do it?" Molly demanded.

I glanced at her and blinked. She glared at me, staring me down like a statue carved in anger. Finally, I frowned, "Fine, but I won't like it."

"None of us do," Molly replied, "Doesn't mean we whine about it."

I didn't reply. Ellen cleared her throat and glanced at each of us individually, "Alright, the conference is waiting downstairs. You will go in and act like respectable people. No cursing, no drinking, and don't be rude."

Molly and Janice nodded while I simply grumbled. Molly elbowed me. She gave me a look telling me to shut up and shape up before we got into that room. I produced a less than believable smile, to which she rolled her eyes. 

"Right, sorry, we'll be modeled citizens," I flashed Ellen a cheeky smile.

She sighed. All three of us followed her out to the lift and prepared ourselves for the conference. It was to be held in the ballroom downstairs. Supposedly, the reporters were ready and waiting for the two bands they had come for.

I mentally prepared myself for the questions I would receive. All of us fully expected derogatory questions, mostly about our gender. I was always ready to fight them, but I had to be polite, for Ellen. That's what I had to keep reminding myself of; I had to smile and blow it off for Ellen. She was already on her wits end, both with us and the stress of the tour, I didn't want to do anything to make it worse.

The ballroom was completely packed. As soon as we stepped through the doors, we were bombarded by cameras and questions. There were so many at once, I could barely understand them.

"One at a time, please," Ellen called.

One reporter stepped forward, "Amelia, what is it you're wearing?"

This was already off to a bad start. I became focused on that reporter and blocked out any other sounds, meaning I didn't notice when Molly and Janice got separated from me. We were all squared off from each other by different reporters asking different questions.

"Clothes," I replied, crossing my arms.

"Yes, but what clothes?" the reporter asked.

I glanced down at myself, "The same clothes I wear all the time. Do your eyes not work or somethin'?"

That reporter looked less than happy, but he didn't say anything else. Another reporter moved in front of him and took my picture. I barely had enough time to react. My smile was forced, but that wasn't unusual. Reporters hardly ever saw my real smile, only when they could catch me in a candid moment on stage or with my mates.

"Amelia, is there a special man in your life?" the next reporter asked.

I rolled my eyes, "The answer hasn't changed from the last million times you've asked this; I'm married to my job."

"Is it because you can't have children?"

I stopped and glared at the reporter. Every single interview, those two questions popped up. This was exactly why I didn't want to do this. All of the sexist questions were getting on my last nerve. For once, I wanted someone to interview me solely about my music, not about whether I was going to get married, what I was wearing, or if I wanted to settle down and have children.

It was difficult to keep myself from saying something rude after that question. Just as I opened my mouth to yell at the reporter, my saving grace came in the form of four lads walking in. Everyone's attention was instantly on The Beatles, even the reporter in front of me. He seemingly forgot all about my existence and followed the mobs towards John, Paul, George, and Ringo. All I caught was a glimpse of George's face, and he was clearly overwhelmed.

"Ten minutes in, and not one question about the music," I muttered, leaning against the wall next to Molly.

Molly sighed deeply, "I swear, if I hear one more question about why I'm not getting married, I will hit someone."

"Oh, Molly's got an aggressive side," I grinned, "I like it."

"Don't get used to it."

I bumped her shoulder with mine and laughed. Molly grinned as well. A few meters away, the reporters had cornered the lads in various different parts of the room. Ringo was the closest to us. I could see his wide eyes and fake smile. All of us were overwhelmed with the situation, some of us more than others. Ringo looked like he was about to bolt away. I tried to catch his eye to offer a reassuring smile, but he never looked in my direction. 

"Amelia! Molly! Over here!" one reporter called.

We turned just in time to see a camera flash go off. My vision was momentarily taken over by dancing dark spots. I blinked rapidly to get rid of them, but they still remained for quite some time.

"Are you two very good friends?" the reporter asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen.

Molly and I exchanged side glances before she answered, "I'd say so."

"How long have you known each other?"

"About eight years," I replied.

"Do you ever get jealous of each other?" he asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Why would we?" Molly asked.

"Over relationships, success, money, anything," the reporter replied, "Have you ever gotten jealous of each other?"

I scoffed, "In case you didn't know, we're in the same band. Molly's my best mate, why would I be jealous of her?"

"Amelia, Janice, and I are doing this together. There is no jealousy involved," Molly spat.

We were obviously fed up with him, and the reporter picked up on it. He quickly scribbled on his pad of paper and mumbled a thank you before walking away. Molly and I both scoffed, "The wanker."

After a few minutes, Molly and I got separated again. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't stay together, the reporters made sure of it. I watched as Molly's blonde hair vanished in the crowd and I was left to deal with the annoying reporters on my own.

"Amelia, pose for a photo?" one reporter asked.

I nodded. He lifted his camera and snapped several different pictures of me. I moved my face to different expressions as he did. When he finished, he thanked me and I backed away.

I pushed through the crowd in an effort to get to the open bar in the corner. Ellen had said no drinking, but I needed something to get me through that living hell. If I got one more sexist question, I couldn't promise things wouldn't go South. A drink could help appease that.

Unfortunately, I got pulled away just as I made it to the edge. I was pulled deeper into the sea of reporters. They all asked me several different questions all at once, it blurred together. I barely managed to form coherent replies.

"You look a bit nutty."

I turned to see Paul standing behind me. A reporter was snapping pictures of him, but he was smirking at me. I crossed my arms and sneered, "You don't look much better."

"Can't blame me," Paul replied, "It's chaotic in here."

"You're telling me."

"Paul! Amelia! A few questions?" A female reporter asked.

She was the first female reporter I had seen all night. Paul spun to face her, a charming smile across his lips, "That's what we're here for, luv."

I rolled my eyes and gagged, earning a giggle from the reporter. She held up her pad and pen and asked, "How does it feel to work together? As siblings, that is?"

"It's pretty great. I'd rather have Lia around than some band full of strangers," Paul replied.

I nodded, "And, with Paul so close, I know I can bug him anytime."

Paul laughed and punched my shoulder as the reporter snapped a photo. She smiled at us both, "You are very close, yes?"

"Oh, yes, we're very close," Paul replied.

As if to prove a point, he bent his knees slightly and wrapped his arms around my shoulder. His grip tightened as he lifted me off the ground. I nearly slid through his arms, but he had a good grip. The reporter snapped another picture.

"Christ, Paul, put me down before you drop me!" I exclaimed.

Paul laughed, but obeyed. I straightened my shirt and shot him a glare. All three of us ended up laughing.

"Amelia, do you have a favorite Beatles song?" the reporter asked.

Paul looked at me expectantly, "Oh, I'd like to know this too."

"Course I do," I replied, "I'm rather fond of Can't Buy Me Love, but I also really like If I Fell."

"Which is your favorite?"

"Can't Buy Me Love."

Paul laughed and flung an arm around my shoulders, "There's a good sister."

"You git," I mumbled just loud enough for Paul to hear me.

He laughed as the reporter moved on, "What about you, Paul? Do you have a favorite Revolution song?"

"Hold Me Again," Paul replied, "After all, they knocked us off the charts with that one."

I glanced up at Paul and smiled. Both of us knew the real reason why that was his favorite. It was the first of many songs about our mother. In our careers, we both wrote many songs as tributes to the mother we loved so dearly. Even Michael did his own fair share of tributes. For all of our long lives, those songs would bring tears to our eyes. 

"You made a quick comeback," I replied.

"Was there any doubt?"

Paul and I laughed loudly, earning the attention of several other reporters. They all seemed to notice The McCartney Siblings were together, and they flocked over with papers out and pens poised to write. Paul and I were completely surrounded by chattering people and flashing cameras. I felt like a caged circus animal, only there to be viewed and to do a few tricks.

"Do you two often see your father?" one reporter asked.

Paul smirked, "No, actually, we're just good friends."

"How do you like America?"

"Can't say much about it, we don't get out much," I replied.

"Amelia, is it difficult being a musician and a woman?"

I opened my mouth to snap back, but Paul answered before I could say anything, "What does it matter? Just because she's a bird doesn't mean she can't make music."

I shot him a 'thank you' glance. The reporter looked embarrassed as he scratched down a few things on his notepad. He was quickly overtaken by the next throng of reporters out for a piece of us.

Four hours later, we were finally allowed to leave. John, Paul, George, Ringo, Molly, Janice, and I all practically sprinted into the lift. All of the reporters stayed in the ballroom, thank God, and we were free. As soon as the lift doors shut, I released a deep breath.

"I bloody hate press conferences," I grumbled.

John clapped my shoulder, "You're not alone there, mate."

"George, do I have a bald spot?" Ringo asked.

George looked at where Ringo had his hand, "Your hair looks a little short."

"Someone came up and clipped it, just like that!" Ringo exclaimed, "They cut me bleeding hair."

That was the first time I had seen Ringo angry. His frown was so deep, it nearly surpassed his chin. Paul shook his head, "Nutters, the lot of them!"

"And this is new information?" Molly asked.

"Course not," John replied, "They're all bloody wankers! Reporters and fans alike."

Our hotel rooms seemed to be the only peaceful place we had left. There were three hours until we had our final show before we moved to the next city, and I intended to spend them sleeping. Molly, Janice, and I all vanished into our hotel room. I instantly fell face first on the bed and sighed deeply, "That was exhausting."

Without replying, Molly fell to lay next to me. I turned over to pull her to my chest, our hair merging into a curtain over us. Janice laid down on Molly's other side and yawned, "I could do for a kip."

As soon as I shut my eyes, I was asleep.


	108. Paul Vs. Amelia

No matter what, I will always hate airplanes. Anything that separated my feet and the ground was immediately something I despised. Every time we hit even the smallest amount of turbulence, I found myself going into a panic attack. It was unavoidable. No amount of gum, music, or pillows could stop me from panicking. Even Molly's constant reassurance didn't help. 

Tensions were already high as it was. We all loved each other, don't get me wrong, but sometimes we really hated each other. Those you love most know exactly how to get under your skin, even if they don't do it on purpose.

"Melly, are you alright?" Molly asked.

She rubbed my back as I leaned forward and groaned, "I'm going to be sick."

"Do you need the loo?"

I didn't have time to reply. I leaped up and rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door and falling to kneel next to the toilet. Everything I had eaten for the past week came up. I groaned loudly, silently vowing to travel by boat for the rest of my life.

When I came out of the bathroom, I didn't feel as sick, but the panic hadn't gone away. We hit a particularly rough patch of turbulence just as I was walking down the aisle. It sent me into a panic and to the floor. The entire plane shook as I landed on my hands and knees. The back of my hand hit the nearest table, sending flaring pain up my nerves.

"Lia!" Paul exclaimed.

I glanced up, "Fine, I'm fine!"

"You wanker!"

I lifted an eyebrow. Using the edge of the table, I pulled myself to stand. Paul had jumped from his seat and was waving about a drenched notebook. A cup that had once been filled with water was sitting sideways on the table he and John were sharing.

"You did that on purpose!" Paul exclaimed.

I scoffed, "You honestly think I spilled your water?"

"I bloody well saw your hand hit it."

"I didn't touch your fucking water!" I exclaimed, "I fell and my hand hit your table. I'm fine, thank you for asking."

Paul sneered, "You hit the cup on purpose."

"I can't help that there's turbulence!"

"You can keep yourself from knocking over cups!"

Molly had stood up at that point to try and pull us away from each other, but Paul was standing between her and me. She gazed around his shoulder helplessly, silently telling me to shut up. I was at the breaking point and ready to hit something.

"You're always ready to blame someone else, aren't you, Paul?" I demanded, "Have ever since we were kids!"

"I'm only blaming you because you did it!"

"I didn't do it!"

Paul frowned, "Then, how did my cup turn over?"

"The plane turned us all over, what makes you think your cup is immune?"

"It was in the bloody cup holder! It has to be pushed out."

"Or bounced out!"

Paul sneered at me. I flung up my hands and shouted, "What do you want me to do about it, anyways? Oh, I'm sorry about your oh so precious notebook even though it wasn't my fault."

"Apology not accepted," Paul crossed his arms and frowned.

"That's not surprising."

Paul scoffed, "What the bloody fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

"What the bloody fuck do you think it means, Mister Petty Princess?!"

"You wanker, take that back!"

"No takesies backsies!"

Paul frowned, "You dolt!"

"Git!"

"Tosser!"

"Arse!"

"You're as stubborn as you are dumb," Paul spat.

I sneered, "At least I'm not a stuck-up drama queen."

"I am not a stuck-up drama queen!"

"Would you rather be a pig?"

Paul looked like he was about to lunge forward and strangle me. It was that moment that John chose to step in. He lunged up from his seat and held a hand in front of both Paul and me, "Do you two even remember what you were arguing about?"

"She spilled water on my bleeding notepad!" Paul exclaimed.

"I did not!"

"Then, explain this," he held up his dripping notepad.

I crossed my arms, "You're a clutz."

"Don't blame this on me!"

"You're blaming it on me!"

"John!" Molly exclaimed.

"What, Molly?" John asked, "What do you want me to do?"

Ringo stepped in between us and smiled, "We're all just a bit tense, is all. Let's just take a step back."

"Bugger off, Ringo!" Paul exclaimed.

"Don't talk to Ringo like that!" I shouted, "You bugger off!"

"You first!"

"You're a git, James Paul McCartney!"

Paul gasped, "Well, you're an arse, Eleanor Amelia McCartney!"

"Look who's talking!"

George stepped in. Instead of saying anything, he grabbed my middle and physically began to pull me away. John and Ringo worked together to pull Paul to the opposite side of the plane. I shouted a few obscenities followed by, "George Harrison, put me down this instant!"

He didn't listen. He practically carried me to a seat on the very front of the plane. I was put down roughly, my head slamming on the back of the seat. George sat down next to me and kept a hand latched to my arm to keep me from leaving.

"I've still got a few more words to say to that git!" I said the last part extra loud.

From across the plane, I heard, "I'm not going to listen, wanker!"

"You're not going to say anything else," George pushed me back into my seat, "You two're giving me a headache."

Molly and Janice fell to sit across from us. Janice looked terrified, she was clinging to Molly's arm. Even Molly looked shocked, "I don't think I've ever seen you argue that badly."

"I have, they'll make up in an hour or two," George replied.

"I am not apologizing!" I exclaimed.

George rolled his eyes, "You both will, eventually. You two can't hold a grudge to save your lives."

"Can too."

George sighed deeply. I was too angry to realize he was right. Paul and I had our fair share of arguments, but we always came out alright in the end. The longest we've ever fought was a week, and even that ended in apologies. 

The easiest way to spot a good relationship is through an argument. If the two people argue to the point where one is going to kill the other, but they're on good terms the next day, you know it's a strong bond. Arguments are small hammers that will only break fragile relationships, the strong ones will always prevail, no matter what.

Paul and I sat on opposite sides of the plane, fuming, for the rest of the ride. I was too angry to remember my fear of flying. The rest of the ride I sat with my arms crossed and a frown on my lips, staring out the window.

When we landed, I didn't even turn to watch the lads disembark. Ellen appeared from her place in the cockpit, "Ready, girls?"

Molly and Janice nodded, but I simply frowned. Ellen lifted an eyebrow, but didn't ask when Molly shook her head. I followed them out to the car, still sulking.

***

Later that night, my anger finally subsided. I sat on the bed of our hotel room and sighed deeply, "Bloody hell, I'm an idiot."

"You both are," Molly replied, "But, for some reason, we love you anyway."

Janice giggled. I rubbed my temples and fell backwards, my head landing near Molly's chest. She didn't look away from her book, instead moving one hand to play with my hair. I groaned loudly, "Now I have to apologize, don't I?"

"Someone does," Molly replied.

"I think Paul should."

Molly simply looked at me. Finally, I released an overly dramatic sigh, "Fine, I'll go apologize to the git."

"Have fun."

"Sod off."

Molly and Janice laughed as I shuffled out of the room. As I shut the door, I heard another door just down the hall do the same. Glancing up, I saw Paul coming out of his and John's room. His eyes met mine and he smiled.

"Came to apologize, I s'pose?" Paul asked as soon as we met in the middle of the hall.

I crossed my arms, "Came to give one and receive one."

"So did I."

We stared at each other for a moment. Paul rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm sorry, Lia, I shouldn't have blamed you for spilling the water."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I replied, "And called you all those names."

"I'm sorry for that too. Except arse, you deserved that one."

I chuckled, "Well, you deserved git."

"I'll accept that."

We both laughed together. As they say, laughter is the best medicine, and I've learned that first hand. You can never truly get past something terrible until you learn to laugh about it.

"Friends again?" Paul asked.

"Always."


	109. I Hate You, I Love You

It's nearly impossible to get away from someone when you're trapped on the same floor as them for months at a time. When the impossible is met with seven stubborn mules like us, it suddenly becomes possible. For the next two nights, I found myself lying on the floor in the hallway reading a book. It was far from secluded, but it was away from everyone else. They stayed in their hotel rooms, generally, giving me a sort of seclusion.

As soon as the tension washes away, you're left with an undeniable loneliness. I had gotten used to someone always being there, usually multiple someones. John, Paul, George, Ringo, Molly, or Janice were always there no matter where I turned. Throughout the entire tour, I was never faced with my usual case of chronic loneliness. Once I took a step away, that pain was quick to return. Luckily, I wasn't the only one feeling that way.

"What're you doing?"

I glanced up to see Ringo standing just a few meters from me. I was lying on the floor in the hall with my legs propped up on the wall and a book dangling in front of my face. When I saw Ringo, a smile crossed my lips, "Reading."

"Did you come out here to be alone?"

I abandoned the book on the rug, "Yeah, but that can get really boring really quickly. Care to join me?"

"Love to."

He moved to sit next to me. I sat up straight so were were both leaning against the wall. Ringo pulled out a cigarette box and offered me one, which I gratefully accepted. I wasn't as big of a smoker as the lads, but the occasional release of smoke from my lungs was calming. In a way, it reminded me of home. I grew up around pipe smoke, cigarettes were just one step down.

"George went to the dining room three hours ago," Ringo said, "I dunno where John and Paul went off to."

I shrugged, "They'll come back eventually. I thought we were all sick of each other."

"Are you still sick of us?"

Ringo rolled his neck to look at me. I grinned and tapped his nose, "Ah, I could never get sick of you, Ringsy."

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm a married man," he teased.

I chuckled, "And I'm a taken woman. We'll keep it a secret."

Both of us laughed loudly. I sucked in a deep breath of the smoke, allowing it to fall out of my nose like a gray cloud. Ringo did the same, our two puffs of smoke merged together to become a single cloud.

"It's a bit lonely with us all angry at each other," Ringo sighed, "Do you think we'll be like this forever?"

I lifted an eyebrow, "Angry at each other?"

"Wanting to not be friends anymore."

Ringo sighed deeply, releasing smoke all around us. I smiled at him, "Aw, come off it, Ringo, we're all still mates. I'm not sick of any of you anymore."

"Really?"

"Nah. I'm a bit lonely, in fact, and I know I'm not the only one."

Ringo smiled, "I was lonely too, that's why I came out of the room."

"And to what luck!"

Ringo and I both laughed. Our laughter echoed down the hall and through the rooms. We both jumped slightly when a door opened abruptly right across from us. Both John and Paul were standing there. Paul was peering over John's shoulder to where it looked like they were a two-headed monster. 

"What're you doing on the floor?" John asked.

Ringo shrugged, "Just talking."

"Just talking?"

"Just talking."

"Can we join you?" Paul asked, "It's a bit lonely in here, you know."

I beckoned them closer, "Come on, then, there's enough floor for everyone."

They obeyed. John fell to one side of Ringo while Paul fell next to me. Paul didn't hesitate in stealing my cigarette for himself. He laughed as I tried to get it back.

"Stop fighting or I'll seperate you," John threatened.

I rolled my eyes, "Gee, wonder how you'll do that."

"Don't test me, McCartney."

"What did I do?" Paul joked.

"Oh, sod off, you know I wasn't talking to you, Macca."

Ringo laughed, "They're both testin' you."

"Not you too."

John rolled his eyes, causing us all to burst into a fit of giggles. All previous tension had seemingly been forgotten. Our friendship was more important than any claustrophobia or tour stress.

The bell for the lift rang and we all looked in that direction. It was like a sideways stairs of heads, each one further out than the next. George stepped out of the lift and saw four heads staring at him from their spots against the wall. For a moment, he stared at us.

"What're you doing on the floor?" he finally asked.

John shrugged, "Floor things."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, floor things."

George sighed deeply before moving to sit next to Paul. He pulled out a cigarette and motioned his hand for a lighter, which all of us produced. He took Paul's and lit the end of his ciggie, inhaling the smoke thankfully.

We all sat in silence for a moment, simply enjoying each other's company. It was nice to be back on good terms with them. I was getting sick of being sick of them; it was like an unhealthy loop. The loop could only be broken whenever we were finally given a reprieve from touring, but we all knew that wouldn't last long.

"I'm so bloody sick of touring, it's ridiculous," John commented.

Paul sighed, "Aren't we all?"

Ringo, George, and I nodded. Ringo glanced at John and said, "It's almost over, anyways."

"Only for a while," John replied, "We'll be back home for a few months and then back on the road again. I'm sick of being stuck inside, I'm beginning to forget what trees look like."

"Come off it, John, you're over exaggerating," I said.

George smirked, "Isn't he always?"

"Got me there."

John wrinkled, "You're swines, the lot of you."

"And what does that make you?"

Paul and Ringo both broke out in braying laughter. George simply smiled as John shook his fist at me, "One more word outta you, and I'll pummel ya."

"You don't have the guts."

"I'll show you guts."

John lunged forward like he was going to hit me, but ended up in a heap on the floor laughing loudly. I leaned forward and tapped his nose, "Told ya."

"Cheeky bastard, are ya?" his eyes twinkled.

He grabbed my shoulders and flung me over him to where I fell on the opposite side of the floor. I landed with a giggle, pushing him off and laughing loudly, "Bugger off, Lennon!"

"You'd miss me too much."

All five of us dissolved into laughter. Even George was bellowing like a howler monkey as Paul grabbed his shirt. A few tears leaked from my eyes as I laughed. Our laughter drowned out the opening of a door.

"What're you lot doing?" Molly asked.

Janice peered over her shoulder, "And why're you on the floor?"

"Why does anyone do anything, Jan? For the fun of it!" I exclaimed.

Molly chuckled and shook her head, "I'm sure lots of people would argue with that."

"But they're not here right now."

Paul grinned, "Come on, girls, why don't you join us?"

"Yeah, make it a real party," John winked.

Ringo stroked the ground, "It's a comfy carpet floor."

All of us looked at him before busting out in laughter once again. Molly and Janice did join us, both of them sitting next to George. John and I reclaimed our places on the wall, still laughing to the point where tears trickled down our cheeks.

"Another Ringoism takes the day," John chuckled.

George smiled at his friend, "You've got a real way with words, mate."

"Sometimes I wonder why we're the songwriters," Paul gestured to him and John.

Ringo smiled sheepishly. All of us laughed once again even if no joke was said. Sometimes, you didn't need to tell a joke for something to be funny. You can laugh simply because you're happy, and that was it.

All of us were happy to have each other, even if we never said it. It was difficult to believe that, just a few hours ago, we all said we hated each other. How quickly that 'I hate you' turned into 'I still love you, even if you're a git'.

"It's a bit drafty here," Paul commented, "Let's go into someone's room, yeah?"

"Which room?" I asked.

John scoffed, "Not ours, the telly doesn't even work."

"Neither does ours," George replied.

"Ours does," Molly put in, "We could see what's on that."

"Jolly good, Molly, a dear as always," Paul winked.

I elbowed him, "Stop flirting with my girlfriend."

"You flirt with mine!"

"Touche."

We both chuckled. Molly led the party of seven giggling musicians into our shared hotel room. Almost instantly, everyone grabbed what they needed to be comfortable. We had several extra blankets and pillows in the closest, and the lads didn't hesitate in helping themselves to the luxury. We ended up with John and Paul wrapped in blankets on the floor, George and Ringo occupying Janice's bed, and Janice, Molly, and me all wrapped up together on the bed Molly and I shared. 

Janice curled up in a tight ball and gazed at the wall tiredly. She seemed to be getting more and more exhausted by the day, and even paler than usual. Her cheeks were always flushed, and she always looked on the verge of collapsing. Every time I saw her cough, or sigh, or collapse on the bed after a hard day's night, I had to suppress my worry. I wasn't the only one, either, Molly, Ellen, and Peter all gazed at Janice with equally worried faces. As she curled in a tight ball, I handed her an extra blanket. 

As Molly tried to get the remote to work, I watched John take off his glasses. He set them on a nearby pillow in order to rub his eyes. While he wasn't looking, Paul snatched the glasses and walked across the room. He shoved them on his head and smirked, looking at us all. I tried not to snort. Ringo released a loud laugh, earning an elbow from a smirking George.

"What?" John muttered, "I swear I left my glasses right here."

He began to shuffle through the pillows and blankets around him. Without his glasses, John was as blind as a bat, and I mean that literally. He was declared legally blind without some form of glasses or contacts, yet the git still wouldn't wear them.

"Any of you seen my glasses?" John asked.

I leaned over the edge, "Didja check your head?"

"Very funny, Melly."

He continued to search through the pillows and blankets. Paul paraded about in the glasses grinning like a fool. All of the rest of us were struggling to hold in our laughter. I watched as John froze, realization crashing on him like an ocean wave.

"Macca!"

It was like a dam breaking; every single one of us dissolved into belly-aching laughter. Paul gave John his glasses back, still laughing loudly. I clutched my stomach and wheezed, "Christ, I can't breath."

"Me neither," Ringo coughed, still laughing despite himself.

Molly gripped my arm, tears falling from her eyes. I pulled her to my chest, still laughing loudly. At that point, everything was so hilarious, it was pointless to try and stop laughing. Even George was laughing uncontrollably.

As our laughter became out of control, we barely realized Ringo's laughter turn into hacking coughs. He was coughing and sputtering like he was drowning in air. George noticed first, "Ey, Ringo, you alright?"

My attention was brought down to my coughing mate. Ringo held a hand in front of his mouth and coughed loudly. I half expected him to cough up his lung right then and there. George and Paul both slapped his back as the rest of us watched nervously.

"Ringo?" I asked, "Do you want some water?"

He could barely manage to nod. I quickly jumped from the bed and rushed to the bathroom. The hotel had supplied us with styrofoam cups, and I filled one of those with tap water. Hurrying back to Ringo, I handed it to him.

Ringo chugged the water, nearly coughing it up as well. When he finished the cup, he took a deep breath, "Fine, I'm fine."

"That didn't seem fine," Paul said.

"Just choked on my own spit, is all," Ringo smiled, "I'm fine, honest."

He eyes were filled with pain, but he still insisted he was fine. I could sense something else was wrong, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it. George furrowed his eyebrows in worry, "Are you sure? You're not sick or nothing?"

"I'm fine, George," Ringo replied, "Just a bit of a coughing fit, is all, I'm not dying or anything."

Molly, Janice, and I all exchanged glances. Paul, John, and George did the same, but nobody argued with him. I'd keep an eye out to make sure he was alright. If that happened again, then he would have to acknowledge something else was wrong.

"Alright. Let's see what's on the telly, yeah?" John asked, trying to change the subject.

We all agreed. I fell back to sit next to Molly. Janice curled up on her other side, all of us watching Ringo warily. All of us sensed something was wrong with our friend.


	110. Falling Star

1965 is the year I like to call The Year of Hospitals. I saw more of the inside of hospitals that year than I ever did before, and I grew up with a nurse for a Mum. It's impossible to go your entire life without getting into the hospital at one point or another. I seemed to shove all of my hospital visits into one year.

It was also the year where we realized being at the toppermost of the poppermost wasn't all it's cracked up to be. Every night, we had a different show at a different venue in a different city, but they were all the same. Nobody could hear us playing over the screams. For one song, I had stopped drumming entirely, and nobody even noticed. John had shouted obscenities into the microphone, and nobody was the wiser. We were shuffled about like a bunch of circus animals meant to be viewed and not loved. People treated us like shit despite their intense love of The Beatles. More than once, I was legitimately afraid one of us would be killed by the fans that claimed to adore us.

It is easy to cross the line between adoration and obsession, both of which are dangerous. An intense love can make people do crazy things, like storm stages just to touch their idols, or break into hotels and steal pants. Two things that should never go together are violence and love. Love is not violent, love is tender, but obsession is everything love is not. The fans who got us to the top could just as easily tear us down all because of how violently they loved us. Sometimes, love was scary. 

"We have extra security for both the rehearsal and the performance," Ellen explained, "Nothing can get past those guards."

I crossed my arms, "I still don't see why we need a rehearsal. We've been doing the same bloody thing every night for months!"

"Elly, we're tired," Molly whined.

Ellen sighed, "I know, and I'm sorry, but this is necessary. Brian insists that we rehearse the entire show just to make sure it's perfect."

"It doesn't matter in the end," I snipped, "They're too busy screaming to hear us."

"I wish I could do better for you girls, I really do, but this is what we have and we must be grateful for it," Ellen replied.

Molly stood from her spot next to me on the couch and moved to hug Ellen's waist, "Course we're grateful. We're grateful to have you, Elly."

"Are we ever! We couldn't get through this without you," I ran to hug Ellen's otherside.

Janice joined in on Ellen's back, "We love you, Ellen."

"I second that," I added.

"Third!" Molly exclaimed.

Ellen laughed, her cheeks tinging with red. She did her best to hug all three of us, but I ended up with my neck trapped in her armpit. Despite the awkward positioning, I was happy just to get affection. 

"And I love you three," she smiled, "Perhaps we could talk Brian in for a short vacation."

"Yeah!"

We all separated as a knock came on the door. Ellen went to answer and vanished into the hallway, presumably talking to whoever was at the door. That left us in the dressing room, alone, to wait until it was our turn to rehearse. We were supposed to go on before the lads, but the stage had to be set. Peter and a few theater workers were setting up our instruments and decorations, not that we needed them. The decorations just stood as possible weapons should anyone manage to get on the stage.

Janice sat at one of the vanity stools at Molly's behest and let the blonde braid her hair. Molly smiled brightly as she weaved her fingers through Janice's dark hair. When we first met Janice, her hair was short, landing just above her shoulders. Since then, it seemed as if she hadn't gotten it cut at all. It was nearly at the small of her back.

"You need a haircut, Jan," I commented.

I came up behind Molly and propped my chin on her shoulder. She was too invested in the braid to respond. Janice looked at me in the mirror and shrugged, "I like it long."

"Doesn't it get annoying? Don't you sit on it?"

"It's a pain to wash," Janice replied, "It's not long enough to sit on."

"Are you sure?"

Janice didn't reply. The door opened and Ellen walked in, followed by Peter. As soon as Peter saw Janice, he instantly brightened. Even Janice's smile got wider. I rolled my eyes, wondering if Molly and I were like that. I knew I always felt happier when she was around. She was home to me, and you're always happiest when you're at home. Perhaps Molly and I did things that made Janice roll her eyes.

"Come on, girls, it's time," Ellen said.

Molly, Janice, and I all looked at each other. We sighed deeply before following Ellen out into the hall. Molly and I took up the rear, using the darkened theater hallways as a cover for us to intertwine our fingers. She looked at me and smile brightly. That was the same smile I had fallen in love with, and it was the same smile that made me fall in love with her again and again. I couldn't resist the opportunity to lunge forward and peck her cheek.

"Love you, darling," I winked.

She placed a hand over her heart and fake-swooned. I giggled as she kissed my cheek, "Love you too."

We entered the stage lights and instantly let go of each other. In the darkened hallway with only Ellen, Janice, and Peter nearby, we were safe. They knew, and they loved us anyways. With anyone else, we were still in danger. We were forced to love in the darkest corners and fake a smile in the lightest corridors.

Molly and Janice picked up their guitars as I sat down at the drums. The drums were familiar to me, like walking into my childhood bedroom once again. Everything was exactly how I wanted it to be. Unlike the rest of the world, the drums were always there and they were always the same.

"Start with When I Loved?" Molly asked.

Janice and I nodded. She started us off, and we were quickly thrown into the same familiar music as we had been many times before. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine us back at The Cavern, or even at the club in Hamburg. With enough imagination, I could go back to the days before the screams overpowered the music. I could go back to when being at the top seemed like a golden dream, not a stressful reality.

We played through three of the six song set list. Most of the songs were from the new album, though we did do a few throwbacks. Ellen insisted that we include Hold Me Again in every set list. It was our number one hit, after all, it made sense for us to play it. Every time we played it, I felt a little closer to my mum, like she was right there in the front row cheering me on.

Halfway through our fourth song, we heard three high-pitched screams. Almost instantly, we stopped. I panicked for a moment before my eyes fell upon the four lads standing at the bottom of the stage.

"Go on, then," John grinned, "You were doing so well."

Molly wrinkled her nose, "What the bloody hell was that all about?"

"Can't have a show without screams," Paul answered.

I groaned, "Give us a break, will you?"

"Hey, you birds don't have the worst of it," John pushed himself up to sit on the stage, "We get the loudest of em."

Molly rolled her eyes, "Oh, what a tragedy, people love you."

"It's a tragedy when they can't hear the music," George commented.

He and Paul pushed themselves up to sit on the stage as well. Ringo flopped down on one of the chairs, scooting down to where his legs were stretched out and his head was propped on the back. Even from across the stage, I could see the beads of sweat gathering on his flushed face.

"Ey, Ringo, you feeling alright?" I asked.

Ringo nodded, "Fine, Mel, I'm fine."

"You don't look alright."

"I said I'm fine," he snapped, "Just tired, is all."

John grinned, "That makes two of us, mate."

I furrowed my eyebrows and gazed at my friend. Ringo didn't look at all well; his face was almost completely devoid of color and he looked like he was going to faint at any moment. His eyelids drooped, his hands shook, and he kept wincing every time anyone spoke an octave or two too loudly. The very first thing I noticed was his frown. Ringo almost never frowned, he was always grinning his wonky grin. The few times I did see him frown, something was very wrong.

"Get on with it, we've got to practice too," John waved his hand.

"Just so long as you don't scream," Molly replied, "I've got enough of a headache as it is."

Paul smiled, "We'll be quiet, Molly. Got to preserve the vocal chords, you know."

"Good, shut up," I replied.

Paul stuck his tongue out at me, much to the amusement of John and George. Molly rolled her eyes and sighed, "Alright, let's just go to the next song."

As we played through the last three of our songs, the lads stayed relatively quiet. Paul and John clapped along, sometimes singing the lyrics they remembered. George even did air guitar. Ringo simply sat there, watching us with weary eyes and making me worry about him even more.

When we finished, I flung my hands up in a sort of 'ta-da' moment. John, Paul, and George all clapped and whistled over-enthusiastically. Molly and Janice bowed as I leaped up, 'Thank you, you've been a gear audience!"

John stood up and moved to the middle of the stage, "Alright, bugger off, it's our turn."

"Yeah, watch the masters at work," Paul winked.

I rolled my eyes at him and jumped off the stage. Molly and Janice were close behind, all three of us making our way to sit in the front row. Ringo slowly stood and climbed the stairs to the drums. Just as I was about to sit down, I noticed how shaky his knees were. Something was definitely wrong.

"I'm gonna talk to him," I whispered.

Molly shook her head, "It won't help. Stubborn arse, he is."

"I grew up with Paul, didn't I?" I asked, "I can deal with him."

Janice rolled her eyes, "From one stubborn arse to another."

"Sometimes I miss the days when you wouldn't talk."

Janice cackled, earning a glare and a grin from me. I jumped back onto the stage, passing John, Paul, and George as they tuned their guitars. Ringo was fiddling with the drums. His were still in the back and wouldn't be moved out until it was their time to play during the actual show. For now, he would use mine.

"Thanks for letting me use your drums, Mel," Ringo said as I stopped next to him.

Even his voice was shaky. He was sweating profusely at that point. Enough sweat poured down his head to fill The Albert Hall. Even his shirt was beginning to dampen. I watched his hands shake as he struggled to set up the drums to his liking.

"Anytime, Ringo," I replied, "Say, are you sure you're alright?"

His face instantly became clouded, "I'm allowed to be tired, aren't I? Bugger off."

"Course you're allowed to be tired, but you seem more than that," I answered, "I'm worried about you, Ringo."

"Don't be," he spat.

I sighed, "Ringo, you can't hide it from me. I can bloody well see something's not right. You're sweating buckets."

He wouldn't look at me for a moment. I reached forward to place a hand on his shoulder and offer a comforting smile, "I don't think you're weak or nothing. You're my mate, and I care about you."

Ringo blinked rapidly, more rapidly than normal. It seemed unnatural for him to blink so fast. When he turned to me, he gave me a weak smile before collapsing. His knees gave out and he fell forward, right on top of me. Both of us hit the ground with a loud thud.

"Ringo!" George cried.

Five sets of loud footsteps echoed through the theater. Ringo was still on top of me, nearly covering me like a blanket. I could feel his sweat seeping into my clothes, but that wasn't what bothered me. His forehead was pressed into my cheek; I could feel how warm he was. He definitely had a fever, and a strong one.

"Ringo, wake up," I jabbed his stomach, but he didn't reply.

He didn't even moan. Part of me didn't think he was breathing. I couldn't see anything except hair and shirt. I felt when John and George rolled Ringo off of me. The two of them and Paul knelt next to him as he laid flat on his back. Molly pulled me to sit up and asked, "What happened?"

"I-I'm not sure," I replied, "He just fainted."

Paul felt Ringo's cheeks and nearly recoiled, "He's hot as a stove top."

"It's a fever, that's why he's sweating so bad."

Molly turned to the trembling Janice, "Jan, go get Brian! Or Ellen! Whoever you find first."

She responded by bolting away. Both Molly and I knelt on the opposite side of Ringo than the lads. I gripped his hand, "He's trembling."

"Is he breathing?" Paul asked.

George pressed his ear to Ringo's chest, "Yeah, but it's shaky. He's shivering, is what he's doing."

"How the fuck did this happen?" John asked.

"He's been acting sick," George replied, "Every time I asked him, he'd brush me off like it was nothing."

Janice returned moments later with both Brian and Ellen in tow. Brian instantly ran to kneel next to Ringo's head. He glanced at the boys and asked, "What happened?"

"We don't know, he just fell," John replied.

George nodded, "Right on top of Mel."

"He's got a fever," I said, "And he's sweating worse than a sinner in a church."

Brian gently patted Ringo's cheek, "Richard, can you hear me? Richard?"

Ringo didn't reply. It was almost like he was sleeping, but he was cold, very cold. His body was cold, but his head was warm. His shaking seemed to be getting worse. I glanced up to see Paul and George looking absolutely petrified. They clung to each other's sleeves subconsciously. Paul had George with one hand and John with the other, like they were the terrified children and John was the brave adult. He kept a placid expression as he listened to Brian.

"We need to call an ambulance," Brian glanced up, "Ellen?"

Ellen nodded before vanishing, Peter at her heels. Janice stood near the drums and trembled. I began to legitimately worry that she would faint as well. Brian returned his gaze to Ringo and said, "Someone go get a cold towel and some cold water."

"I'll do that," Molly said.

She jumped up and rushed off to the bathrooms. Brian kept a hand on Ringo's forehead as if reassuring the unconscious lad that he was not alone. Even John had a hand on Ringo. I gripped Ringo's hand, ignoring the constant jerks.

"I-is he going to be alright?" Janice nearly whispered.

Brian glanced up at her, "He'll be fine, I'm sure. Once the ambulance gets here, he'll be taken care of."

Molly came back a few moments later with the towel and the water. She pressed the towel to Ringo's forehead and handed the water to Brian. Brian took to dabbing Ringo's forehead with the towel, occasionally making it colder with the water.

"You'll be alright, Ringo," Paul said, "You'll be alright."

John sighed, "He can't hear you, Macca."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," John spat, "Bloody hell, where are those paramedics?"

Brian shook his head, "I'm sure they're on the way. It's a large city."

"Is there only one hospital?!"

"John, calm down!" I exclaimed.

Janice was about to fall over, but nobody was paying her any attention. Molly was the only one to notice, and she leaped up to keep the younger girl from falling. I stayed kneeling next to Ringo.

John and Paul both looked on the verge of panic attacks as well. Even George looked worried, his eyebrows knitting together and his eyes unblinking as he stared at Ringo. Paul looked like he was about to cry, and John looked like he was ready to slap Ringo as hard as he could to wake him up. As I looked down at my friend, I felt like screaming at him to wake up.

He looked dead. Had it not been for his trembling and raspy breath, I would have thought he was dead. He was as pale as a corpse and just as responsive. All we could do was sit there and whisper comforting phrases in the off chance that he could understand us.

After what seemed like centuries, the ambulance finally arrived. Ellen led them through the halls and to the stage where Ringo was waiting. They carried a stretcher between them. The one running in the front said, "Everybody move, we need a clear path to the patient."

All of us instantly jumped out of the way. Molly grabbed my shirt and pulled me to her, wrapping her arm around my chest and pressing into my back. Janice gripped my sleeve, still trembling.

"What happened?" the paramedic asked as the other two loaded Ringo onto the stretcher.

Brian pulled at his collar, "He was acting very sick, and then he collapsed."

"He's been shaking and breathing hard," Paul added.

John sneered, "Took you long enough to get here!"

"We came as fast as we could, sir," the paramedic explained, "We need the patient's name, age, and closest kin."

Brian wrung his hands together, "Richard Starkey, twenty-five. He doesn't have any family here, but I'm his manager."

"Very well, you can ride in the ambulance with him."

They lifted the stretcher and began to walk him out. George followed, "Can we come?"

"Only one."

Ellen moved forward and gently grabbed George's shoulders, "It'll be alright, we'll follow behind."

My eyes followed Ringo as he was carried out of the theater like some fragile doll. Just before they rounded a corner, Ringo's limp hand fell off the stretcher and one of his rings clattered to the floor. I bent down to pick it up.

Seeing Ringo like that struck a nerve in me that had only ever been struck once before. The paralyzing fear I felt while watching my mate be carried out of the room on a stretcher was one I had only ever experienced once; when I watched my mother become bedridden as she slowly withered away. The same feeling of absolute terror overtook me. Ringo looked dead, what if he actually did die? It took me a moment to realize the terrifying reality. 

He could be dead already.


	111. Wake Up

Mum had taken me to the hospital a few times for her work, but I could never get used to the smell of cleaning supplies and the blank white walls. Everything was so white, it was like nothing was there. The hospital was a building filled with blank space and moans, lots of moans. It seemed as if every room was moaning. I clapped my hands over my ears in an effort to block out the noise, but it didn't help.

Paul was pacing in front of us, his eyes glued to the floor and his fingers playing with his bottom lip. John and George both watched him, anxiously sitting in their chairs. Ellen had brought us to the hospital just minutes after Ringo arrived, but we weren't allowed to see him. We were left to sit in anxiety in the smelly waiting room surrounded by uncomfortable chairs and boring magazines.

"Fucking hell, Macca, will you stop your bloody pacing?" John asked.

Paul shook his head, "I can't help it, John, I'm worried."

"We all are, but you don't see us pacing like a pansy."

Paul sped up. He began to mutter under his breath, twisting his lip to the point where it looked painful. Paul usually did well under pressure, but this was something completely different. A hospital alone was enough to invoke anxiety, the fact that Ringo could be dead in the next room and we wouldn't know it was enough to drive one mad. Even Paul cracked.

"Richard will be fine," Ellen assured us, "This is the finest hospital in Sydney. They will take care of him."

George frowned, "We don't even know what's wrong with him."

"That's why we're here, George."

"No, we're here because our mate collapsed!" John exclaimed, "We don't know what happened, and we're on the wrongside of the fucking planet! Fucking hell!"

Paul scoffed, "Calm down, John, you yelling only makes it worse."

"Sod off, Macca."

John jumped up and made his way outside, vanishing behind the doors. Throughout this entire exchange, I had my face buried in my hands. I could still feel Ringo on top of me. That could be the last time I ever see Ringo alive, and I didn't want to forget it. Even if it wasn't a good memory, it was something.

"He'll be fine," Molly said, "He's Ringo, he has to be."

Nobody replied. Paul continued to pace, his feet falling into the rhythm of a nearby ticking clock. Every so often, we could hear a paper being moved or a throat being cleared. We were far from alone, and yet, I felt like we were the only people in the universe. Paul's clicking feet eventually turned into Chinese water torture. I flung my head up and shouted, "Paul, bloody hell, you're driving us all insane!"

"I'm sorry, I can't stand it here," he fell to sit next to me, his leg bouncing the entire time.

I leaned back and gazed at him, "Come on, we used to go to the hospital with Mum all the time."

"This is different," he argued, "We didn't know anyone in the beds, then."

I frowned. He shook his head, his leg beginning to bounce faster than ever. I had to resist the urge to hit him.

John returned a few moments later. He slumped into the chair next to George smelling like smoke. None of us said anything, because there was nothing that could be said. We were all wrung up in worry about Ringo.

Our saving grace came in the form of a tousled Brian Epstein walking out from the patient ward. He was met with four worried lads and three nervous girls, all circling him and getting closer than was comfortable. Ellen stood behind us, her eyebrows knit in worry.

"Is he alright?" George asked.

Brian sighed, "He's fine, George. He's still asleep."

"What's wrong with him?" John asked.

"The doctor says he came down with a bad case of tonsilitis."

I lifted an eyebrow, "Of what now?"

"His tonsils need to be taken out," Brian explained.

"He fainted because of his bloody tonsils?"

"No, because of the high fever his infected tonsils gave him," Brian replied, "The doctors are doing a few tests now."

Paul wrung his hands together, "Can we see him?"

"Once he's done with the tests."

"Can he come back then?" George asked.

Brian shook his head, "No, the doctors are saying they want to keep him here a few days, just to make sure he's alright."

The thought of Ringo being stuck in the hospital was sickening. Only sick people stayed in the hospital, and Ringo was sick, but he wasn't sick enough. Why couldn't he go back and rest at the hotel?

"What about the tour, then?" John asked.

Paul flung his hands up, "Ringo's sick and all you can think about is the fucking tour?!"

"Well?!"

Brian raised his hands in a calming gesture, "Calm down, boys, please. We will continue with the tour while Ringo is here."

"What? How?" Paul asked.

"We'll find a stand in drummer," Brian replied, "Perhaps a session drummer."

George scoffed, "I'm not playing with some wanker you pluck off the streets. You lot go if you want, but I'm not leaving Ringo."

George crossed his arms and frowned. He was an unmovable statue met with the unstoppable force of Brian. To this day, I have only ever met two people who can get their way with us, and that was Brian and Ellen.

"George, please," Brian practically begged.

Ellen came up behind him and smiled comfortingly, "Nobody wants to leave Richard, George, but you can't cancel an entire tour."

"Why not?"

"Because we've made a commitment," Brian replied, "Ringo would want you three to continue without him. At least until he can rejoin you."

George still seemed reluctant. He turned his shoulder towards Brian, sneering and glaring at the door. John and Paul exchanged looks. They didn't seem too keen on it either, but they understood the necessity of it. The Beatles weren't The Beatles without Ringo, it seemed impossible to play without him. Yet, they did understand the responsibilities that came with being a band as famous as they are.

Something passed between John and Paul. John smirked, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner. Paul quirked an eyebrow before realization dawned on his face. Both boys smiled mischievously at each other before glancing at me.

"Who're you going to get?" Molly asked.

Brian furrowed his brow, "I don't know. I could make a few calls, see what we find, but they won't be ready in time for tonight's show. They still have to learn the material, nobody can do that in four hours."

"What if we got someone who already knew the material?" Paul asked.

"We can't make Ringo do this, Paul, he needs to rest and-"

"I'm not talking about Ringo," Paul replied, "I'm talking about Lia."

He clapped my shoulder and grinned. I was taken by surprise. For a moment, I simply blinked and looked at him, "Wait, what?"

"Come on, Melly, you know all the stuff," John grinned, "Who better to stand in for Ringo?"

I hesitated, "You can't be serious. I'm already playing before you."

"What's playing two shows compared to what you have done? This'll be a walk in the park compared to Hamburg," Paul tried.

I stared at them for a moment. It seemed logical enough. I knew almost every single one of their songs, since I had seen so many of their shows. All I needed was help on a few of the new ones, and I would be good to go. 

The dynamic of the group was the outline for the show. If the group had a bad dynamic, it would be a bad show. Using any random stranger as a stand in could make for a bad dynamic, since the lads didn't know them at all. They knew me, we've all played together more than once, it seemed like the most logical choice.

"Yes, that's a brilliant idea," Brian replied, "Amelia, would you please?"

I glanced back at Molly, Janice, and Ellen. Molly gave me an encouraging nod. Ellen seemed to consider it before nodding as well. Me being a stand in for The Beatles wouldn't harm Revolution, all it meant was that I would play for a few hours longer than usual. It seemed like a brilliant idea.

"Alright," I agreed, "Let's do it, then."

Brian clasped his hands together, his face instantly looking more relieved, "Brilliant! Thank you, Amelia."

"You're a lifesaver, Lia," Paul grinned.

I turned to George and smiled, "Wouldja play with me, mate?"

"Nasty," John commented, earning a slap from Paul.

George smiled slightly, "Alright, it's better than a stranger, I s'pose."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Brian looked like a gigantic weight had just been taken off of his shoulders. He took a deep breath and produced a legitimate smile. One obstacle had been overcome, but that didn't mean we were any less anxious. Our mate was still unconscious in the next room having God only knows what done to him. I felt my nerves twist into a knot that could only be undone by seeing Ringo. Luckily, that time came sooner than any of us thought.

"Family of Richard Starkey?" a nurse called.

Brian spun around, "That's us."

"You can see him now."

We wasted no time. I was nearly trampled by three lads who were more than eager to see their fourth Musketeer. Molly kept a tight grip on my arm as we followed the lads and Brian into the hospital room. Janice and Ellen stayed out with Peter, saying something along the lines of finding food.

Ringo was lying on the bed looking as pale as ever. A compress was lying across his forehead and an IV tube hung from his arm. When he saw us, he smiled weakly, "'Ello, mates."

"Ringo, it's good to see you, son," John sat down on the edge of the bed and clapped Ringo's shoulder.

Ringo winced, "I could say the same to you."

"How're you feelin', mate?" Paul asked, leaning on a nearby table.

"A bit peckish, is all."

"A bit peckish?" I asked, "You fainted."

Ringo cringed, "Sorry about that, Mel. You alright?"

"Course. I'm glad I was there to catch you, princess."

Molly and John snorted as Paul did his best not to belt out laughing. George simply rolled his eyes and sat on the bed next to Ringo, "We're glad you're alright, mate."

"I dunno what happened," Ringo replied, "I remember feeling ill. And I remember falling on Mel."

"You had a high fever, which is why you fainted. The doctors say you have a bad case of tonsilitis," Brian explained.

Ringo blinked, "Is that some kind of liver problem?"

I covered my mouth to stifle my laughter. Ringo was completely confused as he stared at Brian. The man in question shook his head and laughed slightly, "No, it means your tonsils are infected and must be removed."

Ringo went pale. John grinned, "Don't worry, mate, it'll be over before you know it."

"They must keep you here a few days for observations," Brian explained.

Ringo took a moment to take all of this in. He glanced in between Brian and John, every so often glancing at George and Paul. They all offered him comforting smiles, though he seemed unphased. Part of me wondered if the fever was still clouding his thoughts.

"What about the tour?" he finally asked.

Brian sighed, "I'm sorry, Richard, but we simply cannot cancel it. The boys will have to use a stand in until you are better."

If I thought Ringo was pale before, it was nothing compared to after he heard that. He was almost completely camouflaged against the whiter-than-white sheets and bleached walls. The only color about his person were his blue irises, and even those were foggy.

"We're not replacing you, Ritchie, no one could replace you," George smiled.

Ringo blinked, "Who is it, then?"

"Missus Macca over there," John jerked his head to me.

I cocked my eyebrow at him as if questioning the nickname. He simply grinned at me, causing me to roll my eyes. Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "Mel?"

"I'd be proud to substitute for a while," I smiled, "I'll give the fans something to make them love you even more, if that's possible."

All apprehension in Ringo's face seemed to vanish. Any thoughts of being replaced or worries of his abilities washed away. He beamed at me, "You're the only one I'd trust with me drums."

"Ringo, you flatter me."

He chuckled, and then started to hack. Paul handed him a glass of water, which he gladly sucked down. When he could breath again, he said, "Thanks, mates."

"Course," John smiled.

Brian looked at his watch and sighed, "I'm sorry, Richard, but we have to make it to the theater. Come on boys, girls, it's time to go."

Ringo's face fell. All of us turned to Brian, our faces a portrait of sadness. I don't think any of us wanted to leave Ringo, George most of all. I could almost hear him telling Brian to find a temporary substitute lead guitarist for the night. Luckily, he kept his mouth shut.

"We'll come back in the morning," Paul said, "Bye, Rings."

"Bye, Ringo," John echoed.

Ringo waved sadly. As John and Paul went to the door, I stepped closer and smiled at Ringo, "I'll be thinking of you."

"I'll be watching," he gestured to the telly in the corner, "You'll do great, Mel, just like always."

I smiled, "Always a charmer, Ringo. See you, mate."

"Bye."

Molly waved and we followed John and Paul out. George was more hesitant. He and Ringo were very close, I could see it in the way they always gravitated towards each other. George was the magnet and Ringo was the fridge, they always seemed to end up together somehow. In my life, I had seen and experienced many friendships like that, some stronger than others.

Eventually, George and Brian did follow us. We met Ellen, Peter, and Janice in the waiting room, their drinks quickly going cold as they sipped. Ellen glanced at Molly and me and smiled, "Everything alright?"

"He's still Ringo," I shrugged, "The fever didn't take that away from him."

Molly chuckled, "Ah, no one could change Ringo."

"He's so cute, our Ringo," George commented.

"That he is, Georgie," I shook my head, "That he is."


	112. Three Beatles and A Rebel

"Nervous?" John asked.

He caught my eye in the mirror, smirking ever so slightly. I glanced up from my magazine and shrugged. John grinned, "Oh?"

"I've played with you before, John," I replied.

"That was before we had crazy fans."

I stared at him. As much as I tried to deny it, I was dreadfully nervous. My stomach was all tied up in knots. All I could think about was how the fans revolted whenever Ringo first joined. They would have killed them if they got their hands on him, what would they think when the curtains opened and they saw me there? If they thought I was replacing Ringo, there would be hell to pay and I'm the one to write the check. I shuddered at the mere thought of it. This time, I might get hit with things worse than eggs. 

"Don't go scaring her now, John," Paul stated.

He was combing his hair in the mirror next to John. John grinned at him, "Wouldn't dream of it, Macca."

"Don't worry, Mel," George told me.

I swallowed hard, "I'm not."

They all knew me well enough to know when I was lying. I quickly glanced back down at the magazine, doing my best to hide my trembles. Each time I flipped a page, the crinkling could be heard across the room. 

I tried to tell myself that this wouldn't be any different than any other show. I would get up there, bang the drums, and get off, that was it. The only difference was that I'd be up there a bit longer than usual. It was like two shows in one, it was nothing I couldn't handle. The only thing that scared me were the fans.

"See, John, look what you've done," Paul gestured to me, "She's bloody terrified."

I scoffed, "I'm not scared, Paul. A few fans never hurt me."

"Well-" John began, but stopped whenever Paul elbowed him.

I clamped my mouth shut. There had been two times before when I had been injured by the fans, and I still had a bit of black under my eye as evidence. All of us had come close to being injured by those that claimed to love us. My eye throbbed as I thought about it.

"Come off it, Mel, you're not really scared, are ya?" John asked.

I cleared my throat, "Course not. Nothing scares me."

"I could argue with that," George muttered, earning a glare from me.

"There's no reason to be nervous," Paul shot me a comforting smile, "It'll be just like any other show."

Expect the fact that I'm playing with the most famous band in the world. Their fans were nutters, all of them, I wouldn't put it past them to storm the stage as soon as the mere thought of me being Ringo's replacement crossed their minds. I felt my throat begin to close as I stared at the magazine, unblinking.

"Shut up, the both of you," Molly spat.

She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and smiled. I met her eyes. Her smile quickly turned into a frown as she saw exactly what I was feeling. I quickly closed the magazine and stood, "I'm gonna use the loo before the show. Don't you lads go doing anything stupid while I'm gone."

"Can't do that without you," John winked.

I ignored him, going into the hall quicker than I would have liked. If they didn't know how scared I was before, they knew once I rushed out of the room. I hurried down the hall, looking for a dark corner. My muscles were trembling, my stomach felt like a Cirque Du Soleil show, and my breathing had sped up so much it had practically stopped. I felt like I was going to throw up, but my throat had all but closed. Every muscle in my body clamped tightly until I was a tight knot of terror. 

The only dark corner I could find was a spot hidden behind a bunch of crates. It was practically invisible, you had to be looking to find it. I silently slid behind the crates and sat on the floor, burying my fingers in my hair.

"Melly?"

I couldn't answer. All I could do was clench my eyes shut and silently tell myself everything would be alright. I would go up there, play the drums, and get off just like any other shows. The fans would be held back by the security guards, nothing could happen. As I told myself everything would be alright, a million and one worst case scenarios ran through my mind. Molly found me on the verge of tears, rocking slightly behind the crates. She didn't hesitate in kneeling in front of me.

"Don't listen to them, love," Molly held my hands, "It's going to be alright. You'll get up there and you'll put on the best show they've ever seen."

I sniffed, "What if they think I'm replacing Ringo? They'll revolt just like they did at The Cavern! I'll be murdered! Killed ! Obliterated! Wiped off the face of the Earth!"

"You're not going to be killed. Security is tight, they won't let the fans on the stage. Besides, you're not replacing Ringo."

"They don't know that."

"If they read the papers, they will," Molly cupped my cheeks and made me look her in the eye, "Melly, love, look at me, take a deep breath."

I took a shaky breath. Molly demonstrated, sucking a deep breath into her lungs and releasing it slowly. We fell into a rhythm, breathing in and out together. After a few seconds, my trembling had stopped. My heart slowed and my breathing went back to normal. I felt my body relax, even if only slightly. 

"By golly, Miss Molly, what would I ever do without you?" I asked, a small smile crossing my lips.

Molly smiled sweetly, "Luckily, you don't have to know."

"And I'm grateful everyday."

She smiled and pulled me to her chest. I wrapped my arms around her waist, burying my face in her chest and closing my eyes. She wrapped two protective arms around me as she kissed my temples.

"It's going to be alright, I promise," she whispered.

I nodded. She always knew the right thing to say. All she needed to do was be there, and I knew everything would come out alright in the end. The fans couldn't hurt me so long as Molly was nearby. They could break every bone in my body, but I would be fine, because of Molly. Her presence made me feel like I could take on the world and win.

With every breath I took, I inhaled the smell that was uniquely Molly. She smelled of the strawberries she loved to eat and fresh flowers that lined the pavement in front of our flat. The tiniest hint of fish was hidden among the nice smells, but that only added to the familiarity. There was only one way to describe the smell of Molly.

"You smell like home," I muttered.

"What?" Molly asked, "Do I smell like fish or something?"

I shook my head, "No, you just smell like home. I like it."

Molly didn't reply. She ran a hand through my hair, breathing in deeply, "You smell like peanut butter and lemon tea."

"Is it nice?"

"Yes," Molly replied, "Now, I can't eat a peanut butter sandwich or drink lemon tea without thinking of you."

"Good."

We both giggled. She kissed my forehead once again and smiled, her lips still against my skin, "Feel better now?"

"I always feel better with you," I winked at her, "Thanks, Mols."

"Of course. Let's go play some music, yeah?"

"Don't have to ask me twice. I'm itching for a drum."

We both stood and stepped out into the hall, smiling the entire time. Molly led the way back to the dressing room, but we never made it. Instead, we met Ellen and Janice in the hall.

"There you are," Ellen breathed, "Are you ready?"

I nodded, "Ready as I am a drummer. Let's do this."

She smiled at me, giving me every ounce of confidence she could. Janice and Molly both did the same. For them, it was just another show, but, for me, it was an experience. I would be on stage for four hours with two different bands.

We stepped onto the stage just before the curtain raised. As I sat down at the drums, Molly shot me a glance. Her eyes sparkled, telling me that everything would be alright. All I had to do was play, that was it, and everything would come out alright in the end.

The curtain raised and we were met with usual bombardment of screams. Teens, male and female alike, screamed at the top of their lungs. Our music was practically drowned out, but we continued. A camera was positioned at the bottom of the stage to capture every moment. It was meant to record our concert, but all it got were screams and what looked like a silent concert. Still, it continued rolling as we played as loudly and as passionately as we possibly could.

I was beginning to get fed up with the fans and their constant screaming. They came to hear our music, but they ruined that for themselves. Every night, I went home with a pounding headache, all because of them. If they could contain themselves, they might actually be able to enjoy the concert. Instead, they let their hormones get out of control.

Two hours went by in the blink of an eye. The curtain fell on Revolution, with all of us bowing. As soon as the curtain was down, stagehands rushed to change the front drum. It changed from Revolution's signature logo, with a spear in the place of the I, to the signature Beatles with the drop T. While the drums changed, the drummer didn't, I just sat there with my back slumped and my hands shaking.

"Melly?" Molly asked.

I glanced up at her and smiled, "I'm alright, Mols."

"I'll be right backstage. You'll do great."

She risked a quick peck on my cheek. Luckily, nobody saw us. That peck was exactly the confidence boost I needed. I sat up straighter and grinned. Molly and Janice both hurried off the stage as John, Paul, and George all arrived.

"You alright, Lia?" Paul asked, his eyes shining with worry.

I shot him a cheeky grin, "Course I am. I'm as good as gold, Paulie."

"You're not going to faint on us, are you?" John asked.

"What gave you that ridiculous idea?"

John was unable to reply. At that moment, the stagehand whisper-shouted, "Curtains up!"

Everybody got into position. The lads started us off with Eight Days a Week, and I came in a bit later. As the curtain rose, we were met with screams and shouts, all blurring together to where we couldn't make out a single word.

It started off alright. The fans were too excited to realize something was wrong. Like a wave, realization crashed through the audience. Starting in the back, people began to shout about Ringo. A few shouted about a replacement, making me feel uneasy. Paul kept glancing back at me as if making sure I was still upright.

The screams quickly turned into jeers and shouts of confusion. As we neared the end of the second song, the crowd had gotten anxious. I focused on the drums, doing my best to ignore their taunts. Deep down, I knew, they were about to get violent.

I felt the book before I saw it. One of the fans had thrown a book at me. It slammed into my shoulder, causing me to hit the wrong note and hesitate. Two shoes flew through the air and nearly hit George on their way to me.

"We want Ringo!" the fans chanted, "We want Ringo!"

John stopped the song, "Well, you can't have him! Didn't any of you read the papers? He's sick you bloody-"

"John!" Paul cut in, "Amelia's not replacing Ringo, she's just a substitute."

"We want Ringo!"

Another shoe flew through the air. It hit John in his gut, causing him to sneer. John was known for his temper, it never did well to piss him off, you could lose your head for it. Paul saw his face quickly become red. He hurried over to calm down his friend as George took the mic, "Calm down, it's just for a few shows. Ringo'll be back in a week."

Paul glanced back at me, "Let's just keep playing, yeah?"

I could only nod. All of us had expected a negative response. These people loved John, Paul, George, and Ringo so much, they had become protective, even if they never touched the lads. Their protectiveness branched into violence when they thought one of their boys was being replaced. Blind anger consumed them, making them ignore reason. All we could do was play on and hope they calmed down.

Throughout the rest of the concert, I was hit with four more shoes, another book, tons of popcorn and jelly babies, and one seat cushion, though I didn't know how they got it. John, Paul, and George were all standing in front of me and got hit as well. John looked like he was ready to dive into the audience and hit them, but he restrained himself. We all played on as if everything were normal despite the projectiles flying around us.

The shouts of disdain still echoed in my cranium for the rest of the night. As we walked off of the stage, the crowd cheered for the lads they loved so dearly, and booed for the drummer they thought was replacing Ringo. I was hit with another shoe just before the curtain fell. Having enough of it, I spun on my heel and shook my fist, "Sod off you bloody swines!"

"Lia, calm down, they can't hear you," Paul gently placed his hands on my shoulders.

I shrugged him off, "I'll make them hear me!"

"I'll cripple the lot of them!" John exclaimed, "I throw all the shit right back at 'em!"

"Let's bloody well do it then!"

George grabbed me as Paul grabbed John. Both of them sighed dejectedly. Paul kept a tight grip on John's arms and said, "Nobody is throwing anything, alright? They're not heathens."

"Are you sure?" I asked, "If they're not heathens, what is?"

John wrinkled his nose, "They're swines, the lot of them."

"That doesn't mean we can throw shoes at them," Paul chided.

I flung up my arms before George could stop me, "Why not, they threw shoes at me!"

"Because they were protecting Ringo."

I opened my mouth to reply, but George nudged me and shook his head. I grumbled under my breath. We all headed to the dressing room with Paul and George still holding onto John and my shoulders. In the dressing room, we were met with Brian, Ellen, Molly, and Janice all in the middle of worrying.

"Melly, are you alright?" Molly asked.

She hurried to cup my cheeks and inspect my face. Glancing at my hair, she began to pull out a few left behind jelly babies. I smiled slightly, "I'm alright, it missed my face, mostly."

"Bloody heathens, they are."

"See, Paul, even Molly agrees with us," John stated.

Paul rolled his eyes as John snickered. Molly kept searching my face for injuries, only to find none. I smirked slightly as she met my eyes. Her cheeks went bright red, but a smile crossed her lips.

"I am so sorry, Amelia," Brian clasped his hands together, "It's my fault."

I cocked my eyebrow, "How is it your fault, Bri?"

"I should have made an announcement. Of course they would think you were replacing Ringo unless we said otherwise, first."

"If they read the papers, they would have known," Paul commented.

Ellen shook her head, "The papers only said he was sick, not that Amelia was standing in for him."

"I must arrange a conference before the next concert," Brian thought outloud, "We'll formally announce that Ringo is not being replaced, and that Amelia is simply acting as a substitute. Once they know that, the next show will be better."

I frowned, "If it's not, I'm going to hit someone."

"Amelia," Ellen said sternly, "You will do no such thing."

I pouted, "They deserve it!"

"She's got a point," John replied.

"Thank you!"

"You will not harm the fans," Ellen ordered, "Let Brian and me handle this, alright?"

She took to staring me down. I crossed my arms and stared back, determined to win. Once again, Ellen succeeded. I bowed my head and sighed, "Fine, you win."

Ellen nodded triumphantly. She and Brian left, presumably to deal with the crazy fans. I fell onto the couch and sneered. Molly fell next to me, "They'll make it better."

"You gotta trust Brian and Ellen," Paul smiled, "They're gear, aren't they?"

"I have to agree with that," I smiled.

If anyone could make this better, it was our faithful managers. I trusted them with everything I had, and I knew the same went in reverse. They had gotten us this far, and kept us alive this long, it was like magic. They would make this better, I knew they would.


	113. The Staircase

Just as the doctor predicted, Ringo was able to rejoin us after a week and a half in the hospital. He joined the tour when we were back in Europe, touring through Ireland and Scotland. We were so close to home, and yet, it felt further than ever.

"We're glad to have you back, mate," John clapped Ringo's shoulder as they walked into the dressing room.

Ringo smiled, "Glad to be back."

I didn't realize how much I had missed his wonky smile until I saw it again. His smile had the uncanny ability to light up an entire room. He could make the saddest people smile the brightest, and the most serious people laugh the loudest. None of us realized how we relied on that smile to get us through the stress of the tour. Things didn't seem quite so bright when Ringo wasn't there laughing with us.

There was a short list of things that got me through that tour. Through the stress, the headaches, the exhaustion, and the ever looming threat of giving up, I looked to a few things to keep me going. Ringo's smile was one of them. One look at his wonky, lopsided, grin that showed too much teeth and I felt like laughing despite everything happening around us. When I was scared of what was to come or when I felt like falling over, I looked to Molly. All she had to do was look at me, and I felt the energy of a thousand suns. With her by my side, anything was possible, I only had to believe it. With my best friends and my love with me every step of the way, things didn't seem so bad. 

"The fans were the happiest of all," I commented, "Screamed louder than ever, I'd say."

Paul cringed, "Quiet down, I've got a headache."

"You're not the only one, Paul," Molly replied.

She was resting her head on my shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to block the headache. I had one of my own pounding through my cranium, but I had long since gotten used to it. Headaches were a part of life when you went on stage every night, especially when you were surrounded by screaming teenagers. I had long since forgotten what life was like before the constant headache.

"I'm glad not to have shoes thrown at me all the time," I wrinkled my nose.

John chuckled, "Most of 'em missed you."

"Most."

I shook my head as John laughed. Molly squeezed her eyes shut tighter and blocked her ears with her palm. She grumbled under her breath, something about John. Though I couldn't understand it, I knew her well enough to know it wasn't good. 

"Quite the ladies girl, aren't ya, Melly?" John teased.

I sneered at him. With Molly on one shoulder and Janice on the other, I could see where he got it from, but I only rolled my eyes. My heart only belonged to one girl and one girl only.

"Bugger off, John," I replied.

John laughed, earning a glare from Paul, "Shut up, the lot of you, me head's about to explode."

He buried his face in his hands, groaning the entire time. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. The pounding was slowing down, but it wasn't going to go away until I fell asleep. Sleep seemed to be the only cure for a concert hangover.

Janice coughed harshly, like she was choking on a razor blade. Instantly, my eyes were on her. The last time someone coughed weirdly, they were put in the hospital. She coughed for thirty seconds before squeezing her eyes tightly.

"Jan, you alright?" I whispered.

She nodded, "Just a little thirsty, that's all."

I frowned. There was no water in that room, and we couldn't go out. Brian had ordered all of us to stay in that room until the car arrived to take us back to the hotel. We had all learned quickly not to disobey Brian. Either we found the consequences on our own, or he made sure they were delivered. Brian was a kind man, but he was strict, especially when it came to the safety of his boys. 

"When Ellen comes back, we'll ask for some water, yeah?" I asked.

Janice only nodded. Something inside of me began to worry. I could sense something was wrong, but I didn't know what. Janice always acted like this, there was no real reason for me to worry, but I did. Like a protective older sister, I did. 

Perhaps it was just a heightened sense of paranoia after what happened to Ringo. Janice sang through most of the performance, it would be a wonder if her throat wasn't sore. There was no real reason to worry about her, but I did. At the time, I chose to blame the paranoia rather than an underlying sixth sense. 

Ellen entered the room a few minutes later with Peter at her heels. Both of them carried bottles of water, and Ellen had a bottle of pills. She distributed the water to all of us, "I expect you all to drink the entire bottle."

"You don't have to tell me twice," I muttered, uncapping the bottle and chugging.

"Here," Ellen handed the pills to John, "Ibuprofen, for the headache. Take two and pass it around."

John smiled at her, "You're a lifesaver, Ellen."

Ellen chuckled. John took two pills and passed it around. When it got to me, I got out four, two for me and two for Jan. She had barely opened her eyes for the water, let alone the pills. As Molly poured out her pills, I laid the two white pills in Janice's hand.

"Come on, Jan, it'll make you feel better," I tried.

Molly furrowed her eyebrows, "Are you alright, Jan?"

Janice nodded. She popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed, coughing as soon as she got them down. I patted her back gently as she coughed into her hand. Ellen, Peter, and Molly all watched on with worried expressions. By the time Janice stopped coughing, all eyes were on her.

"I'm fine," she whispered, "Just a little hoarse."

Peter walked up and took her hand, "How about a walk? Maybe fresh air will help."

"I'd like that."

Peter pulled her to a stand and they left, passing by Ellen as they did so. Ellen watched on worriedly. I swear, I saw another one of her hairs turn gray as she realized Janice could be getting sick. The last thing we needed was for another band member to get sick, especially when we were so close to the end of the tour. It was too late to find a replacement, the best we could do was pray for Janice to get better, and quick. Like me, I think Ellen chose to blame the worry on paranoia, as we didn't want another incident like Ringo. 

"Janice is always quiet," Paul pointed out, "But not that quiet."

George frowned, "Has she always coughed like that?"

"I don't think I've ever heard her cough," Molly pointed out.

Ellen shook her head, "I'm sure she's fine. Her throat is probably just sore from all of the singing she has been doing. A bit of sleep and some tea will clear that right up."

Even Ellen didn't seem convinced. We all exchanged worried expressions, especially Molly and me. We knew Janice the best, and we could sense something was deeply wrong. We let it go, however, because Ellen could be right. Even my throat was sore, and I only sang three of the fifteen songs in our set list. Janice sang on nearly every song, whether it be lead or backup. It was only natural for her throat to be agitated by it, especially when she didn't talk above a whisper daily.

"She's fine," I brushed the worry off, "We've had enough issues on this tour, surely we couldn't have anymore."

Brian entered the room only to be met by a wall of agitation. He blinked rapidly, sensing the tension, and asked, "Everything alright?"

"Perfect, Eppy," Paul grinned.

Brian hummed, "Alright. The car is here, it's time to go."

John, Paul, George, and Ringo were up in a flash. Ellen vanished to locate Peter and Janice as the lads followed Brian out. They were overly eager to leave the studio we had all been trapped in for the past eight hours. To make matters worse, we had to do it all over again the next day.

Molly and I took up the rear. I had to restrain myself from grabbing her hand as theater workers were passing every few seconds. We couldn't risk getting caught. All I could do was smile at her and look forward to the privacy of our hotel room. I sighed longingly at the thought of curling underneath the warm blankets with Molly and falling into a dreamless sleep. It seemed like paradise to me. 

Ellen, Peter, and Janice met us at the stairs that would take us to the back door. Janice was looking paler than ever, though it could have just been the lighting. I found myself worrying about her even more. Peter had a protective arm around her shoulders and a worried smile across his lips.

In the time between Dad kicking us out and now, my family has grown exponentially. Most of the members aren't blood related to me. Really, only Paul and Michael are. I choose the rest of my family, and they choose me. As they say, the blood of the convent is thicker than the water of the womb. The family you choose is, sometimes, stronger than the family you're born into. I was one of the lucky ones, I found the greatest family a girl could ever want. 

As soon as I met Janice, she was adopted into my tightly knit family. She became the little sister I never had, and I felt like I needed to protect her. If I needed to kick the ass of some germs, I would, if it meant keeping her safe. Seeing her look like the patients Mum used to take care of broke my heart. All I wanted was to wrap her in a hug and tell her it would be alright. 

Brian opened the door first, glancing around for fans. I could see a long, black, car waiting for us with Neil and Mal in the front. Neil got out and opened the door, gesturing for Brian to come forward. Brian held the door to the theater open and pushed the lads through it.

George and Ringo stepped out first. While there were no fans surrounding the car at the moment, it was only a matter of time before they found us. They ran to the car and practically dove into the seats, with George landing on Ringo's lap. I stifled a laugh as George jumped off. Ringo only smiled. 

We all hurried out after them. Peter and Janice made it into the car next, falling to sit in the very back. Peter's arms were wrapped protectively around Janice. I knew she couldn't be in better hands, not even if I were sitting next to her. Peter would make sure she was alright. Ellen stood to the side and gazed around warily. Brian was right next to her, anxiously pulling at a thread in his jacket.

Just as Molly slid into the car, a volley of screams erupted from the end of the alley. I was standing just behind John and Paul and had to peer around them to see what was going on. A mob of fans were rushing towards the car. One second they were at the end of the alley, and, the next, they were between us and the car. They were like cheetahs with their eyes locked on their prey. Unfortunately, I happened to be standing between two prey. 

I felt cold fear run down my nerves as they grabbed onto me. Hands pulled at every inch of my body. My hair was tugged, my clothes were ripped, and someone even managed to pull one of my shoes off. I was being pulled down again, it was like history repeating itself. John, Paul, and I were going to be trampled by the fans and that would be the end of The Beatles and Revolution.

"Get back inside!" Brian shouted, "We'll come back for you!"

Fans clawed at John, Paul, and me. John and Paul shoved them off, rushing into the theater through the same door we came out of. I tried to shake off the hoards of fans, but they were strong. A hand gripped my wrist and physically pulled me out from under the dog pile of fans. I glanced up to see John dragging me into the theater. As soon as we were inside, Paul slammed the door shut, effectively trapping the fans outside. John and I fell onto the staircase, breathing heavily.

"Bloody hell," I muttered.

Paul ran a hand through his hair, "Everyone alright?"

"We're in one piece, aren't we?" John smiled slightly.

We all took a deep breath. I looked at my shirt and sighed, surveying the rips in my sleeves. The left sleeve had practically been ripped off. I silently thanked Ellen for getting us three back up shirts exactly like the originals. One of my suspenders had snapped and there was a large tear in my pants. Glancing at the lads, I saw that Paul had lost his jacket and John had lost one of his shoes. Both had rips and tears in their clothing inflicted by crazy fans. John's shirt was nearly ripped in half. 

Paul shivered slightly. Only then did I notice how cold it was in those stairs. With all the rips in our clothes, we might as well have been completely starker. John saw Paul shivering and knitted his eyebrows, "Let's go up, yeah? Bloody cold in here, it is."

"Doesn't help that I lost my jacket," Paul sighed.

John shrugged, "It was ugly anyhow."

"You have the exact same one."

I laughed as John sneered, "It looks better on me, Macca."

"Calm down, girls, you're both pretty," I rolled my eyes.

Paul playfully hit my shoulder as John cackled. We all climbed up the stairs, with me in the back, towards the door to get us into the theater. At least there it would be a bit warmer and we could go back to the dressing room to wait on the comfortable couches. There was no telling how long it would take Brian to come back and get us. All I wanted was to sleep, and there was no way I could nap in that staircase. All we had was a rusty metal staircase with creaking steps and greasy rails. The walls were covered in graffiti, though none of it was legible. All I could make out was a few names of people I didn't know.

John wrapped his hand around the doorknob and pulled. Paul and I watched on for a few anxious seconds as John kept pulling, but nothing happened. The door shook, and the doorknob creaked, but nothing happened. He pulled twice more before cursing under his breath.

"Bloody hell, John, just open the door," Paul snapped.

John scoffed, "What the fuck do you think I'm doing, Macca?"

"Let me try."

Paul pushed John aside and pulled on the doorknob. Once again, nothing happened. He pulled twice more before groaning, "It won't open."

"What a surprise," John spat, "Didja think I was just pulling on the doorknob for my own fancy or something?"

Paul glared at him, "You could have been joking!"

"Why would I joke about this? We're locked in!"

"No thanks to you," Paul spat, "You're the one who strolled along at your own bloody leisure. If you would have picked up the pace, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"This isn't my fault! You're the one who had to stop and check your makeup, Princess!"

"I don't wear bloody makeup!"

John waggled a finger at Paul, "Don't blame this on me, you git."

"You're blaming it on me!"

"Because it's your bloody fault!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, shut up!" I shouted, "Both of you, stuff it. Blaming each other will do nothing, alright?"

John scoffed, "Makes me feel better."

"Oh, because all we care about is how John Lennon feels," Paul rolled his eyes, "We're bloody locked in a staircase, John, I think we have bigger problems!"

"What the bloody fuck do you expect me to do about it, huh?" John flung his hands out.

"Stop acting like a child!"

"You-"

"If you two don't shut up, we'll have more problems than a locked door!" I shouted.

John looked like he was going to say something, but my glare shut him up. Paul crossed his arms and looked away from John. John shot him the bird, but quickly put it down whenever I slapped his hand.

"If you two are done acting like children," I criticized, "Let's find a way out of here, yeah?"

John scoffed, "How do you reckon we do that? This door's locked and the other's being mobbed by nutty fans."

"Locked door or crazy fans," Paul muttered, "Brilliant."

I rolled my eyes, "Maybe we can kick the door down or something."

Paul and John stared at me for a moment. John quirked an eyebrow, "Did one of those shoes hit ya on the head or somethin'? You're not usually this stupid."

"I'm not sure how to feel about that."

"The door's metal, Lia," Paul rapped on it for emphasis, "Not even a tank could knock it down."

I frowned, "So, we're stuck?"

"Yeah."

I sighed deeply. Paul and John both sat down on the top step, their hips touching and their elbows nearly stabbing each other. I sat on the step beneath them and pulled my knees to my chest.

The staircase was cold and drafty. It was summertime outside, but it felt like winter in the staircase. I suspected that the air conditioning was nearby and had a vent dumping tons of cold air into the tiny space. The chill of the metal stairs didn't help matters either. In the middle of an Irish summer, we were about to freeze to death. 

"It's bloody freezing," Paul rubbed his shoulders.

John grinned, "I've got just the cure, Macca."

He pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket. Each of us took one, and Paul produced a lighter. I sucked in a deep breath of the smoke, allowing it to fill me with warmth from the inside out. It helped take the edge off, though I was still cold. As the smoke filled the room, it seemed to get warmer.

"Bet Brian's having a fit by now," Paul stated.

I snorted, "Ellen's probably got another patch of gray developing."

"I'd like to see that," John muttered.

Paul and I both giggled as John grinned. The idea of Brian having a tantrum and Ellen panicking over a new streak of gray was oddly entertaining. I could have sworn I heard them both shouting. Molly and Ringo would be right there with them, doing their best to calm down the two frantic managers. George would stand back with Janice. The two quiet members of the bands would prefer to leave the comforting to those that did it better. 

"Wonder if they'll be able to find us," Paul stated.

John shrugged, "Dunno, I don't really care."

"Really?" I asked, "You like being trapped in a drafty, stinky, rusty staircase?"

"Gives us a break, doesn't it?"

Paul and I considered that for a moment. The staircase was silent, save for the muffled shouts outside, but even those were dying down. There were no screaming fans, no chaotic schedules, and no panicking managers. We were all alone for the first moment of peace in what seemed like forever.

"Is it peaceful," Paul mused.

I smiled, "I think this is the quietest it's ever been."

"I'd be alright with staying the night here," John stretched his arms back, "Dibs on the floor."

Paul shook his head, "We won't be here long. Brian'll surely come find us."

"What if he can't get the door open?" I asked.

"He'll figure it out, he's Eppy, he always does."

I giggled, "Sometimes I wonder who's more stubborn, us or Brian."

"It gets the job done, you know."

Both of us chuckled. John puffed out rings of smoke, sending them flying towards the ceiling. I watched as he did, completely transfixed by the mesmerizing act.

"I can't wait to go home," Paul commented.

John smirked at him, "Don't tell me you're sick of us already?"

"The mere thought of you makes me nauseous," Paul said, to which John and I laughed, "Nah, I just miss Jane and my bed, is all."

"Yeah, just talked to Cyn last night. Damn, I miss her. And Jules," John commented.

I smirked, "Can't say I relate."

"Lucky bastard," John chuckled.

I glanced up at him and felt a cheeky response rise in my throat, but quickly vanished. Yes, I was lucky to have my love with me every step of the way, but was I really lucky? Could it truly be considered lucky to have the one you love so close, but you couldn't even touch them for fear of getting both of you killed? It's painful to love someone and not be able to see them, but it was excruciating to love someone and not be able to touch them even though they're sitting right next to you. 

I frowned, "Am I, though?"

"What?"

"Am I really lucky?" I asked, "Molly's with me all the time, yes, but it's not like we can love each other. We've got to hide, and that's hard to do when the public eye is on you."

Every morning, I woke up wondering if that was the day we went to jail. All we needed was a reporter in the wrong place at the wrong time, or a fan with a camera. Just one tiny slip up and we would be as good as dead. Every day, I was terrified Molly would face a fate worse than death all because of my love for her.

"You are," Paul placed a hand on my shoulder, "You're lucky as they come."

"Because I have to live every day in fear?" I asked.

Paul shook his head, "No, because you found someone worth fighting for. Terror or no, you're enduring it because you love Molly, yes?"

"Of course."

"There you go, you're as lucky as they come."

John grinned, "This world's a bitch, Mel, finding love at all is a lucky thing."

I hesitated, absorbing everything they had just said. It made sense. In a world of chaos, hatred, and fear, it was a rare thing to find love as strong as Molly and me. Despite having to hide and live in fear, I was lucky to have Molly. Paul was right, she was worth fighting for.

"I didn't know you two could be so deep," I commented, "And sappy."

John grinned, "That's why we write songs."

My laughter echoed off the walls. Paul grinned, "We only write silly little love songs, you know."

"Aw, you're just a couple of saps," I replied, "Sometimes I wonder who's the real bird here."

John slapped me on the back of my head, but I only laughed louder. Soon, all of us were laughing so loudly, it could be heard outside of the staircase. The door quickly opened, making us all jump and spin to look at the newcomer.

"Lads, there you are," Neil breathed, "I've looked everywhere for you."

John grinned, "Didn't look hard enough."

"We've been stuck here all along," Paul stated.

All of us stood and moved past Neil, leaving the cold staircase behind for the warm theater. Neil shut the door behind us and shook his head, "Come on, then, there's another car waiting."

"If we get ambushed again, it'll be on your head," John told Neil.

The man simply shook his head. I followed John and Paul out to the car, which was running on the front curb. We glanced through the glass doors to see a few stray fans, but not enough to form a mob. John glanced at Paul and me, "Ready?"

"Don't really have a choice, do we?" Paul replied.

I shrugged, "Could always go back to the staircase."

"Car it is."

John flung the doors open and we all sprinted to the car. A few fans screamed and lunged for us, but we were faster. John dove in first, closely followed by Paul. I landed on the floor just in time for John to shut the door. Neil got in the front and sped off down the street.

"Just another day in the life, yeah?" Paul glanced down at me, grinning.

I chuckled, "Makes for a good story."


	114. By Golly, Miss Molly

Moments spent in peace with those I love the most are the moments I cherished throughout my entire life. One such moment came when Molly and I were all alone in our hotel room. We sat on our shared bed, my head resting in her lap as she read a book. Both of us were relaxing while we could before the tour continued that night.

Once again, the cabin fever was taking hold. I felt antsy being trapped in a hotel room all day. Being stuck in those stairs the night before didn't help my nerves. For the first time, I actually hoped the lads would show up at our door with fake beards and a ridiculous plan.

They never did, leaving me to figure it out myself. I had all but decided we would sneak out, the only questions were how and where. Our room didn't have a fire escape, nor did any other room in the building.

"We should get out," I suddenly said.

Molly cocked an eyebrow, "Out?"

"Out."

"Out of the hotel?"

"No, out of the country," I sarcastically replied.

Molly rolled her eyes, "Cheeky. This better not be another one of your ridiculous escape plans."

"Come on, you love them," I grinned, "We haven't been caught yet."

"Yet."

"Come on, Mols, you can't honestly tell me you don't want to get out."

Molly frowned, "I am getting sick of this place."

"Exactly. The only way out is to sneak out, are you with me?"

She gazed at me for a moment before sighing, "How did I ever fall for this?"

"My spontaneity is what makes me interesting," I pecked her cheek, "Come on, let's get going."

I stood up and grabbed her hand, pulling her off of the bed and spinning her around. She laughed, ending up by the couch with her arms crossed, "And how do you expect us to do that?"

"First, we need a disguise," I threw open my suitcase and pulled out a few things, "A hat and fake glasses, always the necessities for sneaking out."

I shoved the fedora and lensless costume glasses in her hands. She glanced at them obvious costume items and then back at me, "Got these from the lads, did you?"

"Where else?" I replied, "At least I didn't get the beards."

"Ah, but you would look lovely in a beard."

I smirked, "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Who says I'm trying to get somewhere?"

She leaned forward and pecked my lips, giggling the entire time. I laughed heartily before slapping the glasses and hat on. When I finished I looked at her and grinned. Molly gasped, "Melly, where did you go?"

"Very funny," I rolled my eyes, "I'm right here, you git."

"Really? I couldn't recognize you."

Both of us chuckled as she put her disguise on. Once we were properly disguised, we snuck out the front door. Her fingers were intertwined with mine, squeezing every time the walls creaked or we heard someone talking in a different room. I peeked past the door, glancing right and left for anyone, but the halls were empty. Molly and I sprinted towards the lift. I slammed my fist into the button and the doors opened instantly. We made it into the lift with the doors shut before anyone even opened a door.

"Step one down," I stated, "On to step two."

Molly shook her head, "The hardest one of all."

"Yes, sneaking past the fans."

Every inch of the pavement in front of the hotel was covered by fans trying to get a glimpse of their idols. From our rooms at the very top of the hotel, we would seem like specs of dust to them, but they didn't seem to care. Even the smallest view of their idols was enough to send them into a frenzy.

Going out the front door was completely out of the question. Our only other option seemed to be going through the backdoor in the kitchen. Unfortunately, whenever we made it to the kitchen door, we were stopped by a waiter.

"I'm sorry, but you can't go back there," he said politely, "Employees only, you understand."

Molly smiled sweetly, "We were just trying to get out without dealing with those crazy teenagers."

"Yes, they are crazy, but I'm sure they will not harm you," the waiter reassured us, "They're after The Beatles, and you are not The Beatles, are you?"

His eyes sparkled as he asked that. Molly lifted an eyebrow as I sneered. I opened my mouth to say something, but Molly grabbed my elbow, "Of course not. Thank you, sir."

"Of course."

Molly pulled me down the hall. When we were out of the sight of the waiter, I groaned, "I've got a few words to say to that bugger."

"He didn't mean nothing bad," Molly shrugged, "We'll find another way out."

"Like what? There's no more doors."

"There's windows."

I gazed at her before breaking out in a grin, "So you do have a wild side."

"You've got a lot to learn, Melly," she tapped my nose and began to walk down the hall.

"By golly, Miss Molly, you're full of surprises."

I followed Molly to the bathroom near the dining room. She opened the door to reveal a small window near the top of the back wall. It opened to the alley in the back, which would be a perfect escape route. She crossed her arms and gazed at it, "How are we supposed to reach that?"

"Easy, we climb," I replied, "I'll give you a boost."

I stood next to the window and clasped my hands together, waiting for her to put her foot in my hand and push herself up. Molly glanced at the window then at me. Sighing, she placed her foot in my hands and I lifted her to the window.

"It's stuck," she said.

I grimaced, "Push harder, I can't hold this forever."

She pushed with all her might. One push unlatched the window and sent her flying through it. I lost a grip on her leg as she tumbled through the window.

"Molly!" I shouted.

Her head appeared on the opposite side, "Fine, I'm fine. There's a dumpster here."

"You fell in trash?"

"The lid's closed," she leaned through the window and extended her hand, "Come on, I'll help you up."

I grabbed her hand and began to walk up the wall. With both of us working together, I managed to get through the window and land on my back next to her. She looked down at me and grinned, "I think you're beginning to rub off on me. I'd never do this before."

"That's what life is about, Mols," I replied, "Doing things you've never done before."

Molly grinned, "Explains a lot."

"What?"

"Nevermind."

Her smile was dreamy, making me want to question her, but I remained silent. We both jumped off the dumpster and faced the exit to the alley. It deposited us on the opposite street, away from the fans. I silently thanked the heavens as we walked out onto the empty streets.

"Now where to?" I asked.

Molly side-eyed me, "Don't ask me, you're the mastermind behind this."

"Let's go somewhere nobody can see us," I said, "Somewhere private."

"We should have stayed inside for that."

I flung an arm around her shoulders and grinned, "Ah, but life is all about the adventure! We won't have stories to tell if we're trapped in hotel rooms all day."

"We're not in there all day," Molly replied, "We're in theaters and cars too. And planes."

"Alright, you cheeky little shit, where do you suggest we go?"

Molly grinned mischievously, "We could always go to the coast."

"We're on vacation and you want to go and smell more fish?"

"Come off it, Melly, London doesn't smell like fish," Molly replied, "Besides, I'm feeling a little homesick, the coast'll cure that right up."

I grinned, "Makes me realize I do miss Liverpool, with it's cramped streets and smelly fish."

Molly smiled triumphantly, having won the battle. We both made our way down the streets towards the coast, where it, hopefully, wouldn't smell like fish as bad as the coast in Liverpool did.

I will admit, I was dreadfully homesick. It had been a few months since we left home, and I yearned for any sort of homely familiarity. Even if it were the smell of fish, I would welcome it.

Ireland coastlines were very similar to Liverpudlian coastlines. Some had sand, some had rocks, and some seemed not to exist at all. Our hotel was near Sutton, in Dublin, and just a short walk to a golf course near the coast. By cutting through that golf course, we made it to a deserted rocky coastline.

I sucked in a deep breath of the salt air, smelling a tinge of fish. It smelled similar to home, but with less of a fishy smell. The waves lapped at the rocks making a crashing and gurgling sound. Fish jumped every so often, presumably escaping an underwater predator. The wind had a chill to it as it whipped at us like an angry ringmaster. Overall, the day was warm and a bit humid. Clouds blocked the sun, keeping our pale skin from suffering at the sun's angry rays. Despite it being the middle of the summer, the water was a bit chilly whenever it sprayed us.

The ocean was violent, but it could be gentle. It could be the greatest killer or the greatest savior. The ocean was many things, but, above all, it was free. It was free to roll and crash wherever it desired without a single care for what man said. The ocean didn't face bias, it didn't face hate on a daily basis. The ocean was really and truly free. Perhaps if society were a bit more like the ocean, we would all be a lot happier. 

Molly climbed down the rocks to find a relatively flat one close to the water. I sat down next to her, ignoring the rocks jabbing into my skin. The salt air gave me a new energy, clearing my body of any grogginess. I breathed deeply and smiled. 

"This is lovely," Molly commented, pulling her knees to her chest.

I leaned back on my arms, "It is. For a moment, you wouldn't think everyone in the world knew our names."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Molly asked, "That's what we wanted, after all."

"It is. We're reaching every ear on the planet, just like we said we would. We really are at the toppermost of the poppermost."

They say the only way to go was up, but we had already done that. There was no more up to go. We were at the peak of the mountain, the tallest point in the ride of fame, and it wasn't all I had expected it to be. I never expected to have screaming fans everywhere we turned, or to always be on the run with tours and albums and the like. Never did I expect we would be treated like zoo animals rather than human beings. Had I known fame is not sitting in the lap of luxury like I expected it to be, but, rather, being bossed around and nearly killed, I would never have done it. Looking back, however, I knew I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Our life was filled with grueling shows and violent fans, but we were doing something important. We had made it to the peak and built a tower. 

"Do you regret it?" Molly asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Do you regret doing this?" Molly asked, "Revolution, I mean."

I thought about it for a moment before shaking my head, "I don't regret a single second. It's stressful, yeah, but it's worth it. I bloody hate touring, and I'm beginning to hate the fans, but we're accomplishing our dreams. We're doing exactly what we said we would do in the bathroom after I got pelted with eggs, remember?"

"I remember. We said we were going to fight the revolution," Molly said.

"Exactly, and that's what we're doing," I replied, "Wars aren't fun to fight, they're not easy, and neither is show business. It's difficult, but we're fighting the revolution, and we're winning."

Molly nodded, "I s'pose it's worth it. We're getting the message out, yeah?"

"We're doing so much more than that," I grinned, "There's so much to fight for, and we're in the battle every time we step on stage. Hell, every time we wake up."

Molly was silent for a moment. We stared out over the ocean, watching the waves roll through the blue waters. A boat was sailing through the rough waves miles away. It seemed like a toy boat rather than a full sized sailboat.

"Are we doing it right?" Molly asked, "All we do is make music."

I threw an arm around her shoulders, "Molly, we're winning the battle every time we release an album. Every time we get on that stage despite the hate we've encountered, we're winning, and we're showing girls around the world what they're capable of."

A revolution needed to be heard. It needed to reach the ears of every single person on the planet, and it needed to make an impression. We needed to show girls, young and old alike, that they weren't alone. That they aren't some weak creature meant to be seen and not heard. We needed the girls to see that they were strong, and we needed the men to see that we are stronger than they think, smarter than they believe, and angrier than they could have ever imagined. They needed to know that we were sick and tired of being locked in the kitchen, and we were ready to come out with knives drawn and eyes filled with flames.

"Somewhere out there, there is a little girl who dreams of making music, but she's told she can't because she's a girl," I said, "That little girl sees us, she sees Aretha Franklin, The Ronettes, Cilla Black, and every other female musician and she knows they were wrong. Because of us, she knows she can do it, and she will."

Molly smiled, "I guess it's all worth it then."

Music is a universal language. It reaches the ears of everyone on the planet, and it leaves a mark. Music makes you feel things you never felt before, and can make you realize things you never thought impossible. It was a peaceful weapon in the overall war of life. Music was the only thing that could make the angriest people smile and the saddest people laugh. Music makes you feel, and that is what would win our small war.

"One day, perhaps sooner than you might think, we'll be able to fight for so much more than our genders," I grinned, "We'll fight for everyone and everything that needs someone to stand up for them. We'll expand the revolution until everyone in the world wakes up and sees what they're doing wrong. One day, we'll fight for love."

Molly smiled, "I'll always fight for you."

"By golly, Miss Molly, I'll fight the entire world for you."

She leaned forward to where our noses were almost touching, "I love you."

"I love you too."


	115. Live And Let Die

"I hate hotels," I grumbled, "But not as much as I hate planes."

Ellen corralled us all into the lift and away from the screaming fans. We were on our last stop of the tour, in just two days, we would finally be able to go home. We were in Scotland, but soon, we would be back in England. Nothing could have made me happier.

"At least we're almost done," Molly replied.

Ellen smiled, "I am so proud of you girls. You have held up wonderfully."

"Thanks, Elly."

Molly and I beamed at her. My eyes went past her to land on Janice, who was leaning on the wall in the corner. She looked exceptionally pale, which was difficult to achieve considering how pale she was on a daily basis. She was as pale as a ghost, but her cheeks were as red as roses. She was flushed, with beads of sweat gathering on her forehead. Molly noticed me staring at her and moved to stand in front of our friend.

"Jan, you alright?" Molly asked.

I came up behind her, "You don't look so good."

"Tired," Janice mumbled, "That's all."

Even her voice sounded very un-Janice. She was usually quiet, but she had gained the confidence to talk louder whenever it was only Molly, Ellen, and me around. Now, her voice was barely a whisper. The usual smooth tones of Janice had been replaced with a scratchy throat and a voice that sounded like she was gargling dice. One could blame that on the constant singing each night, but that didn't explain while she was so pale and sweating. Every so often, I would catch her rubbing her ears like they had an itch she couldn't quite scratch. 

Ellen pushed up Janice's bangs and frowned, "You have a fever. Have you eaten anything today?"

"She turned her breakfast away," Molly muttered.

Janice shivered. I quickly moved to fling one of her arms around my shoulders and help hold her up. Ellen looked on worriedly. I smiled, "Don't worry, Jan, we'll get you into the room and you can take a nice nap. Maybe a soak in the tub."

"A nap sounds nice," Janice mumbled.

Her voice was so quiet, I could barely understand her. It had been raspy and weak for days, but that is to be expected when you sang nearly every night. This was different, it was like she was losing her voice. As if someone was slowly taking it away from her, piece by piece.

When the doors to the lift opened, I helped Janice into the bedroom. She could still walk by herself but I wasn't taking any chances. We shuffled through the halls and into the darkened hotel room. None of us even bothered to turn on the lights. Ellen pulled the blankets back, allowing me to gently lay Janice on the bed. My shirt was moist with perspiration, but I didn't care. All that mattered was keeping my friend safe. She flopped onto the bed like a rag doll, rolling her head over the pillow and groaning. 

"How do you feel?" Ellen asked, feeling Janice's forehead.

Her eyebrows pulled together as they always did when she began to worry. Molly and I stood at the edge of the bed, gazing down at our friend nervously. She seemed to be sweating more and more with each passing second.

"Cold," Janice replied, "Painful. My head hurts."

"Molly, could you get me a cold towel? Amelia, turn off the fans," Ellen ordered.

Molly vanished into the bathroom as I moved around the room, flicking off every fan. There was one on the ceiling, and one in each corner. The room seemed warm to me, even with the fans, but Janice looked like she was about to shake her skin off. She was sweating, but she was freezing, a sure sign of a strong fever. It was like she was experiencing winter and summer all at once. 

When I turned around, I saw Ellen pressing the cold towel to Janice's forehead and Molly holding her hand. Janice looked to be half asleep. Ellen dabbed at Janice's forehead with the towel. 

"Ellen?" Molly muttered.

Ellen shook her head, "It's just a fever. Once she gets some rest, it should break."

"Should?" I asked.

"It will," Ellen corrected, "Janice will be fine."

She didn't seem sure, but Molly and I had no choice but to believe her. The fear of seeing Ringo collapse from a fever was still prevalent. Going through that once was enough, twice was hell. There was no reason to worry that Janice's fever would be that bad, but I couldn't help it. When you experience something like that once, you suddenly have the paranoia that every little sniffle is a death sentence. 

When Janice was asleep, Ellen stood up straight. Molly and I looked at her, completely oblivious to the fact that our hands were locked together. We were rigid with worry. Ellen laid the rag across Janice's forehead and sighed, "I'm going to run to the drugstore and see if I can find some pain medication. You two get out of the room. If this is contagious, I don't want all three of you to get it."

"What about Janice?" I asked.

"She's asleep, she will be fine alone," Ellen confirmed, "Sleep is what's best for her. In the meantime, you two can go get some lunch downstairs or walk around the hotel, but do not leave the building. Understood?"

Molly and I nodded. We followed her out of the room, taking one last glance at Janice. She looked peaceful. As I watched her chest rise and fall, I became confident that she would be alright. It was only a fever, after all. All of us got a fever at least once in our lifetimes, and we made it out alright. Janice would too. 

Ellen left, leaving Molly and I alone in the halls. Deciding that we weren't hungry, we took to wandering the halls. As with every hotel before, Brian had rented out the entire floor. It was safer that way. The fans were insane, and would do anything to get into contact with their idols, including renting a hotel room right next door. This way, that was impossible.

"Jan'll be alright," I flung my arm around Molly's shoulders and smiled.

She frowned, "Didn't you see what happened to Ringo? What if she collapses too?"

"She won't," I replied, "Last I checked, tonsillitis, or whatever it was, isn't contagious. If it is, I'd be the first one to catch it, considering the bugger fell on me."

Molly giggled, but she didn't seem better. She sighed, rubbing her arms like she did when she was anxious. Just as she began to bite on her cuticle, I grabbed her hands, "Mols, listen, it's just a fever. We used to get them as kids all the time, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"This isn't any different," I assured her, "Jan'll get some sleep, and take whatever meds Elly gets, and she'll be fine."

Molly didn't look convinced. I cupped her cheek and made me look at her, "By golly, Miss Molly, don't make it bad. Everything's gonna be alright."

"I love it when you say that," she smiled.

"You do?"

"Always have," she replied, "It's one of the things that made me fall for you in the first place."

I grinned, "I'll have to say it more often, then."

She leaned forward to peck my lips, smiling the entire time. When she pulled away, she didn't pull away completely. We stood there for a few seconds, our foreheads pressed together and our lips just a hair away from touching.

I could touch Molly every single day, and the feeling I got would never stop. It felt just like we were touching for the first time again. The electricity sending goosebumps to my skin, or making my heart skip a beat. I felt a swell of joy every time I was near her. She made me feel like I was on a merry-go-round in the sky, spinning around the clouds on horses made of gold. Everything was beautiful when I was around her. The colors were more vibrant, the air smelled sweeter, and even the shrill screams surrounding me sounded like music. Nothing could go wrong when Molly was by my side.

"Whoa, get a room, you two."

Molly and I jumped apart. We spun around to see Paul and George sticking their heads out of one of the rooms. Paul was smirking as George shook his head. I sneered, "Oh, bugger off, Paul. I've seen you and Jane do worse."

"At least we weren't in a public hallway," Paul commented.

George chuckled, earning a glare from me. Molly crossed her arms and smirked, "And where are you two going?"

They shut the door behind them. George shrugged, "To get food. I'm starved."

"When are you not hungry?" I asked.

"When I'm sleeping."

"I dunno, I've heard you mumble about cake in your sleep."

Paul laughed, "John and Ringo took a nap, so Georgie and I thought we'd get a bite. Care to join us?"

I was about to accept when Molly cut us off, "No, we've got to stay up here, for Janice."

"Jan?" Paul asked, "Is she alright?"

"Bit of a fever. She's sleeping right now," I replied, jerking my thumb to the door.

George knit his eyebrows, "Did Ringo give her his tonsils?"

"I don't think that's possible, Georgie," Paul replied.

"You sure?"

Molly shook her head, "It's something else. She's probably just tired."

"We'll catch up with you lads later," I smiled.

Paul shrugged, "Alright. Hope Jan feels better."

"Ey, Paulie, grab me a biscuit, will ya?" I asked as they made their way to the lift.

Paul winked, "Course, Lia. Molly?"

Molly shook her head. The two lads vanished into the lift, both jabbering on about something Ringo did the night before. I watched them go before turning to Molly, "We don't have to stay, you know. Elly did say to stay out of the room."

"I know," Molly sighed, "I just, I don't know, I feel like we should be here. Like she needs us."

I smiled, "Your instincts have never been wrong before. Let's go check on her, yeah?"

I replaced my arm on Molly's shoulders as we made our way back down the hall. She wrapped her arm around my waist. When we made it to the door, I inserted my key and we opened it, revealing the empty bed.

"Jan?" Molly called, beginning to panic, "Jan!"

"Molly, calm down, she's in the loo," I jerked my thumb to the restroom.

The light was on and it sounded like the bathtub was running. Molly and I both placed our ears against the door. We listened for a moment, identifying the sound of the faucet running.

"She's running a bath?" I asked.

Molly nodded, "Sounds like it."

"Isn't she supposed to stay asleep?"

Molly knocked on the door, "Jan, you alright?"

There was no reply. Molly and I both listened for a few anxious seconds before Molly tried again. I listened intently, but no response came. It could have easily been drowned out by the running water, but we didn't think of that. Both of us took to knocking on the door and calling for our friend.

"Jan?" I called.

Molly knocked, "Janice?"

"She might be replying and we can't hear her," I suggested, "You heard how quiet her voice was earlier."

"Maybe. I don't like it, something's not right," Molly continued to press her ear to the door.

I furrowed my eyebrows. Molly had feelings like this before, and, almost every time, she was right. She was right about the time the fans mobbed the stage, she was right about the time I caught a cold by going outside without a jacket, and that wasn't the end. I'd learned to trust Molly's instincts, no matter how crazy they seemed. If she was wrong, we could be relieved, but, if she was right, we could be prepared.

"Why did she have to lock the bloody door?" Molly muttered, jerking on the doorknob.

I sighed, "I'd be more concerned if she didn't."

Molly continued to jerk on the doorknob even if it did no good. For ten minutes, Molly anxiously tried to open the door. We called to Janice, but there was no response. Finally, I had enough. I went to the bed and began to shuffle through my pack.

"What're you doing?" Molly asked.

I pulled out my jacket, "Looking for a hairpin. I'm gonna pick the lock so we can stop this bloody worrying."

Molly didn't object. Neither of us pointed out the fact that I didn't know how to pick a lock. I knew John knew, if I couldn't do it, we could go and wake him up. As I continued to search through my pack, I heard an alarmed gasp.

"Amelia!" Molly shouted.

I spun around to see Molly pointing at the floor. She was standing in a puddle of water. It took me a moment to realize the water was leaking out from under the door. I rushed to her and watched the water run from the crack between the door and the floor.

"Fucking hell," I muttered, "Jan, if you can hear me, stand back!"

I pushed Molly to the side and stepped back. Raising my leg, I placed a strong kick to the middle of the door. It splintered, but it didn't break. Another kick, nothing happened. It took four kicks before the door finally swung open, still hanging on the hinges.

"Janice!" Molly shrieked.

The bathtub was completely overflowing, and the faucet was still going. Jan was inside, fully clothed, floating on the top of the water with her legs outside of the tub. Her face was above water, but not for very much longer. Her eyes were completely rolled back into her head as she floated there, her arms hitting the walls and her legs pointed in an awkward direction.

Molly rushed to turn off the faucet as I pulled Janice out. I wrapped my arms around her middle and pulled, the excess weight of the water nearly dragging us both down. Molly helped me to move her out of the bathroom and onto the dry floor of the hotel room. She hung from my arms like a limp rag doll, and didn't feel much different. Her skin was clammy, almost like wet fabric, and she was burning up. Despite her extreme temperatures, she was shivering violently.

"Jan, can you hear me?" I called.

There was no response. I pressed my ear to her chest and listened. Her heartbeat was there, but faintly. Molly knelt next to her head and gently slapped her cheek, "Jan, please."

"She's breathing," I said, "Faintly, but she is. We've got to call an ambulance."

Molly didn't hesitate in leaping up and running to the phone on the bedside table. I cupped Janice's cheeks and nearly pulled back at how hot she was. The heat radiating off her cheeks seemed enough to fry an egg. She was a heater, the warmth radiating off of her was making me sweat, but she kept shivering.

"Jan, don't worry, we're getting help," I told the unconscious girl.

Janice moaned, but, otherwise, I received no response. Molly landed on her knees next to her head. I glanced up at her to see her eyes wide and her lips trembling. She grasped Janice's hand with a strength I hadn't seen before. Her motherly intuition was kicking in.

"Janice, if you can hear me, don't worry," Molly said, her voice steady, "Help is on the way, don't be afraid. Amelia and I are here, we won't leave you."

Janice didn't respond. We each held one of her hands, muttering reassurances and doing our best to stay calm. Janice needed all the help she could get, it would do no good for one of us to have a breakdown.

"What I wouldn't give for Ellen to be here right now," I muttered.

Molly gulped, "There's no way to contact her, I don't even know what store she went to."

"She'll be back, eventually."

"What if we're not here when she does?" Molly asked, "She won't know where we went."

I shrugged, "That's the least of our concerns right now."

The lift opened a few minutes later to reveal four paramedics and a frightened hotel employee. The paramedics rolled their gurney towards us. As soon as they made it, they took to gathering Janice up. We were pushed back and out of the way.

I held onto Molly as we watched them lift Janice and put her on the gurney. Her body hung limp, her head rolling around to where I thought her neck might break. She made it onto the gurney without any injuries. The paramedics placed her arms crossed over her stomach and braced her head with a pillow.

"Relation to the patient?" one of the paramedics asked.

Molly gulped, "We're her friends, her roommates. Please, let us ride with you."

The paramedic nodded, "We need her full name, age, and any previous conditions."

They placed an oxygen mask over Janice's face and began to pump. She was still unresponsive, even as they shone a light in her eyes. I felt fear overtake my body.

"Janice Hallieford," Molly replied, "She's, uh, twenty-one."

"Any previous illness?" the paramedic asked.

"No, none that I know of."

It was a miracle that Molly was able to talk. As I watched Janice being rushed to the lift, my mind flashed back to Ringo's episode. I remembered standing in the waiting room thinking he was going to die. The same fear was in that moment, but heightened to a new level. Something about this was different. It wasn't like when Ringo went in. Then, we were only scared he was going to die. As I watched Janice begin to convulse, I was sure we were going to lose her. 

Molly and I latched onto each other, watching in fear as the paramedics held Janice down. She was convulsing, her muscle spasming in a way they never did before. Had her eyes been open, we would have seen nothing but the whites.

Eventually, Janice calmed down. She stopped convulsing, but she was still unresponsive. The paramedics rushed her into the lift with us just behind. As the lift closed, we were made to wait in anxious trembles as we made it to the bottom.

Once we made it to the lobby, the paramedics rushed Janice to the front door. An ambulance was waiting by the edge of the pavement. Police men held the fans back. They craned for a look at who was on the gurney, but the police bodies blocked their view. Molly and I were just behind the paramedics when I heard a familiar voice call out, "Lia!"

Paul and George sprinted towards us. We didn't stop shuffling after the paramedics. Paul glanced at Janice and gasped, "What the bloody hell happened?"

"We found her unconscious in the bathtub," I replied, "She-she's unresponsive, and she went into a seizure. We're going to take her to the nearest hospital."

George was unable to speak. He looked down at the girl, the youngest of us all, and his eyes widened. She looked dead, even more so than Ringo did. Her skin was paler than pale, a new shade of white I had never seen before. It was clammy, but she was still burning up. The edges of her mouth and the tips of her fingers were turning blue despite the oxygen mask shoved against her face.

"Can you tell Ellen when she gets back?" I asked my brother.

He quickly gave me a hug, "I'll handle it. We'll meet you there, alright?"

"Thank you."

"Lia, it'll be alright," he smiled at me, "Jan's a fighter."

George could only nod. Molly was at the door, "Melly, come on!"

"Thank you," I whispered before rushing after Molly.

We were loaded into the ambulance and made to sit on the small bench behind the two front seats. We watched as the paramedics bustled around Janice, giving her more oxygen and monitoring her heart levels. They were talking to each other, but I couldn't hear it. Everything became muffled as I stared at Janice.

Janice was always a quiet person, sometimes I would forget she was there. She sounded like she wasn't there, but I could feel her. She was like a little sister to me, I couldn't lose her. As she lay there, looking dead, I felt legitimate fear for her. Once again, I was that little kid wondering whether or not she would ever see her mother again. Except, this time, I was sure I was about to lose my little sister. 

When we arrived at the hospital, the paramedics rushed her back. Molly and I tried to follow, but we were stopped at the swinging doors. One of the nurses held her hand out, "I'm sorry, but officials only in the ER. You can wait out here."

She gestured to the nearest couch. Molly and I both shuddered and fell onto it, not caring that everyone in the ER saw us latched together. She was trembling just as much as me. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and I felt tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. Molly buried her face in her hands and began to cry lightly. I wrapped my arms around her.

"She'll be fine," I muttered, "She'll be fine."

I wasn't sure if I believed myself.


	116. Die And Let Live

Twice in one month, I found myself sitting in a hospital waiting room, wondering if one of my friends was alive or dead. Janice had gone back three hours before, and we had yet to hear anything. She could be dead for all we know, or worse, she could be a vegetable. We could never see Janice again.

When Ringo was in the hospital, I was terrified. I didn't want to lose him, and I was scared he wasn't going to come out of it. That fear didn't compare to what I felt as I waited for Janice. This fear felt more real, more urgent. Janice was young, with so much ahead of her, she couldn't die yet. I felt like I needed to protect her, but there was no way I could fight an enemy that attacked from the inside out.

Something was different. Beyond Janice's youth or even the threat of losing the band, something was different. There was a dread hanging in the air that none of us wanted to address. I could feel it, as could everyone else. Janice might survive this, but she wasn't going to come out of it the same. I prayed it was just my anxiety running away from me. I felt like we had already lost her even if she was still breathing. 

Ellen arrived in a panic. They let her go back, just like they let Brian go back with Ringo. Ellen was the closest 'kin' Janice had, since she was the manager and practically held our lives in her hands. The last I saw of Ellen was her wild eyes and steadily greying hair. Part of me wondered if managing our band had taken a few years off of her life. If not, this sure as hell did. I knew I had lost a few years off of my life just by the sheer panic of seeing Janice in the tub.

The lads and Brian arrived with Ellen. The very first thing they did was go to us. Paul plopped down next to me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. Ringo sat next to Molly and tried to comfort her as George and John sat across from us. Molly and I both accepted the comfort, but our hands never parted. While I was beyond grateful to have Paul there with me, there was something about the comfort of a love versus the comfort of family. Brian took to asking the nurse as many questions as he could, though he didn't get any more answers than us.

"How is she?" Paul asked.

I shrugged, "Dunno, they won't let us know."

My voice was so quiet, I wasn't sure it was mine. Paul kept a comforting arm around my shoulders the entire time, and I was more than grateful. It was like a shield against the horrors around us. George shot me a comforting smile as John patted my knee, "She'll be alright, Mel."

"I hope," I breathed, "It would be nice if someone actually told us what the hell was going on!"

I shouted the last part, making Paul shush me. Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "I was gonna ask you the same thing."

"We know what happened to Jan, we just don't know why," Molly explained.

John crossed his arms, "Care to enlighten us? All we got was Paul shouting at us to leave because something was wrong with our girl."

"We found Jan unconscious in the bathtub," I explained, "She had a fever earlier, and we had left her to sleep. She must have wanted to take a bath, but it didn't end well."

I didn't want to think of what happened in that bathroom. I could picture Janice standing over the tub, watching it begin to fill with water, until the entire world went black. She could have been injured much worse than she was. Her neck could have been broken. All because Molly and I weren't there to help her, she nearly drowned. Had we been there, perhaps we could have gotten her to the hospital quicker.

"Hey, Ringo, you're contagious," John teased.

Ringo frowned as I groaned, "Bloody hell, John, now is not the time for jokes."

"Ah, but I disagree, it's the perfect time for jokes," John grinned, "Lighten the mood, you know."

I sneered. When Ringo was in the hospital, John was the one giving us all attitude. Of course, he could blame it on his anxiety, but that didn't excuse him now. He seemed to be taking this like any other day of the year, as if one of our friends had not just been rushed into the ER.

"Tonsillitis isn't contagious, John," Brian stated.

John chuckled, "There's a first time for everything, Eppy."

"Ringo didn't do nothing," George sighed.

Ringo nodded. I ran my hands through my hair and sighed. Molly leaned in closer to me, looking like she wanted to disappear. All I wanted was to vanish right along with her. We could go back to the hotel room and hide under the blankets, pretending like none of this ever happened. Janice needed us, even if she couldn't see us, and we had no intentions of leaving her. If we had to wait all night, we would, for Janice. 

"Janice will be fine, girls," Brian smiled at us, "It's only a fever."

I nearly pulled my head off, "I know, but it feels different. I just-I don't know- something else is wrong."

"I can feel it," Molly muttered.

I glanced at her. Brian wrung his hands together and shook his head, "This same thing happened to my sister, and she was better a few days later. Fevers sometimes seem like death, but, trust me, they are far from that."

"I'm sure there's a few dead people that would argue with that," I replied.

"Come on, Lia," Paul chided, "Try to find a brightside, yeah?"

I sighed, "Oh, yes, let's see. My mate is in the emergency room, we don't know if she's dead or alive, and nobody will tell us a damn thing. Bright side my arse."

Paul frowned. I could tell I hurt him, he was only trying to help me, after all. I took a deep breath, "M'sorry, Paulie, I didn't mean it. I'm just worried is all."

"It's alright."

He rubbed my back comfortingly. Molly held onto my arm, doing her best not to cry. I could feel the tension in the room building. All of us, Molly and I especially, were on the verge of exploding. Even John began to tap his foot to relieve some of the anxiety. We all fell into total silence, our eyes fixed on the floor without ever truly seeing anything.

Every time I blinked, I saw Janice in the tub again. I saw her unconscious, dead-looking, face, and I saw the water slowly pooling around her. Any longer, and her face would have been covered. I held my eyes open in an effort to avoid seeing my friend look like she was dead.

When the doors swung open, we all flung our heads up. Ellen shuffled out looking like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her eyes sagged, her body hunched over, and she sniffed ever so slightly. Molly and I didn't hesitate in jumping up and meeting her by the front desk, with the lads and Brian not too far behind us. As we got closer, I saw tears shimmering against Ellen's cheeks. Molly saw them too and stopped short.

"Ellen-?" Molly began, but was unable to finish.

She latched onto my arm, holding me as if I were the only thing tying her to this world. Both of us waited in fear of what Ellen had to say. Every possible situation ran through my mind, and not a single one was good. Ellen glanced up at us and smiled shakily, "She's alive."

Everything came tumbling off of me in that moment. I felt a thousand pounds lighter and a thousand tears short. Light returned and I smiled slightly, "Brilliant!"

"Ellen, what's wrong?" Molly asked, "There's something else, isn't there?"

Once again, her maternal instincts kicked in. She glared at Ellen, trying to pull out what she wasn't telling us. Brian came up to the woman and gently gripped her elbow, "Do you need to sit down?"

"No, thank you, Brian," Ellen smiled at him before turning to us, "Janice is alive. The fever broke, and she's coming down now."

"But?" Molly asked.

Ellen sighed, "That's exactly it, but. They don't know what happened, and we won't know until she wakes up. They want to send her into x-rays when she does. Until then, we won't know how or why this happened, or if it'll happen again."

Molly and I exchanged glances. I felt Paul and George come up behind us, ready to hold us up if necessary. We stayed up well enough on our own and turned to look at Ellen, our bodies once again beginning to shake.

Later on, we would learn Janice's family had a history of illness. Her bloodline was susceptible to infections, and they often went unnoticed for long periods of time. Maybe of her family members had lost their eyesight, hearing, sense of smell, or even their limbs to their hidden infections. At the time, Janice had no idea, meaning not even she could explain what was going on. 

"Can we see her?" Molly asked.

Ellen nodded. We began to follow her towards the door with the lads right behind us. I didn't realize when Brian stopped them, my mind was too focused on Janice. We stepped into the dark halls of the recovery rooms and followed Ellen to the door at the end of the hall.

Janice wasn't as pale as she was the last time I saw her. She wasn't sweating quite as bad, and her breathing had evened out. She looked more like she was asleep than as if she were dead. She always had a habit of sleeping with her mouth wide open and her hand crossed over her stomach. Seeing her like that helped me to breath again. She was asleep, not dead, seeing her gaping mouth and limp hands proved that. 

Peter was sitting by the side of her bed. I had barely seen him come in, let alone come back with Ellen. He had her hand looped in his and a terrified look on his face. When he saw us, he nodded a greeting, without releasing Janice.

"How long until she wakes up?" Molly asked.

Ellen shook her head, "Anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours. It's really uncertain."

"Then, there's only one thing we can do," I fell onto the nearest chair, "We wait."

***

Janice woke up at exactly an hour after we walked in. The lads came in and out a few times, but only one at a time. They claimed Brian said to avoid crowding the room, which I could understand. Janice would be scared as is.

She started with a groan. All of us looked up at her, worry and excitement filling our eyes. I moved to stand next to the bed with Molly right beside of me. Ellen stood at the foot. We all watched as our friend slowly rose from the brink of death. 

Janice fluttered her eyes opened and groaned again. Her pupils were larger than usual against her bloodshot eyes. As she glanced around, she began to panic until Peter squeezed her hand.

"Darling, it's alright," Peter hushed, "Janice, it's alright, you're safe."

She flung her head around to look at the room. When her eyes landed on Molly and me, she calmed down. She didn't look at Peter until he squeezed her hand again. She gazed at him and blinked.

"Janice, how are you feeling?" Ellen asked.

Janice didn't reply, she didn't even look at Ellen. She moved to pull off her oxygen mask and suck in a deep breath. Peter stood and pushed back her hair as Molly gripped onto her other hand. Janice glanced at all of us, blinked, and opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

"What do you remember?" I asked.

She didn't reply. She looked at me and saw my lips move, but she couldn't reply. Her eyebrows pulled together as she stared at me. Peter squeezed her hand again, "Janice, do you remember anything?"

She didn't even look at him. She kept her gaze concentrated on the last person she saw speak, me. Her eyebrows knit together as she concentrated. She tried to form words, her lips moved in circles and lines, but she couldn't make any noise. Her face contorted into a look of confusion and fear.

"We're here," Molly smiled, "You gave us quite a fright."

Janice shook her head as if ridding herself of spiders. Once again, she didn't respond. She made no efforts to make conversation, but she was obviously responsive.

"Jan-?" I began, fearing the worst.

Janice rubbed her fingers in her ears. All of us watched her, realization dawning on us simultaneously. Janice never did talk much, but she never ignored a question. Even if they weren't necessarily directed at her, she would answer them.

While Janice looked at Peter, I clapped loudly. The smack vibrated through the room, making all of us jump, except for Janice. She continued to stare at Peter with her eyebrows furrowed as if nothing had happened at all. 

"Oh my God," Ellen muttered, "She can't hear us."

Molly clamped her hand over her mouth and released a rib shaking sob. I fell to kneel next to her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and pulling her to my chest. Janice looked around the room like a confused child. When she saw Molly sobbing in my arms, she pulled her eyebrows together. She couldn't hear the crying girl, but she could see something was wrong. Glancing up at Ellen, her eyes shown the terrified look of a child. Ellen shook her head and spun around. 

Ellen vanished to retrieve a doctor. Peter embraced Janice, burying his face in her hair and trying to keep from sobbing. I held onto Molly and watched as nightmares became reality.

When Ellen returned with the doctor, we were all ushered out of the room. Peter was the most reluctant to go, but obeyed when Ellen guided him out. We were all shut out in the hall while the doctors ran tests on Janice.

Molly rushed forward to hug Ellen. The two of them embraced, holding each other and gazing at the door. I wrapped my arms around myself and gulped, "I-I'll go tell the lads."

"Amelia-" Ellen began.

"No, no, I want to. I need to."

Ellen only nodded. I shuffled down the halls, doing my best to hold myself up. All of our nightmares were becoming reality. Losing Janice would have been the worst thing we could have possibly gone through, and this was only a few steps behind. She couldn't talk to us, she couldn't hear us, and, worst of all, she couldn't play with us.

If she couldn't hear or speak, she couldn't sing or play her guitar. All of us were too worried about Janice to realize we did have a death that day. Janice was alive, and that was worth rejoicing, but Revolution was dead. It was an unspoken truth we all realized the second Janice didn't answer us. 

Paul, John, George, and Ringo all met me at the door as soon as I shuffled out. They surrounded me with worried looks and trembling hands. Paul reached out to me, "Lia, is she-?"

I rushed forward to bury my face in his chest. He gently wrapped his arms around my shoulders, hugging me tightly. I shook as I sobbed, finally allowing the tears to fall. Had I not had my face buried in Paul's shirt, I would have seen the frightened looks exchanged among the group. They all feared the worst. I'm sure a few of them were expecting to attend a funeral in the upcoming days. In a way, they would, but for the death of an era. 

"Mel, what's wrong?" Ringo asked.

Three hands were on my back, providing a new sense of comfort. I felt like I was in a tiny bubble, protecting from the rest of the world. Everything going on outside was nothing more than a dream when I was in my bubble. For a moment, I could pretend everything was alright. I could pretend Janice was alright.

"She woke up," I sniffled.

"That's good, yeah?" John asked, rubbing my back.

I shook my head. Paul squeezed my shoulder tighter, "What happened?"

"She can't hear us," I sobbed, "She can't hear us and she can't talk to us."

I could feel the glances shared between the lads. Ringo quickly wrapped his arms around my shoulders with George soon to follow. John wasn't too far behind. Soon, we were all in a group hug. I didn't even realize when Brian came up behind us and heard every single word I said.

"Dear God," Brian muttered, "Janice is deaf."


	117. Revolution Lost

"We don't know if it's permanent or not," the doctor explained, "Only time will tell."

Molly and I wanted to stay at the hospital with Janice, but Ellen wouldn't let us. She forced us back to the hotel, leaving Peter alone with Janice. We were allowed to come back the next morning. All of us stood in the hall, listening to the doctor as he gave us the worst news possible. 

"She can't talk either?" I asked.

The doctor sighed, "In cases like this, the patients can learn to talk again, with time."

"Do you know what caused it?" Ellen asked.

"Unfortunately, no," the doctor answered, "We're running several tests; blood samples, dna samples, etc. We theorize she had an infection, but we don't know what."

Peter wrung his hands together, "How long until she can leave?"

"We would like to keep her a few days for observation and more tests."

"Thank you, doctor," Ellen sighed.

The doctor nodded before hurrying off to his next patient. All of us stood there in complete silence for what felt like forever. Nobody knew what to say, because there was nothing to say. We could all grieve what Janice had lost, but it would do no good. There was nothing we could do but be there for Janice in the time she needed us the most. 

"I'm going to go talk to her," I said.

Molly nodded, "I'm going too."

"How?" Peter asked, "She can't hear you or respond."

I spun around to the nearest chair and picked up the thing I brought with me, "That, Peter, is why I brought my handy dandy notebook. She can't talk, but she can write."

Molly and I hurried into the room. Peter was about to follow, but Ellen stopped him. Janice, Molly, and I had several things to talk about. None of us wanted to, but we knew we had no choice.

Janice was sitting up in her bed, snapping her fingers by her ears. When she saw us, she opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Molly and I each sat on either side of her. Molly smiled as I wrote down the first thing I had to say.

How are you feeling?

I handed the notebook to Janice and let her read it. Her eyes scanned over the paper before she took the pen from me and scribbled her response. Her handwriting next to mine looked like The Queen standing next to a hobo, with mine being the latter. My writing was all jumbled and crooked in various sizes and misspellings. Her stood up straight with the poise of a royal.

Better. What's going on? Why can't I hear anything?

I took a deep breath and showed Molly what Janice had written. Molly pursed her lips, gazing at me and silently telling me to continue. I wrote as neatly as possible.

The doctor's don't know why or how this happened. Whatever happened took your hearing. They don't know if it's permanent or not.

Janice read over my explanation and choked back a sob. Molly moved to where she could hold Janice as the girl sobbed. I felt my heart break even more as I took in the scene. The girl I thought of as a baby sister had lost one of the most important things to her. It was a fate worse than death, especially for a musician. Janice's entire existence was about to be rewritten. Everything she was, everything she was going to be, was changed.

"I'm so sorry," Molly whispered, her lips moving across Janice's temples.

I reached forward to hold Janice's hands in mine. She looked at me, her eyes broken and lost, and continued to sob. Her cries echoed through the room, providing us with a tearful soundtrack to a gloomy moment.

To this day, I can still hear Janice's cries. They ring through my skull like a bell ringing through a school. I can hear her cries and I can hear the moment they stopped. All at once, she stopped crying. Her face fell monotone as she blinked rapidly. Molly and I were both confused at the sudden change. It was like a switch. Janice went from crying to writing in under a second.

What about the band?

I looked at the paper and then at Janice, "All of this, and you're worried about the band?"

Janice didn't respond. Molly took the paper from me and glanced at our friend, "She's right, we have to face it sometime."

"Why can't we face it tomorrow?" I asked, "She's deaf, Molly, we can't just get over this!"

"And we won't but we need to know where to go from here."

I frowned, but sighed when I realized Molly was right. The only thing we could do for Janice was to figure out what was next. Sometimes, the greatest comfort one could have was knowing the next ten steps forward. We couldn't take away Janice's condition, but we could help her know what to look forward to.

"What about Revolution?" Molly muttered, "We can't continue it without Jan, she's just a part of this as we are."

Part of me agreed with Molly. Janice had taken this entire journey with us, we couldn't just abandon her. Another part of me thought differently. As much as I didn't want to continue without Janice, I knew we were on a mission.

Janice took the paper from me and wrote something down. When she gave it back to me, I stared at it for a moment before comprehending what I was reading. When Molly read it, she nearly bursted into tears.

I want you to continue without me. Find a replacement, what you're fighting for is more important than me.

"Jan, no," Molly sniffed, "We can't do this without you."

Janice didn't have to hear her to know what she was saying. She placed her hand on Molly's shoulder and smiled reassuringly. I could hear her heart breaking, but I could see her resolve. If she could, I knew exactly what she would say.

"I don't want to leave her either," I said, "But I think she's right."

Molly glanced at me, "You can't be serious."

"I am. Molly, we started this band to fight a revolution, and we can't stop that fight now. We're so close, so close to winning, we can't stop."

"What're we supposed to do then? Find another guitarist? We can't replace Janice!" Molly exclaimed.

I grabbed her hand, "I know, trust me, I know. It won't be the same without her, but we can't stop now. We're so close to the top, Molly. We're so close to showing everyone who said we couldn't that we did."

Molly blinked. Janice smiled at her, urging her forward. Ultimately, Molly nodded, "I hate this so much."

"Me too," I replied, "I don't want to leave her, but we don't have a choice."

Leaving Janice to continue Revolution was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. It hurt to continue with a band Janice had helped create. Once Janice left, Revolution was never complete again. We could find any new additions with new songs and even a new name, but it would never be complete. Molly, Janice, and I were the golden trio, that couldn't be replaced.

That day, I learned that a revolution isn't won without sacrifice, no matter what kind of revolution it is. We didn't have to have weapons or war zones to lose a friend. A funeral didn't need to be the result of a sacrifice. Janice was sacrificing herself for us, for our mission, and she didn't even bat an eye. That was true courage; abandoning something you loved for the good of someone else.

Revolution would continue for a long time after that, but, it was in that dreary hospital in Scotland where it truly died. The fires of the revolution had already been lit, but the band was gone. As soon as Janice left, the band died. Molly and I could continue it for as long as possible, but it wouldn't be the same. A chair is not a chair without all three legs, and replacing one leg can only go so far.

At least, that's what I thought.

Jan, you're the bravest girl I know. You'll always be a rebel as far as we're concerned.

Janice read my scribbles and nearly broke down in tears again. Molly hugged her on one side as I hugged the other. Quietly, Molly whispered, "We love you, Jan."

She couldn't hear it, but she could feel it. Janice gripped our arms and blinked away her tears. All of us sat there, huddled together, staring at the wall and grieving the band we had built together.


	118. The Two-Legged Chair

Continuing Revolution without Janice felt like building a house without any lumber. We had lost an essential part of the group. Without her, we were a two-legged chair in a world that couldn't survive with less than three.

Yet, Janice had said it herself, we had a war to fight. So long as there was a revolution to fight, Janice would be a rebel, even if she sat on the bench. She was one of the matches that started the flame of rebellion, and she always would be. Our mission was too important to back out, especially now, when we had nearly made it. As painful as it was, Molly and I knew, we had to find someone else to join the revolution.

"I hate this," Molly muttered, "I hate this so much."

She tightly crossed her arms across her chest and looked away. Her blonde hair, a curtain of golden sunshine, fell in front of her face to shield her from the darkness of the world. She folded in on herself, collapsing into a void where none of this ever happened. In her mind, she vanished into a world where we didn't have to find a replacement for one of our best mates. I wanted nothing more than to follow her.

"I don't like it either," I replied.

We walked along the road towards Aubergine Studios. London was busy that day with many people passing us. Their eyes were diverted, but that might not last long. The last thing we needed was for someone to accuse us of being queer.

I ignored the obvious threats of danger and wrapped my arm around Molly's shoulders. Nobody paid us a passing glance. So long as we didn't do anything overly affectionate, we should be safe. Even so, every touch or stolen glance was like walking on eggshells. All we needed was for one overly homophobic person to spot us, and we would be as good as dead.

"We can't replace Jan," I told her, "We both know that, but we can't stop either. Think of it as a stand-in."

"A permanent stand-in," Molly muttered.

I smiled sadly. The closer we went to the studio, the more I felt like a little piece of me was dying. This was the first time Molly and I were going to the studio without Janice. I missed feeling her presence, even if I couldn't hear her, I could feel her warmth just behind me. I missed her smile, even though I had just seen her that morning. It wasn't the same; Janice was there but she was gone all at the same time. I felt like I should be attending a funeral, not an audition. 

Michelle and Ellen were waiting for us at the studio. The doors were wide open and waiting for the participants to arrive. Molly and I were early, just as Ellen had asked. We walked through the empty waiting room trying not to think of how it would soon be filled with people waiting to take Janice's spot in Revolution.

"'Ello, ladies," I said as Molly and I entered the room.

Everyone was sullen. You would think Janice died from the looks on everyone's faces. They were the same mournful looks you would see at a funeral, or a memorial service. In a way, she did. Janice didn't leave our lives, she was still there for us to love, but she was gone all the same. All of us were grieving the loss of a friend even if she wasn't dead.

I did my best to raise the spirits of everyone in the room. Molly and I sat in the two chairs next to Ellen, with Molly sulking deeper into the plastic chair. I sat straight with a smile across my lips even if I wanted to frown. Someone needed to keep our spirits up or else all of this would be in vain.

"You're in a surprisingly good mood," Mitch commented.

I grinned, "I try."

"She's trying to lift our spirits," Molly sighed.

"Is it working?"

"A little."

"Then, it's worth it," I tapped her nose, causing her to giggle, "All is not lost, yet."

"Yeah, but Janice is."

Molly sighed once again, slouching further into the chair. I felt my heart break just a tiny bit more, but I wasn't sure if it was for Janice or for the depressed friends she left behind. Ellen placed a comforting hand on Molly's shoulder, "She's not gone, Molly. She's just not in Revolution anymore."

"Exactly, she's not dead. She still lives with us," I explained.

"Not for very much longer."

"By golly, Miss Molly, don't be so glum," I leaned forward to smile at her, "We're simply carrying on the legacy of Janice Hallieford, even if she's not dead."

Molly sighed deeply, but didn't reply. None of us were keen on this. I would just as soon drop the entire idea and move on, perhaps forming a new band without any ties to this old one, but we had to press on. We had already gotten so far, starting over would be a waste. We were a two-legged chair, yes, but legs can be fixed. All we needed was another leg to support this band, one that would fit just like Molly and me.

Peter appeared in the doorway with a clipboard in his hand. He looked upset, just like the rest of us, but he hide it just as well. He glanced down at the clipboard and said, "The first candidate is here."

"Send her in, Peter," Ellen ordered.

Peter nodded and vanished. We all held our breath and waited. When the door opened, I slapped my forehead and groaned. A man stood there. He had an uncanny resemblance to John; from the mop-top haircut to the cheeky grin. He even stood the same, with all of his weight on one leg and his hips jutting out ever so slightly. His hands were resting, backwards, on his hips. This was obviously a Beatle-want-to-be. He even wore the pressed suit that the lads had made iconic.

"Bloody hell," I whispered.

The man moved to stand in front of the table, his smile flashing overly white teeth. He reminded me of Pete Best with his cocky attitude and fake smile. The very way he walked emitted an aura of superiority he only thought he had.

"'Ello ladies," he nodded, "the name's Jimmy, Jimmy Mercury."

Ellen, Mitch, and Molly simply stared at him. He stared back, his eyes shining with a longing for something just out of reach, but not impossible. When his eyes fell over Molly, he licked his lips and looked her up and down. My fists curled tightly, sending my nails into my skin to keep me from yelling.

"You know this is an all-female band, correct?" Ellen asked.

Jimmy flashed her a winning smile, "Course. Thought you girls could use a lad on your team. Might help you get something for once."

"Alright, that's it," I placed my fists on the table and stood, "Get out. Next!"

Jimmy shook his head, "Come on, darlin, give me a chance."

He reached forward to grab my arm, but I jerked it away. His eyes met mine, seeing the flames boiling. He recoiled as he felt the fire of my anger lash out, "Get out before I kick you so hard, you'll be tasting nuts for a week."

Molly gasped as Jimmy went pale. He quickly gulped and fled the room, leaving all of us in a state of shock. I smirked slightly and fell to sit next to Molly, "The git."

"Sometimes, your temper comes in handy," Molly commented.

"And that's why you love me."

She giggled and shook her head. Peter poked his head in just as Ellen opened her mouth to call him, "Peter, if there's any other men, turn them away."

Peter nodded and vanished. When he returned, he looked at his clipboard and grimaced, "Er, there's only four women candidates."

I flung my arms in the air as the rest of the table sighed. Ellen rubbed her temples as Mitch took a swing of whatever golden liquid was in her cup. Molly gazed at me, waiting to calm me down from the outburst looming near.

"What the bloody fuck!" I exclaimed, "We're one of the most popular female bands in Europe, and there's only four girls wanting to audition for us? Rubbish!"

Molly pulled me back into my seat and shook her head, "Four is better than none."

"It might as well be none! I want to know why in the bloody hell-" I stopped myself.

Realization hit me like a wave. My mind flashed back to all of the sexist interviews and sexist people. We had put up with a lot of hell to get where we we were then, so much hell, in fact, Janice had nearly quit the band out of fear. Hell, even I had nearly quit a few times. It took a lot of courage to put up with what we had to face. Very few people could do it, which was why it hadn't happened before then. Most people wouldn't even dream of getting on a stage and standing up to all the hate. You had to be insane to do what we're doing, or, at the very least, courageous. In a way, courage and insanity are the same. You need insanity in order to be brave.

"Bloody hell," I whispered, "They're afraid."

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"There's only four girls because the rest are all terrified."

Molly looked confused for a moment before the realization hit her as well. She gasped, glancing at the door as if she could see the four girls waiting to play. All of us stared at the door, dumbfounded but not surprised. 

We were faced with yet another reason why we had to do this. Boys of all ages waltzed in here without a single fear. Despite this being an all-female group, they didn't have any fears or trepidation. They came in here with a grin showing total confidence in their gender. Because they were men, they weren't afraid.

The women faced another threat. Molly, Janice, and I put up with a lot of hell, and they knew it. Every girl who has ever seen or heard us knows what we've gone through. Had I been in their shoes, I would have been terrified too.

"All the more reason to continue," Molly muttered.

I nodded. Ellen called in the next contestant. A girl younger than Michael walked in. As soon as I saw her, I swore I was looking back in time. She was exactly like me when I was sixteen or seventeen. She looked scared, terrified even, as if she could sense what lay ahead, should she continue. Her hands shook, but she held the guitar firmly. Her chestnut hair fell in curls similar to a coil of wire. Makeup was smeared against her cheek, telling me she had gotten ready with shaky hands. Even her blouse was buttoned crooked. Her jeans were stained with various colors of paint, all faded as if she had pointlessly tried to scrub them off.

"H-Hello," she said.

Her accent was unfamiliar to me. It wasn't British, nor was it Scottish or Irish. It sounded American, but weaker.

"Hello, what's your name?" Mitch asked kindly.

The girl twisted her hands on the guitar, "Um, Melanie. I-I-er-I'm here to audition."

Molly and I exchanged glances. She reminded me of Janice with the way she spoke. Her voice was barely audible. Had it not been for the echoing room, we might not have heard her at all.

"How old are you?" Ellen asked.

Melanie gulped, "Seventeen."

Ellen looked at us. Molly shook her head ever so slightly as I shrugged. I got started in this business at fourteen, there wasn't much room for me to judge the ages. Molly and I were twenty-two, even Janice was much older than this girl. It didn't seem right to have a child join a band of adults. Especially with all the hate we had to put up with. Melanie was a child, she shouldn't be exposed to the hate and the stress of show business just yet.

"Why don't you play for us?" Molly asked sweetly.

Melanie nodded. She poised her hands over the guitar. The first thing I noticed was how she held the guitar backwards. She was a lefty, just like Paul. Molly glanced at me and smirked, causing me to chuckle slightly.

She began to strum. Her hands shook worse than an earthquake, but she pushed through. Every so often, she would hit a wrong note or her voice would quiver. Otherwise, she was brilliant. With a bit of work on her stage anxiety, she could make a great musician.

"That was wonderful, Melanie," Molly smiled, "It's just- aren't you a little young?"

Melanie shrugged, "I-I didn't think so. Miss McCartney was fourteen when she started."

"Did your research, did you?" I asked.

Melanie nodded, "I-I-I'm a big fan."

"Well, Melanie, you're a great musician," I smiled, "And I mean that, truly, you could make it big, just not now. When I started, the band only played once a month, if that, at tiny clubs in front of audiences no more than ten. We play in front of thousands. If you want to follow in our footsteps, do exactly that. Start small and work your way up."

Melanie soaked in this information for a moment before smiling, "Thank you."

"Thank you," Molly nodded, "Good luck to you."

Melanie nodded a thanks before scurrying away. Ellen glanced at each of us. Molly and I nodded at her, urging her forward. She smiled, "Next!"

The next two contestants were both unqualified. One was a drummer, and not a very good one. We kindly dismissed her on the account that we already had a drummer. The next could only sing, and that was it. She had never even seen a guitar. When she left, I dropped my forehead on the table and groaned.

"This is ridiculous," I grumbled, "Are there no other good female musicians in London?"

Ellen flipped a paper on her clipboard, "There's still one more."

"Hopefully she's good."

"She will be," Mitch said, "Have faith, Amelia."

I only nodded. Peter opened the door to let the next contestant in. I glanced up and was taken aback for a moment.

I believe in love at first sight, but I also believe in friendship at first sight. Whenever I first laid eyes on her, I knew she was going to play an important role in my life. We had a connection from the very beginning. A very strong connection that would one day prove to be familiar. I looked at the blonde American woman and I saw a future.

The woman was tall, much taller than either Molly or me, but that could have been attributed to the heels she was wearing. Her face was clean, devoid of any and all makeup. Her blonde hair hung loosely as if she had never put any sort of product in it. Constellations of freckles dotted her face, but they were dim, one couldn't see them unless she was under the right light. Her smile was warm and showed yellow tinted teeth. She radiated kindness. Even from several meters away, I could smell her aroma of grass and the metallic smell of a newly printed photograph. The very first thing I thought when I saw her was how natural she was, almost as if she were a part of Mother Earth herself.

With her came a little girl. The girl, no older than three, waddled along with a smile brighter than every star in the sky. Her dress was a size too big and nearly fell of her shoulders, but she wore it like a Princess gown. Her hair matched her mothers, except one shade darker. She hung off her mother's hip with a grin and a giggle.

"Oh, how cute," Molly cooed.

Molly waved at the little girl who giggled and waved back. The woman smiled, "Thank you. I'm sorry, the babysitter cancelled, so I had to bring her."

"What's her name?" Molly asked.

Molly had always loved children. She was determined to have several of her own one day, though I wasn't sure how we would manage that. Her eyes sparkled every time she saw a baby, or, in this case, a toddler.

"Heather," the woman replied.

Mitch smiled, "And your name?"

"Linda," the woman replied, "Linda Eastman."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Linda. I'm Michelle Michigan and this is Ellen Marie," Mitch gestured to herself and then Ellen.

I grinned, "I'm Amelia McCartney and this is Molly Mackenzie. We're the band."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Her accent was distinctly American, but I couldn't place where. It sounded southern, but not a southern twang. Perhaps South California or Arizona or somewhere like that.

"Well, Linda, what can you play?" Ellen asked.

"Piano and keyboard, mostly," Linda replied, "I learned a bit of guitar and flute. And I can sing."

Ellen lifted an eyebrow. She was clearly not pleased with Linda's inability to play guitar, but she didn't say anything. She gestured towards the piano in the corner and Linda nodded. She sat Heather on a nearby beanbag and got ready to play. I watched intently as she flexed her fingers and began to play.

She was amazing. Her fingers danced across the keys like a ballerina leaping across the stage. She didn't even have to look to know where she put her fingers. As soon as the first note played, I was entranced. Both Molly and I were leaning forward with enthused looks, our unblinking eyes glued to the woman in front of us.

"Once upon a time, I loved you," Linda sang, "And you, you told me. You loved me."

"Bloody hell, she's great," I whispered.

In truth, her voice was a bit raspy. She missed a few notes and couldn't quite hit the low octaves. I didn't care, to me, she was the perfect fit. Something deep inside told me fate had brought her here, and the same fate would work to get her in this band. As she played our song, I knew, we had found our new addition.

"That was brilliant!" I exclaimed as soon as she was done.

Linda blushed slightly, "Thank you."

"I think it's safe to say that-" I began, but Ellen cut me off.

"Amelia, hush," she ordered, "Linda, would you mind giving us a moment to talk it over?"

Linda nodded, "Of course."

She picked up Heather and left the same way she came. As soon as the door shut. Molly and I turned on our manager and our producer. Our grins were unparalleled. I felt the same way I did when Janice had first joined.

"Elly, she's perfect," I said, "Can't you feel it?"

Ellen sighed, "She's a great piano player, yes, but we need a guitarist."

"No, we don't. Perhaps it's time for a change," Molly said.

I nodded, "Exactly! We've hit a wall, Elly, we're not going up and it's only a matter of time before we go down. Linda might be exactly what we need to shoot higher than we ever have before."

Ellen furrowed her eyebrows. She glanced at Mitch, who shrugged, "She's got a nice sound. I think the girls are right, Ellen."

"Perhaps they are," Ellen turned back to us, "Are you sure?"

Molly and I nodded, "Sure as we are musicians."

Ellen thought it over for a moment. It was a drastic change, I will admit. Most bands had at least two guitarists, this would be deviating from the path every other musician before us had taken. We would be paving our own path that could end up dumping us off a cliff or leading us down The Yellow Brick Road. Deep inside, in the pit of my soul, I knew we were making the right decision. Fate had brought Linda to us, just as fate had brought us all together. It seemed crazy, stupid even, but fate works in mysterious ways.

"Very well," Ellen smiled, "I must admit, I do like her. Perhaps she is exactly what this band needs."

"Jolly good! Let's tell her, shall we?" I asked.

Molly nodded. The two of us jumped up and bounded to the door. I could feel Ellen and Mitch watching us as we did. We flung open the door and hurried into the waiting room where Linda was talking to Peter.

"Well, Miss Linda," I grinned, "Are you ready to be a rebel?"

Linda's entire face lit up, "Yes, I am."

"Welcome to the band."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Linda McCartney is my favorite Beatle. That is all, carry on.


	119. News

Molly and I stood in the kitchen. She was making biscuits from the recipe her mother had sent her. While she stirred the dough, I gazed out into the living room where Peter and Janice were sitting together.

They were so close, they were practically on top of each other. At any second, I expected them to merge together until they were one person. They had a book open in front of them, one of the many sign language books Peter had picked up at the library. Janice couldn't write down everything, and sign language was the only other way for her to communicate. At least, until she learned to speak again. If she learned to speak again.

"They're kind of cute, aren't they?" Molly asked, noticing me watching the couple.

"I s'pose," I shrugged, "I dunno, I've never been one to gush at relationships."

Molly chuckled, "And I thought you were the sappy one in ours."

"Ah, but that's different. I could gush about you all the time, my love."

I winked at her, causing her to laugh even louder. Peter glanced back at us questioningly. I cheekily waved at him, earning an eye roll in response. He turned back to Janice and made a motion with his hands, which she copied. Both looked at each other in pride while Molly and I watched, completely dumbfounded. 

"Do you think we should introduce her to Linda?" I asked.

Molly nodded, "Of course. Jan is still our friend, isn't she?"

"That's never going to change."

Even when Janice had moved out with Peter, things wouldn't change. Janice would always be our little sister, no matter how far away she was. Love knows no boundaries. To this day, I still write to Janice constantly, and we make it a point to see each other at least twice a year. It's not what it used to be, but, things change. I know better than anyone that nothing is permanent. 

"Besides, we need Jan's seal of approval," Molly commented.

I smiled, "That we do."

Peter began to make motions with his hands. Whatever he said seemed to click with Janice. She smiled and copied him. His grin was brighter than the sun. I wrinkled my nose as the two leaned forward and kissed.

"I'm gonna miss her," Molly sighed.

"Me too," I replied, "We'll have to visit the lovebirds more often."

Molly grinned, "I'm sure she expects just that."

I nodded. In our circle of friends, everybody expected everybody else to show up at their doorstep at any time. Day or night, rain or shine, it didn't matter. We could just be in the neighborhood or drive across the city simply because we were lonely. With us, there was no boundaries.

Molly took to spooning out the dough as I watched Janice and Peter. They were fully immersed in their book, working together to learn Janice's new language. Eventually, Molly and I would learn as well. For now, we had a few other things that needed attention.

I glanced up at the clock to see it was nearing two in the afternoon. That day, I had plans to meet the lads at EMI Studios to tell them about Linda. Since the tour, it was difficult to get them all in the same room together. The easiest time to get all four together under one roof was when they were recording.

"Well, I'm off, got to meet the lads," I stood, "I've got some news, you know."

Molly chuckled, "Really? I had no idea."

"Cheeky."

I wrapped my arms around her stomach and hugged her from behind, kissing her on the cheek in the process. She giggled, turning to kiss me on the nose. Both of us smiled brightly.

"See you later, love," I said.

Molly kissed my cheek once more before I left. I grabbed my hat and sunglasses before I did. Even in London, especially in London, it was imperative for us to remain undercover. Beatlemania was just as prevalent in our hometown, if not worse. People there not only knew us, but they knew the general areas where we lived. It was only a matter of time until they knocked on our doors or snuck in through the windows.

The sky was a swirl of gray clouds. It was like someone had mixed them together in a mixing bowl. Each shade was looped around a different shade, creating a painting of rainclouds. It made the world look dark, despite it being afternoon. The sun was nothing more than a memory as I walked down the streets. Wind blew through the city, making the trees rustle and the pedestrians shiver.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept my head low. Getting recognized was not high on my list of priorities. The last thing I needed was to be chased all the way to the studios. Even if it wasn't the longest walk in the world, I wasn't keen on running it.

EMI Studios was just a few streets down from Aubergine Studios. With a short cab ride, you could go from one to the other in fifteen minutes flat. Through sheer coincidence, our flat was located right in the middle of the two. In either direction, you could walk to a studio in ten minutes.

Just as I began to cross the white striped crosswalk, it began to rain. All at once, buckets of rain fell on my head. The raindrops were large, like golf balls, and seemed to blow in horizontally. It hit me square in the face. I stumbled back for a moment before regaining my senses and sprinting towards the studio.

I made it into the building just in time for the rain to sped up. It began to pour so strongly, I wondered if a hurricane was blowing in. There was no way I could go out in that, meaning I was stuck at the studio, in dripping wet clothes, for who knows how long.

"Brilliant," I muttered, "Just brilliant."

"Amelia?"

I spun around to see George Martin standing there with a steaming cup of tea. He looked at me with a cocked eyebrow and a placid expression. I smiled at him and tipped my hat, ""Ello, George, lovely to see you again."

"And you. I presume you are here to see the boys?" George asked.

"You presume correctly. Are they in the recording room?"

George nodded and beckoned for me to follow him. He led me through the halls and towards the recording room. I had been there only twice before, but I felt like I knew the place. Perhaps the familiarity had nothing to do with the actual building, rather, who was inside of it.

The first thing I heard were the harmonious voices of John and George singing, "Ain't she sweet. From her head down to her feet."

I rolled my eyes. That was one of the songs we used to sing during our Hamburg days, it was a hit with the German crowds. I hadn't heard that song in years. It was surprising that they even remembered it.

When I walked into the studio, I was met with four lads in all corners of the room. Ringo was sitting at his drumset playing nothing in particular and having a great time with it. George was sitting on a bench, strumming the notes of a song none of us knew with a microphone just inches from his face.

John had abandoned the microphone and was sitting on the floor drinking from a bottle of water. Paul was nearby, scribbling on a paper and muttering under his breath, "Scrambled eggs. Oh my darling, how I love your legs."

"'Ello, lads," I grinned, "Fancy meeting you here."

John snorted. Paul completely ignored me, instead focusing on his paper. Ringo leaned over the drums and grinned, "'Ello, Mel."

George looked up, "What're you doing here?"

"Can't I visit my mates whom I love?" I cheekily asked, blinking sweetly and smiling.

"You're up to something," George pointed out, "Aren't you?"

"Not at all, Georgie."

John snorted, "I find that hard to believe."

"Bugger off, Lennon."

John shot me the bird, earning a sneer and a laugh. I found a seat next to George, who smiled at me as I sat.

"We held an audition," I announced.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "Already?"

"Elly said the sooner the better. Molly and I didn't like it."

George patted my back comfortingly. All of them knew how much Molly and I hated replacing Janice, but they also knew just as well as we did that we had no choice.

"Who'd you get?" John asked.

"An American bird named Linda," I answered, "She's bloody brilliant, she is. She plays the piano and a bit of guitar, and she sings. Plus, she's pretty."

"Linda, you say?" Paul asked, intrigued.

"Linda Eastman. From America."

George lifted an eyebrow, "You signed an American?"

"We didn't have much choice, honestly. Four girls showed up to the audition."

The lads seemed shocked at this. Paul shook his head, "Typical. Aye, if she's good, we'll have to meet her."

"Course. She's going on tour with us, you know," I replied.

Ringo cringed, "Don't mention that."

"We're still coming off it," John shook his head, "We'll have flashbacks."

"Sissies," I rolled my eyes.

John snorted, "Aye, look who's talking."

I opened my mouth to say something, but thought against it. John grinned at his win. Paul rolled his eyes as Ringo asked, "Can we meet her before then?"

"You lot could come to dinner at my house. Pattie and I were planning one anyways," George suggested.

Paul grinned, "That'd be gear, Georgie."

"Brilliant," I smiled, "Ta, Georgie."

George only nodded. Thunder cracked outside, causing all of us to jump slightly. We brushed it off as nothing. Storms were not uncommon. Storms were what made us know the world was still alive. Without rain, we would all be dead.

To me, storms were beautiful. They were a sign that life will continue to exist for years to come. Rain brings life, storms bring beauty, and we are lucky to witness it. Storms are only proof that there will be sunshine again. Even in the darkest times, you just have to wait it out, the light will return. Without the storms, we wouldn't be able to appreciate the sunshine.

"I'm going for a cuppa," Ringo announced, "Anyone care to join?"

I jumped up, "Love to. I'm freezing, I am."

"Aye, wait a minute, you're wet," John pointed out.

"Have been this entire time."

"How did we not notice that?" Paul muttered.

I grinned, "Cause you're a bunch of gits, you are."

George rolled his eyes, a small grin crossing his lips. I squeezed his shoulder as Paul moved to the nearby coat rack. I didn't notice what he was doing until a thin jacket was shoved in my hands.

"Put this on," Paul ordered, "Don't want you getting sick."

I grinned, "Thanks, Mum."

Paul rolled his eyes as I slid on the coat. It fit me like a dress, but that only made it all the warmer. I gave him a quick embrace. He patted my shoulder as I hurried to follow Ringo, leaving John laughing.

Ringo and I walked through the halls of EMI Studios. He had as cigarette hanging from his lips, which wasn't abnormal. It seemed like he and George were smoking more often than not. Paul and John could often be found with a cigarette, but not as often as Ringo and George. I swear, they had married tobacco years ago.

"Canteen's just up the lift," Ringo commented.

I grinned, "Brilliant. Fancy, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Your studio having a canteen," I shrugged, "Mitch's studio only has one bathroom."

Aubergine Studios was small, but it was homely. I would prefer the welcome atmosphere over the luxuries of EMI any day. Still, it would be nice not to have to walk a few blocks for food or even for a simple cup of tea.

"Yours is colorful," Ringo replied.

I grinned, "That's true. And we have beanbags."

"I'm jealous."

Both of us cackled. We stepped into the lift and Ringo hit the button. The doors slid shut painfully slow, and the lift began to take us up at the same pace as a lethargic snail. Tiny speakers played music by people who had died years ago with instruments hardly ever used anymore. It was an odd choice of music for a studio that recorded the world's most famous rock and roll band.

"Say, how's Mo?" I asked, "Haven't seen her in a while."

Ringo shrugged, "Pregnant."

Had I been drinking something, I would have spit it out. Ringo looked at me with confusion as I choked on air. I coughed violently, "What? Since when?"

"Since before we got married," Ringo knitted his eyebrows, "Can't you tell?"

"I haven't seen her for months. Last time I saw her, she was thin as a twig."

"She's a bit more like the trunk now," Ringo joked.

I gaped, "You're gonna be a Dad and you didn't bloody tell me?!"

"I thought you knew," Ringo shrugged.

I blinked rapidly, taking a moment to wrap my mind around the situation. It was difficult to picture Ringo as a Dad. Despite him being three years older than me, I saw him as a child. The way he acted, how he was always playing, and even how he acted as a calming force for those around him made him seem younger than he truly was. To hear he was going to be a Dad put everything into perspective. Sometimes I forgot we were all in our early twenties. At the time, Ringo was already twenty-five.

"I can't bloody believe it," I muttered, "Ringsy, you're gonna be a Dad!"

Ringo beamed. I ruffled his hair, giggling when he tried to push me off. His entire face was lit up like a Christmas tree. I knew he would be a great father, perhaps the best there ever was.

"Maureen's due in three months," Ringo added.

I grinned, "I'm so happy for you, Ringo! Know the gender yet?"

"We're going for a surprise," Ringo shrugged, "But we've got the names picked out."

"Yeah? What are they?"

Ringo counted on his fingers, "Zak for a boy and Lee for a girl."

"What if it's twins?"

"Oh, don't give me that thought."

Ringo ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. I patted his back, "Aw, come on, Ringo, you'll be the greatest Dad."

"I dunno, I've never done this before," Ringo replied, "I didn't even have a Dad of my own. I dunno what a Dad does."

I shrugged, "Me neither. I can tell you what not to do."

Ringo glanced at me before bursting into laughter. Both of us fell into a giggle fit. What I said wasn't even that funny, but both of us were riding on a high. Ringo had known this high before, but it was reinvigorated whenever he broke the news to me. I was riding on a wave of excitement for my friend.

Both of us were still laughing when the lift stopped and the doors opened. The upstairs halls were dark crimson instead of the bleach white of downstairs. It seemed a bit more homely, but still foreign all the same. Ringo offered me his arm, "Shall we?"

I grasped his elbow, grinning sarcastically, "We shall."


	120. Dinner at Georgie's

Molly's humming was slowly lulling me to sleep. My head was on her stomach as she laid on the bed, reading a magazine. The Beatles were on the cover, which wasn't surprising. The four lads I knew so well smiled from the page and stared at me as if silently asking me to help them. I could see, by their eyes, they did not want to do that photoshoot. Only Ringo looked genuinely happy, but that was how he was most all of the time.

"Cilla Black got a number one," Molly commented.

"Hm?" I hummed, "Jolly good."

Molly chuckled, "Melly, are you falling asleep?"

"Maybe."

"We've got to leave in an hour," Molly replied.

I sighed, "Gives me a forty minute nap. You're so comfy, I don't wanna move."

Molly laughed. Her belly bounced as she did, making me grumble slightly. I wrapped my arms tighter around her and ducked my head lower. The threat of having to leave was looming over my head, but I was ignoring it. I would have been perfectly happy to stay like that all day.

"We've got to move eventually," Molly said.

I hummed, "Soon, but not now."

"Alright, you lazy bum."

"I'll accept that."

Molly dropped the magazine and began to play with my hair. Her fingers brushing against my scalp was calming, oddly. If anyone else were to touch my hair I would slap them. Paul and Michael had been the victims of this several times. Molly was the only one who could get away with it. Not only could she do it, but I enjoyed it. Perhaps that's what love is, learning to love the things you had hated before simply because the person you loved enjoyed it.

"It's nice being back home," Molly commented, "I can do this without being afraid."

She grabbed my hand and pecked the back of it. When she finished, she held it close to her chest. I moved to where I could look at her and smile, "You did it anyways."

"Only when the doors were shut."

I chuckled. Removing my head from her stomach, I plopped it onto the pillow next to her. She quickly turned to her side and wrapped her arms around my middle. I snaked mine around her, pulling her close until we were pressed up against each other under the blanket. Her warmth spread over me like a heater, filling me up from the outside in. I smiled in content.

"I like it when you smile," Molly whispered, "It makes me fall for you all over again."

I beamed, "I'll have to do it more often then, yeah?"

Molly craned her neck back to peck my lips. I giggled, kissing her back. When we pulled apart, she rested her head on my chest and took a deep breath.

"By golly, Miss Molly, you mean the world to me," I muttered.

Molly squeezed me tighter, "You are my world."

"Trying to one up me, are ya?"

"Maybe," Molly giggled, "I love you, Amelia."

I beamed, "I love you too, Molly."

I pulled her closer, looking over her head to see Janice pass the open door. She was carrying a large cardboard box and made no notion to acknowledge us. She probably didn't even know we were there, since she couldn't hear us. Behind her, Peter came trotting up with a box twice as large and overflowing with clothes. My heart panged whenever I remembered they were packing the last few boxes of Janice's stuff to move to Peter's flat.

When Peter passed, he glanced into the room and instantly went red. I caught his eye and smirked, daring him to say something. To everyone's surprise, he did.

"Er-are we interrupting anything?" Peter asked.

Molly jumped slightly and flipped over. I laughed heartily, "Not at all, Pete."

Janice returned with empty hands. She glanced at Peter and then at us, smiling brightly. I sent her a smile just as bright as hers.

"Is the truck here?" Molly asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Peter shook his head, "No, we've still got a lot to pack. It'll probably be here when you two girls get back from the dinner."

I nodded. We had already volunteered to help Peter and Janice load the truck and unload it at Peter's flat. Paul and Ringo both volunteered to help as well, but we turned them down. Four was just enough. Janice didn't have much, mostly clothes and art supplies. It took longer to pack it than it took to load it.

"Bloody hell, we've got to go," Molly grabbed my wrist and looked at my watch.

I lifted an eyebrow, "I thought you said we had an hour?"

"I did, an hour ago."

I blinked and looked at my watch. Sure enough, Molly and I had spent an entire hour doing nothing but lying on the bed and talking. I smiled and looked up at her, "Time flies, yeah?"

Molly nodded. We both stood and moved to the door. I looped Janice in a hug on the way by. She had been getting extra hugs lately, mostly because we knew we wouldn't be able to do that soon. All of us had expected her to move out with Peter, even before this tragedy happened, but we weren't prepared for it. The flat would seem empty without her.

"Love ya, Jan," I whispered, even though she couldn't hear me.

Molly and I slipped on our shoes and our hats and left. Janice came around the corner and smiled at us, waving enthusiastically. Despite everything that's happened, she kept a smile on her face. Her entire life had been turned upside down and silenced, and yet, she still was happy. If everyone was a little bit more like Janice Hallieford, the world would be a much brighter place. 

We were supposed to meet Linda at her flat to take her to George's house. She was still new to London and didn't know the streets. Being from America, she didn't even know how to drive on our 'backwards' streets. She needed a guide, and Molly and I were just the girls to do it. Besides, it gave us a chance to get to know her better.

Linda lived in a tiny building near The River Thames. Her flat was so small, it could barely qualify as a home. There were only three rooms; a bedroom, a livingroom/kitchen, and a bathroom. She had told us that it was the only one she could afford until she got a job. Now that she was with us, it would only be a matter of time before she got a better flat.

"It's open!" Linda called when Molly and I knocked on the door.

We entered the flat and looked around. Despite it being small and the outside smelling of fish, Linda had made it look like Buckingham Palace. The walls were decorated with photographs, the couches were pristine leather, and the carpets were clean. It reminded me of a model home you see in commercials where the housewife is talking about her 'rowdy family' while walking through the house. A blow dryer came from the bathroom. The door was cracked open, but was quickly flung open as soon as I shut the front door. Little Heather came bounding out, her grin showing her missing tooth.

"Hiya!" she peeped in her American accent.

Molly crouched down to be at eye-level with the toddler, "'Ello, Heather. You look beautiful today."

Heather held out the edges of her dress and bowed. She giggled as she did so. Molly was practically beaming at the little girl in front of her. I simply stood back and watched the interaction.

"Mama said I could wear any dress I wanted!" Heather exclaimed, "I picked this one cause it's like a princess!"

She spun around, showing off her pink dress and all it's ruffles. As she spun, the dress lifted, showing bright orange tights. Molly and I both giggled.

"It's lovely. You're the prettiest princess I've ever seen," Molly commented.

Heather gasped, "Really?"

"Really really."

The door to the bathroom opened and Linda stepped out. Her hair was twice as fluffy as usual, a product of the hair dryer. She wore a simple loose-fitting sweater and jeans with the American boot cut style. She came up running her hand through her hair and smiling.

"'Ello, Linda, looking swell," I commented.

Linda smiled, "Thank you."

"Ready to meet the lads?"

Linda met my eyes and hesitated. She was very good at holding a poker face, I had seen that already, but her eyes betrayed her. I could see them sparkle with trepidation, perhaps even a dash of fear.

That was to be expected. She must have expected to meet The Beatles as soon as she joined the band, but I doubt she expected it so quickly, or so casually. This was a simple dinner with the biggest band in the world, who wouldn't feel nervous?

"Come off it, Linda, there's nothin' to worry about," I grinned, "They're just four normal lads you could bump into on the street."

Linda pulled at her sleeves, "I keep telling myself that."

"Don't think of them as Beatles, think of them as boys," Molly said, "You've just gotta get past their cheeky attitudes and you'll see they're just like you and me."

I snorted. Molly glared at me, telling me not to say anything. I simply smiled cheekily, earning an eye roll from her. Linda ignored all of this and nodded, "Normal boys, got it."

She moved to the front door and slipped on her boots. Shouldering her purse, she turned to us and smiled. Molly and I met her at the door as Heather bounded into her arms.

We hailed a cab for the ride to George's. He and Pattie lived in a townhouse rather than a flat like the rest of us. George and John were the only ones who thought to search for houses rather than flats. When we were moving to London, I saw it as this big metropolis with nothing but flats and a few highrises, but that was not the case. There was a bit of everything in London, you just had to know where to look.

"John comes off a bit abrasive at first, but you'll get used to him," I explained, "George is a quiet lad, but, give him a bit, he'll get louder. Ringo's the most friendly of the four with Paul just a step or two behind."

"They're all very nice lads," Molly added.

Linda simply nodded, repeating what we said under her breath. Heather sat in her lap happily bouncing along with the car. Molly kept smiling at her, making the toddler giggle.

"Just be yourself, Linda. They'll love you, I just know it," I winked at her.

Linda smiled. We pulled up in front of George's house just a few minutes later. I got out first followed by the other two girls. They waited as I paid the cabbie. When I returned to the curb to stand next to them, I found Linda tugging at a loose string in her sweater. Molly had a comforting hand on Linda's shoulder and a warm smile. I leaned forward to catch her eye and flash a winning grin. 

"Ready?" Molly asked Linda.

"Of course."

Her voice was remarkably steady even though her eyes were trembling ever so slightly. I began to wonder if she played poker professionally, if she didn't she sure should start. We all trotted up to the doorstep and knocked.

"Amelia, Molly, George said you would be late," Pattie grinned as soon as she opened the door.

She wrapped me in a hug first. As she hugged Molly, I crossed my arms, "What gave him that idea?"

"He said you're always late."

"That tosser," I muttered, "Ah, he's just playing."

Pattie nodded, her smile widening. She always reminded me of a child with her bright smile and chubby cheeks. She was cute, that's all there was to it. Underneath all that cute was an intelligent woman with a passion for what she did. Pattie was one of the smartest people I had ever met despite popular opinion. I think it was that, not her looks, that made George fall for her in the first place. 

"Pattie, this is Linda Eastman," Molly gestured to the woman behind us, "Linda, this is Pattie Boyd, George's girlfriend."

Pattie extended her hand to shake, "Hello. Molly told me about you."

I looked at Molly and lifted an eyebrow. She mimed a phone, and I nodded. Of course she had called Pattie, it was her house we were bringing Linda to. I suddenly decided to phone Mikey that night and tell him all about Linda. 

Linda shook Pattie's hand, "I hope it was good things."

"Oh, all very good," Pattie giggled, "Molly doesn't see the bad side in people."

I grinned, "You've got that right."

Molly blushed slightly. Pattie stepped to the side and gestured for us to step in. Molly and I stepped in as if we were stepping into our own home. I had long since lost count of the times I'd been to George's house, or any of the lads' houses. They had been to mine just as much to where each of us just walked in unannounced. When you are as close as we are, you don't have your own house, you have several. Our family was once knit tighter than a blanket, and the knots were pulled tight. I still remember where John, Paul, George, and Ringo all kept their spare keys. 

"Where's Georgie?" I asked.

Pattie pointed to the kitchen, "He's cooking."

"George can cook?" Molly asked, "Miracles do happen."

I laughed. Linda and Molly both followed me into the kitchen where we found George standing over a plate of bread. He was slicing another loaf and drizzling it with melted butter. When he saw us, he grinned, exposing his extra long teeth.

"We're not late," I commented.

George chuckled, "It's a miracle."

"Hey, bugger off, you tosser."

"Paul's the tosser."

"Right, you're the nutter."

George cackled, "Still wrong, that's John."

"Fine then, wanker."

George was almost doubled over laughing at this point. I was laughing just as hard. Both of us had forgotten about the awkward woman standing behind me until Heather giggled. I turned around, finally remembering Linda, and grinned, "Georgie, meet Linda Eastman."

"Pleasure to finally meet you," George smiled, extending his hand to shake, "I'm George, George Harrison."

Linda shook his hand, "The pleasure is all mine."

George smiled. A timer went off on the stove and Pattie rushed to open the front. The sweet smell of meatloaf met my nostrils, nearly making me moan. George noticed my blissful expression and grinned, "Pattie's meatloaf is bloody delicious, it is."

"Georgie, you're too sweet," Pattie giggled.

"Can't wait to taste it," I added, "If it's as good as it smells, it'll be gear."

Molly nodded. The doorbell rang. Since both Pattie and George were preoccupied with food, I hurried to answer it. Standing on the front porch were Paul, Jane, John, Cynthia, and Julian. As soon as the door opened, Julian struggled to get free from his Mum and rush over to me. I picked him up and grinned, "Jules, you've gotten so big!"

"Auntie Melly, I missed you!" he exclaimed, hugging my neck.

I hugged him back, "I've missed you too, kiddo."

"Something smells wonderful," John commented as the group entered the house.

I nodded, "Pattie's making meatloaf."

"You didn't touch it, did you?" Paul asked.

Jane lifted an eyebrow, "Why can't she touch it?"

"Every food Lia touches turns to charcoal."

"Oh, bugger off," I shoved his shoulder, "You can't do much better."

Molly came in at that point and beamed. She gave each adult a hug. Paul and I were still glaring at each other, both of us doing our best to ignore the smiles creeping across our faces. When Molly got to Julian, he practically dove into her arms. She giggled as she held the two-year-old close.

"Say, is the new bird here?" John asked, "We'd all love to meet her."

He accentuated love and blinked rapidly, almost like a child asking for a piece of candy. I shook my head, "Don't go scaring her off."

"Aye, I thought I was the loveable one," John scoffed.

Paul chuckled, "That's Ringo, love."

"Then, what am I?"

"The smart one," Cynthia smiled, "Let's go and meet her, shall we?"

I beckoned for them to follow. We made our way into the living room where Linda was sitting on the couch watching Heather. The little girl held a magazine with Pattie on the front. Linda quickly stood to meet us as soon as we stepped in. I noticed how she straightened her shirt more times than necessary, and how her face had suddenly become bright red despite the chill of the house. Molly stepped next to Linda and offered her a comforting grin. 

"This is Linda Eastman," Molly introduced, taking our friend's arm, "Linda, this is Paul McCartney, Jane Asher, John Lennon, Cynthia Lennon, and their son Julian."

At the mention of his name, John winked. Paul was distracted with Heather for a moment. Whenever he looked up, he met Linda's eyes and the two stopped. They stared at each other for a second too long. Jane cleared her throat awkwardly, obviously noticing something had passed between them. Only a few of us knew what we had seen, and we could only identify it because we had felt it ourselves. As soon as Paul and Linda looked at each other, I knew I was seeing the future unfold in real time. Something told me that Linda joining Revolution was more than just our destinies. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Cynthia smiled, "We've heard so much about you."

Linda smiled, "Apparently, Amelia and Molly talk about me a lot."

"Why, of course we do," I grinned, "Got to brag about our new member, don't we?"

"Mel says you play a gear piano," John commented.

He smiled in a friendly manner, but Linda was still a bit anxious under his gaze. John could be seen as harsh even when he was acting as the most friendly person in the world. In reality, John was harsh on his few few layers. Once you got a little deeper, you saw he was so much more than that. John Lennon had many different layers, each one more meaningful than the last. You just had to have the patience to dig to know who John truly was. 

"She does," I added.

Linda shrugged, "I like to think so."

"You do," Molly put in, "Best I've ever seen."

John faked hurt, "I thought I was your favorite pianist."

"Sorry, John, but I found someone better."

Everybody but Linda laughed. The doorbell rang once again, and Paul went to answer it. He had spent this entire conversation doing his best not to stare at Linda. Jane was obviously getting uncomfortable. I snuck around the group to where she stood and flung my arm around her shoulder, "Good to see you again, my love."

Jane giggled, "Ah, how long it's been."

"Beautiful as ever," I winked, "Thanks for dragging Paulie here."

"My pleasure."

Molly caught my eye through the group and frowned. I shook my head and released Jane, moving to stand next to Molly. She crossed her arms and refused to look at me.

"By golly, Miss Molly, don't make it bad," I leaned my chin on her shoulder and smiled, "You've already stolen my heart."

Molly smiled slightly, "And you're not getting it back."

"I can live with that."

Both of us smiled as I pulled away. Paul returned with Ringo and Maureen in tow. As soon as Maureen walked in, Molly gasped. I had forgotten to tell her the bombshell Ringo had dropped on me in the lift. I smirked and whispered, "Oh, by the way, Maureen's pregnant."

"You don't bloody say?"

"Ringo, almost thought you wouldn't make it, son," John clapped Ringo's shoulder.

Ringo raised his eyebrows, "Why?"

"Cause you're late."

"So were you," I replied, "We were the only ones on time."

Paul snorted, "That's a miracle."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?!"

The group only laughed in response. Linda shifted on her feet awkwardly, glancing back at Heather and Julian. The two were babbling to each other, occasionally forming coherent words.

"Last round," I winked at Linda, "Linda, this is Richard and Maureen Starkey. Ringo, Mo, Linda Eastman."

Linda shook Ringo's hand. Ringo smiled at her, "Pleasure to meet you, Linda."

"You too, Richard."

"Call me Ringo," he grinned, "All me friends do."

"Ringo, then."

Linda smiled at him. She seemed to be getting more comfortable, if only a little bit. The lads had all been nice to her so far, they saved their teasing for those of us who knew them better. As she became more comfortable with us, she would see past that.

"Dinner is ready," Pattie called.

John clasped his hands, "I'm starved."

"John, be polite," Cynthia told him.

"What? I'm always polite."

I snorted, earning a glare from John. He broke out into a grin and lead the party into the kitchen. Pattie and George had a lavish set up. The dining room table, outfitted with enough chairs for us all, had a perfectly white tablecloth with sewn in designs of doves and olive vines. The table runner was autumn colors and matched Pattie's dress. Three different plates decorated the runner along with golden candlesticks not meant to be lit. I was met with delicious looking meatloaf, baked potatoes, and buttered bread. All of us sighed when we smelled the food.

"It smells delicious, mates," I smiled at Pattie and George.

George smiled back, "Ta."

We all sat down, with the two children sitting at a smaller table in the corner. I took a seat between Molly and Linda. Paul was right across from Linda. He flashed her his signature dazzling smile. Jane noticed and frowned. I caught Paul's eye and tried to warn him, though he ignored me.

"These potatoes are amazing," Cynthia commented.

Pattie beamed, "Thank you, Cynthia. It's my grandmum's recipe."

"Pattie's a wonderful cook," George commented, winking at his girlfriend.

Pattie giggled. John leaned on his arm, leaning in towards Linda, and smiled. His smiles were friendly, to those who knew him. To others, they could be seen as threatening. His cheekiness was endearing, but only when you knew him as well as the rest of us all did. It wasn't difficult to see how nervous he made Linda.

"So, Linda," John began, "You're from America, aren't you?"

Linda nodded, "Yes, I was born in Arizona."

"Oh, we've been there, it's lovely," Paul smiled.

His sweetness did nothing to balance out John's cheekiness. His constant cheekiness could come across as rude to those who didn't know him. Linda shifted awkwardly, but smiled kindly. Molly and I exchanged glances. I suddenly regretted taking Linda to meet all of them at once. Perhaps it would have been better for her to meet one Beatle at a time.

"Why'd you leave?" Ringo asked, "America, I mean."

Linda glanced at her plate and sighed, "There's a lot of pain back there. I had a few friends who suggested I move to London to get away, and, here I am."

"And here you are," John said in a voice that was almost too sweet.

Cynthia elbowed him, sending him a stern glare. He chuckled and shook his head. To all of our relief, he leaned back in his chair and relaxed. Linda released a relieved breath.

"I'm sure glad you did," I commented, "Or else we wouldn't have had such a good new addition."

Molly nodded in agreement. Even Paul was nodding. Jane, obviously wanting to change the subject before Paul said something daft, asked, "What made you want to audition for Revolution?"

"I saw one of their shows in Tuscon, Arizona just before they left for California last year," Linda explained, gesturing to us, "I loved both bands, but, no offense, Revolution was my favorite."

Molly and I were practically beaming at this point. Paul, Ringo, and George kept sending us smiles like they knew exactly what we were feeling. Revolution had many fans, but never has anyone told us they liked us more than The Beatles.

"When I heard they were auditioning, I couldn't help myself. Heather convinced me, she adores your music," Linda continued.

Later on, I would learn that wasn't the full truth. While Linda was a fan and did enjoy our music, the music business was never her dream. She wanted to be a photographer, but there wasn't much left to photograph in this world. When she came to London, she was out of a job and needed something. The day she had almost given up hope, she came across our flyer as is fate herself had put it there. 

Molly grinned, glancing at Heather, "And we adore her."

"Mols always did have a soft spot for children," John commented.

Molly nodded in agreement. Paul leaned forward slightly, obviously trying to hide his enthusiasm but not doing a very good job at it. He smiled at Linda. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. As much as I enjoyed seeing the lads accept Linda so quickly, Paul was overdoing it. It was obvious to all of us that his mind was elsewhere when he greeted the new girl, despite his long time girlfriend sitting right next to him. 

"Well, I'm looking forward to hear you play," Paul winked, "I'm sure you're splendid."

Jane cleared her throat and grabbed Paul's sleeve, "Paulie, can we talk for a moment? Outside?"

"Sure, love."

The two stood and shuffled out of the room. All of us watched. Linda was the only one who was completely in the dark, the rest of us knew exactly what was about to happen. I felt a stab of sympathy for Paul and the lecture he was about to receive. 

"He's doomed," I muttered.

"Might as well find a new bassist," George shook his head, "He's not coming out of this one."

"Was fun while it lasted," Ringo sighed sadly. 

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "What? Did I do something?"

"No, of course not," Molly smiled at her, "That's just Paul."

John smirked, "He's in trouble with his bird."

I shook my head. Paul was a flirt, it was simply who he was. I wasn't even sure if he knew he was flirting with Linda. All of the rest of us saw it, and I wanted to throw up. It's bad enough to see him made bedroom eyes at Jane, to see him do the same to Linda was sickening. Something about it seemed different, but I didn't care what. I wanted to forget that look in my older brother's eyes, especially when, just behind him, I saw Jane's face fall like a meteor. 

Paul and Jane returned a few minutes later. Paul smiled at us all sheepishly, doing his best to avoid Linda's gaze. We all pretended we didn't notice when Paul and Jane switched seats. They sat down and began to nibble at their food, not saying a single word. It took John to finally break the silence. 

"Well, I must say, I like you already," John leaned forward and flashed Linda a genuine smile, "Welcome to the group, Linda."


	121. Meet The New Rebel

It felt like forever since Revolution had our own show. The bill had Revolution in spotlight, The Beatles were nowhere to be seen. For that show at a large theater in West London, Revolution was not the opening act.

We had an opening act. Jane had suggested Peter and Gordon, the first being her brother. I had met Peter Asher twice in the years I had known his sister. He was a loud chap who wouldn't hesitate in speaking over you. If it was possible, he would speak over himself. I wasn't too fond of either half of the Peter and Gordon duo, but they were good musicians. At that point, all that mattered was that they could play. 

"Have you seen my lucky drumsticks?" I asked, "Can't find 'em anywhere."

Molly looked up from tuning her guitar, "Did you check your bag?"

"Course I did, that's the first place I looked."

"Let me check mine."

Molly abandoned her guitar and moved to search through her travel bag. All of us had several things we carried around for the shows. I had my lucky drumsticks, my notebook of songs, my camera, and a small picture of my family I always kept for good luck. Molly had a picture of her family as well, in addition to some snacks, some bandaids, and a book.

"Elly!" I called, "Elly, I need you!"

The door flung open and Ellen appeared, "What? What's wrong?"

"I can't find my lucky drumsticks."

Ellen furrowed her eyebrows, "Did you check your bag?"

"Of course I checked my bloody bag! Why is everyone asking that?"

Ellen sighed deeply and moved to search through my black rucksack. Molly and I watched as she opened the top, released yet another sigh, and pulled out my drumsticks. I blinked rapidly, "Elly, are you sure you're not a wizard or somethin'?"

I took the drumsticks from her and flashed a grateful smile. Ellen simply chuckled, "Yes, Amelia, I'm sure."

The door opened once again and Linda walked in. All of us turned to look at her, expecting the normal, casual, Linda. Instead, we were met with a bundle of nerves I didn't even know Linda had. Linda was one of the calmest people I had ever known, seeing her so nervous she might throw up was shocking, but not surprising. She was only going to play with one of the hottest acts in the world, any sane person would be nervous. 

"Linda, are you alright?" Ellen asked.

Linda nodded, "Yeah, just a little nervous."

"Aw, don't worry, Linny," I grinned, "First shows jitters are worse than the show itself, trust me."

Molly, Ellen, and Linda all stared at me. I glanced at them individually, "What? Am I wrong?"

"Linny?" Molly asked, trying to stifle her giggles.

"I'm trying out nicknames. It's good, yeah?"

Molly laughed, "It's bloody terrible!"

"Can't blame me for trying."

Both Linda and Molly were laughing now. Ellen chuckled under her breath slightly. I rolled my drumsticks through my fingers and smiled. The hippie designs Janice had painted were still there, but faded slightly. I could make out the colors, but the lines were blurred. Oddly, I liked the blurry look better. I had been using those drumsticks since my days in Hamburg before Revolution was even a thought. They were old but they had gotten me through so much, I couldn't bear to let them go.

"How are you feeling?" Ellen asked Linda.

All of us were used to Janice's pre-show panic attacks. Only later in her career, during our last tour, did she finally begin to overcome them. I was completely prepared to have to hold Linda up just like we used to do with Janice. She surprised us all when she remained straight with her chin up.

"I'm a bit nervous, but I'm alright," Linda grinned, "I'm ready to play."

I clapped her shoulder, "That's the spirit!"

"You'll do great, Linda, they'll love you," Molly smiled.

Behind Linda's back, the two of us exchanged nervous glances. Our fans were nutters. They weren't as bad as Beatles fans, but they were close. Molly, Ellen, and I all fully expected a revolt. They knew Janice had quit the band, the papers had told them so. We had gotten enough fan letters of outraged and sorrow, we knew something was bound to happen. Molly and I were ready, but Linda was completely oblivious. It was better that way, in the off chance nothing did happen, at least her nerves wouldn't be as bad as they could be.

"I hope so," Linda smiled.

Ellen clasped her hands together, "I'm going to check on the opening act. Be ready, the show starts in ten minutes."

"Aye aye, captain," I mock saluted.

Ellen shook her head, leaving Molly and I in a fit of giggles. Even Linda was chuckling, "Is everything always a joke to you?"

"Why, of course," I threw my arm around her shoulder, "I've found that the world needs a bit more humor in it."

Molly rolled her eyes, "And who better than the ever-cheeky Amelia McCartney?"

"Precisely."

All of us laughed. At first, none of us noticed the knock on the door. We were too busy laughing to realize when the knocking became louder. Finally, we heard an exasperated sigh, "Bloody hell, Lia, let us in!"

"Well, didn't expect to see you here," I commented, leaning on the doorframe and smiling.

Paul and George stood in the hall, both wearing their 'disguises'. The trench coat nearly swallowed George, which wasn't surprising considering he was like a walking and talking twig. Paul's fake beard was crooked and I'm pretty sure they switched hats. George kept scratching his beard and making it peel off. I pushed his hand away and wrinkled my nose when he sneered. 

"We couldn't miss the first performance," Paul winked.

Molly snorted, "You've seen us perform hundreds of times before."

"You've been in a few of them," I commented.

"Not with the lovely Linda," Paul argued, "We've got to see the new line up, make sure you're still fit to be our openers."

George rolled his eyes as Paul laughed. I scoffed, "Have I mentioned how much I hate those bloody beards?"

"Makes me love them more."

"Tosser."

"Wanker."

"Oh, stuff it, the both of you," George spat, "We came back to wish you good luck."

I grinned, "Thanks, Georgie, I'm glad one of you can be a decent human being."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny, Lia," Paul rolled his eyes.

"You know I love you anyways."

Paul laughed as George grinned. Molly propped her chin on my shoulder, "How'd you even get back here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Paul playfully asked.

George smirked, "We came in through the bathroom window."

"George!"

"What?"

The mental image of George cursing as Paul boosted him to the window crossed my mind. I could almost hear a string of constant profanities leave both of their mouths, it was a wonder they didn't get caught. I busted out laughing, "Oh, that's priceless, I'm never letting you live this down."

"Five minutes until showtime!" a stagehand announced as he passed.

Paul grinned, "That's our cue. Tonight, we're simply audience members."

"So long as your disguises remain intact," Molly replied, "Or else you'll be trampled by nutty fans."

"Don't worry, we've got that handled."

The two lads spun on their heels and left. At the end of the hall, they spared a final wave at us. Molly and I both waved back. When they vanished, I chuckled, "They won't last the night."

"What on Earth made them think this was a good idea?" Molly asked, "They'll be killed!"

"Trampled more likely."

"That kills people."

"Some people," I replied, "Those lads are as stubborn as mules, they'll survive out of sheer spite."

Molly cackled. Even Linda was smiling slightly, though she didn't know them as well as we did. Ellen appeared at the doorway and said, "It's time, come on, the opening act is almost done."

Molly, Linda, and I all followed her to the side of the stage. Peter and Gordon were just finishing a number Paul had written for them. It was their first hit, their only hit, really. When they were finished, they bowed and exited the stage as the curtains fell. Peter connected eyes with me for a moment and we both sneered. He had never liked Paul and, by default, he didn't like me. The only reason he put up with Paul was because Jane liked him and because he constantly gave them his throwaway songs. Even a throwaway Paul McCartney song became an instant hit. 

"Alright, girls, it's time," Ellen seemed nervous enough for us all, "You will do great, I'm sure of it."

I smirked, "When have we not?"

"Well, there was that one time-" Molly began, but I cut her off.

"It was a rhetorical question."

Molly laughed. We all went to the stage where the stagehands were moving our instruments. Linda went to her keyboard, which was just a few steps from my drums. As I held my sticks, I caught her eye and winked. She smiled slightly.

The curtains rose and it was finally time. Molly started us off with Linda and I not too far behind. Very few of our old songs were compatible with this new group. We had a few backing tracks of an extra guitar and a bit of other instruments to make up for the lack of members. Most of the music was made by Molly, Linda, and me on that stage, just as live performances should be. We had to retrofit a few songs to include the keyboard.

As soon as the curtain rose, we were met with our usual screaming fans. Linda flinched slightly but didn't stop her playing. Only a few seconds in, and she was already perfect. During my first show, I had messed up so many times, I had lost count. Linda hadn't even messed up once.

Molly and I loved her, that show simply sealed the deal. Linda was exactly what we needed. While her voice wasn't the greatest, it was lovely all the same. 

The fans, however, had different ideas. They loved Revolution, and Revolution was composed of Molly Mackenzie, Amelia McCartney, and Janice Hallieford. Their idea of Revolution had died in a hospital in Scotland, but they didn't care. They were so protective of something they couldn't even touch, they became angry whenever they realized it had changed. When they saw Linda, the thought of Janice leaving became all the more real. They began to jeer at Linda and shout how they wanted Janice back. By the end of the first song, the entire crowd was practically rioting.

Linda looked absolutely petrified. She was so pale, one could mistake her for Janice. Her fingers froze after the last chord and she couldn't look at the crowd. Even over the drum kit, I could feel her shakes.

Molly sent me a pleading look. She was in the front and the most susceptible to any violent acts. I could practically hear her asking me what to do.

I was at a loss as well. What I wanted to do was stand up and tell them if they didn't like Linda, they didn't like us, but I was rooted to the spot. There was nothing I could do that would both preserve our reputation and save Linda.

After the first shoe was thrown, I completely forgot about reputation. A jet black boot came soaring from the audience and hit the backdrop just a centimeter from my face. I watched it send ripples up the fabric as it fell to the ground. I dropped my drumsticks and sneered, "Not this again, you bloody heathens."

"Amelia!" Ellen whisper-shouted from behind the curtains, "Amelia, sit down!"

I didn't listen. I abandoned my stool and marched over to Molly. Without hesitation, she stepped aside. I took the mic and shouted, "Hey! All of you, calm down and listen!"

Nobody did. They were all going off. The shouts were so loud, I could barely hear myself. I needed their attention, and there was only one way to do it. Sending a warning look to Molly and Linda, I covered my ears. Molly got the message immediately. She covered her ears and turned away as I put the mic up to the amp.

A shrill, ear-piercing, squeak ran through the studio. Every single person in that building stopped what they were doing to cover their ears. Once I pulled the microphone away, the only sound was the cries of a few kids.

"Sorry about that, I needed your attention," I said into the microphone, "Listen here, Janice is gone. She can't play music anymore, you all know that just as well as I do. I didn't want her to leave either, but you can't argue with fate. Janice is gone and there's no getting her back, so rioting like a bunch of heathens is not going to do a bloody thing, yeah? We're still the same band you love, just with a different member. Linda here is a brilliant musician and, if you'd bloody listen, you'd know it. So sit down, shut up, and enjoy the show."

The entire theater fell silent. I nodded at my achievement, equally pleased and shocked at the outcome. As I put the microphone back in it's stand, I noticed two lads with obviously fake beards gawking at me from the front of the audience. Paul sent me a thumbs up as George was too stunned to do anything. 

When I spun around, both Molly and Linda were at a loss for words. They stared at me with their jaws hanging. Ellen was backstage pulling her hair out before it could turn gray.

"What?" I asked the two girls on stage with me, "They listened, didn't they?"

"Surprisingly," Molly grinned.

I smirked, "You underestimate me, Molly."

"I overestimate them," Molly replied, "Melly dear, you never cease to amaze me."

"Aw, get back to the show, you sap."

Molly chuckled and returned to the mic. As she introduced the next song, I glanced at Linda. She shot me a grateful smile. She looked relieved, but no less strung up.

The rest of the show went perfectly. The crowd began to sing and clap along. They began to chant our names, including Linda. Just as we had hoped, they were beginning to fall in love with her.

That was the thing about The Lovely Linda, you couldn't help but fall in love with her. Whether you were her friend, her fan, or someone she just passed on the street, it didn't matter. Everyone in the world fell in love with Linda at some point in time. She was such a caring person, and so beautiful, you couldn't help but fall in love just by looking at her. 

We exited the stage in a storm of giggles and smiles. Molly and I each stood on either side of Linda, holding one of her shoulders and laughing. Due to her height, my elbow was at my head when I was leaning it on her shoulder. Had Linda stopped wearing heels, maybe she wouldn't seem so tall to me. 

"You were bloody amazing, Linda!" Molly exclaimed.

I grinned, "That was the greatest fucking show ever!"

Ellen met us at the dressing room. She smiled warmly at Linda and Molly, but glared at me with stern eyes. I instantly felt small under her gaze, like a child facing their mother just after they did something they knew was wrong.

"Eleanor Amelia McCartney, what were you thinking?" Ellen asked.

I gulped, "I was thinking that the crowd was bloody insane and someone had to do something."

"That's why were have security."

"They weren't doing anything!" I exclaimed, "They only ones the fans would listen to was us. Had to get their attention somehow, didn't I?"

Molly gripped my elbow, "It all came out alright in the end, didn't it?"

"Except the fact that the headlines tomorrow will be less than glorifying," Ellen replied, "They will criticize you for being aggressive with the fans."

"I didn't touch the nutters," I argued.

"Verbal aggression, Amelia."

I sighed, "Doesn't matter. I'll get in front of every reporter in the world if I have to. I was defending a friend, simple as that. It worked, didn't it?"

"Whether it worked or not, it doesn't matter," Ellen sighed, "As your manager, I'm telling you that your actions were unacceptable and I expect you never to repeat them."

"Of course," I looked down.

Ellen glared at me for a moment before a tiny grin tugged at her lips, "As your friend, I say good job."

I met her eyes. They were softer now, more like the Ellen I knew. A large smile crossed my lips, "Thanks, Elly."

Ellen nodded. She left to do a bit of crowd control, leaving Molly, Linda, and I all alone. I wasted no time in rushing in to embrace Linda. Molly latched to her other side until Linda had two adults hanging off her hips like a couple of toddlers.

"What-?" she began.

I looked up at her and smiled, "It's tradition."

"Be lucky we didn't tackle you," Molly chuckled.

Linda gently placed her arms over our shoulders. I grinned brightly. That day was the first real day of the final lineup of Revolution. Some bands go through generation after generation, where they are never the same band ever again. Revolution went through the final change that day. What we had was exactly what Revolution was destined to be. So long as the three of us were around, so would Revolution. We were finally at the finish line.


	122. Times of Trouble

Death is an old friend of mine. We've crossed paths more times than I'd like, each time he tipped his hat and moved on, sparing me even when I wanted to follow. It seems as if everyone I ever love dies early on. My love was tainted, I'm sure of it, and it all began with the death of my mother.

I was lucky enough to have two mothers in my lifetime. My own Mum meant the world to me, and I miss her each and everyday. Mrs. Mackenzie was a woman with the largest heart I had ever seen. She opened her arms and her home to me and became the mother still walking. I was lucky enough to have two Mums, and cursed to lose them both.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, "I wanted Boardwalk."

Linda smirked, "Sorry, Amelia, first come first serve."

"Tosser."

Linda chuckled. Heather came up behind her and whispered something, to which Linda nodded. She handed Heather a bottle from the nearby table, which she gratefully drank from. She peered over her mother's shoulder as she drank. 

All of us were criss-cross on the floor of Molly and my flat. Our Monopoly board was open in front of us with cards haphazardly thrown around. We had only been playing for an hour and Linda was already wiping the floor with us. She had almost every property and half of the bank. Molly and I were hopeless.

"You're just like John," Molly chuckled, "A lucky bastard."

I grinned, "I'd like to see you beat him."

John was the reigning champion in all of our Monopoly games. Only once had I ever seen him beaten, and that was back in 1959 when Stuart was playing with us. Stuart, to this day, was the only person I had ever seen beat John Lennon in Monopoly.

When I was sent to jail, I seriously considered giving up. Linda had a winning smirk splayed across her face like some tattoo. I was saved from watching Molly go bankrupt by the phone ringing.

"I got it," I said, jumping to my feet.

Molly glanced up at me, "Could you get me a pop while you're up?"

"Anything for you, love," I winked, "You lazy bum."

"Look who's talking."

Both of us laughed as I headed into the front hall. Heather was just behind me, dragging a rag doll that was nearly half her size. The ringing got louder. If it was possible, the phone seemed to get more anxious. I quickly picked the phone off the receiver and leaned against the wall.

"McCartney-Mackenzie residence, McCartney speaking," I answered.

The connection crackled a bit, "Is this Amelia McCartney?"

"Yeah, the other McCartney lives elsewhere," I replied, "Who is this?"

"This is Alastair Beckett and I need to speak to my niece."

"Wait, who?" I asked.

As the connection became clearer, I heard someone sobbing in the background. A few people were talking, but their voices were unclear. My mind focused on the sobbing and my blood ran cold.

"I need to speak to my niece, Molly Mackenzie," Alastair replied, "It's about her Mother."

I nearly fell down right then and there. My nerves were getting the best of me, I didn't even realize my fingers were gripping onto the phone so hard, I nearly dented it. Heather sensed my anxiety and came up to hold my other hand. She looked up at me with worried eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Alastair hesitated. That hesitation nearly killed me inside. He didn't have to say what was wrong for me to know. The Mackenzie Family Curse was very real, and I already knew it had hit again. All I needed was confirmation, and that was the last thing I wanted.

"Blair was found dead in her bed this morning," Alastair said.

When shock hits you, you can act in a variety of ways. I clammed up. Everything shut down. My breathing hitched, my heart slowed, and my muscles turned to jelly. Sobs echoed in my heart, but nothing came out.

"Melly?" Heather asked in her squeaky voice.

I squatted down to pick her up. She held onto my neck, offering the greatest comfort she possibly could. I cleared my throat and said, "I-I'll tell her, if that's alright with you."

"Yes, that's fine. Tell her the funeral is the day after tomorrow," Alastair replied.

"Okay. Um, thank you, for the call."

"Goodbye."

He hung up. I placed the phone back on the receiver with shaky hands. All I wanted to do was sob. Mrs. Mackenzie was like a second mother to me, she was there when I needed her no matter what. She was my second mother, but she was Molly's only mother. When I wanted to cry, I kept it inside, for Molly.

It had been a little over a year since Mr. Mackenzie died. The wound was still fresh for all of us, Molly most of all. She had his picture on her nightstand and never went anywhere without it. It had followed us all through the tour and even on vacation. She was still devastated and this would only serve to make her worse.

"Melly?" Heather asked again.

I met her eyes and smiled a shaky smile, "I'm alright, kiddo. Let's-let's go get your Mum, yeah?"

Heather nodded. I put her down and followed her into the living room. Molly and Linda were still playing Monopoly, with Linda smiling at her near victory. Molly was grinning as well despite being frustrated at losing. In that moment, she was happy. All I wanted was to leave her to her happiness. I didn't want to come in with a hammer meant only to shatter every bit of joy she had left in her body, but I had no choice. Molly needed to know, and she needed to grieve. 

Heather ran up to Linda and whispered something in her ear. Linda looked up at me and furrowed her eyebrows. I bit my lip and shook my head. She didn't have to read my mind to know something terrible had happened. I moved forward and tapped Molly's shoulder, "Molly-um- I need to talk to you. Alone."

"Of course, Melly," Molly quickly stood.

She could read the emotions on my face, but was completely oblivious to what was about to happen. The last thing I wanted was to tell her. I couldn't stand seeing her break like she did when her Dad died. Yet, there was nobody better to tell her. Bad news is always a bit better when told by a loved one, at least then they're there to comfort you.

We left Linda and Heather in the living room, retreating to the room that had once been solely mine but was now shared with Molly. Since we got together, it was rare that Molly and I ever slept alone. More often than not, we could be found curled together in the same bed, usually mine.

I shut the door gently and turned to Molly. She stood at the end of the bed, her arms tightly wound around her. Panic flowed through her every nerve, making her eyes wide and her legs jittery.

"Amelia, what's wrong?" Molly asked.

I hesitated, looking down at the ground. She stared holes in me through the silence, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell her. It would completely break her, I might not be able to coax her out of the bed for months. There was no way I couldn't tell her. It was better to get it over and done with, just like ripping off a band aid.

"That was your Uncle Alastair on the phone," I met her eyes, "He said-he said- your Mum, she's gone."

All at once the world stopped. Molly stared at me for a moment, her eyelids vanishing inside of her head. I watched as the color slowly drained from her skin, leaving her pasty white with flushed cheeks. Her big, blue, beautiful eyes began to shine with tears. Slowly, they made rivers down her cheeks.

I rushed forward to catch her as her knees buckled. Her entire weight was in my arms. Everything that once held her up was now gone, she was left to crumple in a heap in my arms. Anguishing sobs began to rack her body. I held her tightly as she cried, moving us both towards the bed so I could hold her close.

I had heard my fair share of sobs. Never would I forget the agonizing cries my father produced when we heard Mum died. I never thought I could hear anything worse, until I heard Molly cry. Every ounce of despair she had went into those sobs. They shook her entire body. When she sobbed, the entire world sobbed right along with her. Just listening to her, I thought happiness was only a dream that I would never truly experience.

All I could do was hold her while she cried. She buried her face into my chest, collapsing herself into my lap like a baby trying to hide from the world. I wrapped my arms around her as tightly as they would go.

Tears fell from my eyes as well. My chest shook, but I didn't sob. I sat as a steady force for Molly. She could break all she needed to, I was there to put her back together.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "It's going to be alright."

Molly never stopped sobbing.

***

Mrs. Mackenzie was buried right next to her husband. In a dreary graveyard in Scotland that nobody knows exists, the Mackenzie parents lie in eternal rest. Their headstone is always taken care of, even to this day, by their remaining relatives. Their only grandchild often visits with her mother. She cleans the red granite and makes sure the chiseled black letters are readable.

This wasn't the first nor the last time I found myself standing over a grave in that tiny graveyard in Edinburgh, Scotland. Molly was kneeling on the grass right next to me, her hands buried in the newly packed dirt. Regina and Reginald were on the opposite side of her, clinging to each other. Regina spared one hand to grip onto Molly's blouse.

Most of the funeral attendees had long gone. Only us and their Uncle Alastair remained. When I first saw him, at Mr. Mackenzie's funeral, I couldn't believe he was Mrs. Mackenzie's brother. He looked closer to my age, not Mrs. Mackenzie's fifty-five. In reality, he was just over forty years old. He stood on the opposite side of the grave with a somber expression as we all stared down at the newly packed dirt.

It was hard to believe I would never see Mrs. Mackenzie again. I half-expected to walk through the door of her house in Liverpool to smell her infamous cinnamon biscuits and hear her joyful chatter. Never again would I hear her fretting over her children or talking about the latest recipe she read about. Mrs. Mackenzie was gone, and it felt like the world had lost all warmth.

"It's getting late," Alastair suddenly announced, "It's time to go back."

Regina shook her head, her long ginger hair flying out like a lion's mane, "N-no, I don't want to leave her."

Reginald tightened his grip on Regina and stared at Alastair, daring him to try anything. Alastair simply stared back. I crouched next to Molly, rubbing her back, "Mols, come on, you'll catch a cold."

She looked up at me and nodded. I helped her stand, making sure she was sturdy on her shaky legs. Regina slowly followed with Reginald close behind. While Regina was a mess, Reginald looked no different than he did on an average day. He still had the same cold eyes, the same clenched jaw, and the aura around him that felt like he was ready to pop at any moment. When he did pop, God help the poor souls around him. 

I kept a tight arm around Molly as we slowly made our way back to the car. With every step we took, we solidified the fact that Mrs. Mackenzie was gone once and for all. During the funeral, we could still see her body, but now we didn't even have that. All we had was a new mound of dirt and a shiny headstone bearing her name. She was gone.

When we made it to the car, Molly glanced up at me. While she couldn't speak, I could see exactly what she wanted just by looking in her eyes. I nodded slowly and opened the back door. She slid into sit next to Regina, who sat in the middle. Both girls latched to each other and began to shed silent tears. Reginald simply sat there, a hand on Regina's back and his eyes glued to the passing scenery. Occasionally, I would glance back at them as if checking to see that they were still there. 

Reginald and Regina were staying with Alastair at his house just a few miles away. Molly and I were at a hotel closer to the cemetery. When Alastair had offered his guest room to us, I politely declined. Molly needed comfort, and I was the one to give it to her. I couldn't do that very well with the threat of someone barging in at any moment.

I helped Molly up to the hotel room and gently laid her down on the bed. After tugging off her shoes and kicking off my own, I pulled the blanket over us both. She instantly curled into my side and buried her face in my chest, clenching my shirt in tight fists and shaking slightly.

"You can break, it's alright, I'm here to hold you together," I whispered, kissing her temple.

She gripped my shirt tighter and trembled, "Thank you."

"Always."

We laid in silence for a moment. I hummed slightly, rubbing the back of her hand and kissing her temples every so often. She leaned into the touch. Tears cascaded down her cheeks in elegant lines, making puddles on my shirt.

"Promise me," she whispered, her voice quieter than a kitten, "Promise me you'll never leave me."

I tilted her chin to make her eyes meet mine, "By golly, Miss Molly, I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"Promise," I kissed her forehead, "So long as there are stars in the sky, I'll be here. I'll always be here."

She squeezed my chest, "I love you."

"And I love you more than anything on this Earth."


	123. Here, There, and Everywhere

Molly and I decided to stay in Liverpool for a few days after the funeral. The family needed to grieve together, Molly needed her siblings. Even Alastair came back with us, staying in what was once Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie's room.

When Mr. Mackenzie died, Molly completely broke. It took months for her to be able to piece herself back together again, and that was with a little help from her friends. Now that both parents were gone, she was completely devastated. Every piece of her had shattered into a million different shards. I wasn't sure if she could ever be pieced back together again, but that wasn't going to stop me from trying.

Death changes people, especially the death of a parent. Molly would never be the same again, and that was alright. I would love her no matter what. She could change in a thousand ways over a thousand days, and I would still be standing next to her. I couldn't put her back together again, not even she could put her back together again, but that wouldn't stop me from loving her. She could be broken beyond repair and I'd still show up with duct tape and superglue.

All I could do for her was be there as a shoulder to cry on. The day after the funeral, the best thing I could do for her was to step away. I left The Mackenzie household completely to give the family time to grieve by themselves. A lover could comfort you, but only a family felt the same pain you did. Sometimes, that was the greatest comfort of all.

That night, I had plans to visit Dad, Angela, and Ruth. I hadn't seen them since the wedding and, surprisingly, I began to miss them. Before then, I had plans with someone else.

The Liverpudlian train station had become more familiar to me than my childhood home. I had spent many an afternoon running from car to train and train to car. Several times I spent sprinting through the platforms trying to catch my train. I could navigate that station blindfolded and deaf.

It was easy to find my brother, all I had to do was follow the fangirls. I was smart enough to put on a disguise that morning. It was impossible to go outside without one, unless you wanted to get mobbed and possibly killed. Usually, Paul wore one as well, but this was the one day he forgot.

"'Ello, yes, lovely to see you," I heard his voice through the shouts of the fangirls, "Please, I've got to meet my sister."

"Paul! I love you!" one girl shrieked.

Another nearly fainted, "Please, don't go!"

"Paul!"

"Paul!"

Paul managed to break through the crowd at a full sprint. I was three columns down the platform. When he broke out, he sprinted down the station with fangirls at his heels. I stopped mid-walk and my eyes widened. Paul saw right through my disguise and grabbed my hand as he sprinted past.

We ran all the way from the train station to a deserted park just a few blocks down. The girls had gotten lost among all of the twists and turns we took. It gave us just enough time to hide in the bushes and catch our breath.

"I bloody hate your fans," I muttered.

Paul chuckled, "At least they didn't throw shoes."

"This time."

Paul only shook his head. I dug in my rucksack and pulled out a spare hat and costume glasses. Paul gratefully took them and slapped them on his head, "How'd you know I wouldn't have a disguise?"

"Lucky guess," I replied.

I peered through the bushes to check for any signs of fans. The only thing left was a lost handkerchief stuck in the branch of a magnolia tree. For the time being, we were home free.

The two of us began to casually stroll through the park, heading towards the area of town more commonly known as Penny Lane. That's where we had grown up. We were going to have dinner with our family, and then I was going to head back to The Mackenzie residence.

"How's she doin'?" Paul asked.

I shrugged, "Good as she can be, I s'pose. She's talking."

"That's something," Paul sighed, "We didn't talk for a week."

"We were too busy crying."

Paul chuckled. Something was bothering him, I could see it in his demeanor. He wasn't as cheeky as he normally is. Somehow, I knew it had nothing to do with Mrs. Mackenzie.

"Alright, what's wrong?" I asked.

Paul glanced at me, "What do ya mean?"

"It's been ten minutes and you haven't made a joke," I replied, "Somethin's buggin' you."

"It's Jane," Paul groaned.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Trouble in paradise?"

"She's gettin' on my last nerve," Paul moaned, "She's my girlfriend, but I barely see her! She's off all the time on actin' jobs and the like. I asked her to come with me today and she had a bloody audition. Again!"

He flung up his hands in frustration. I lifted an eyebrow, "And this bothers you?"

"Of course it bothers me, Lia, she's my girl. She's supposed to be with me here, there, and everywhere, that's what girlfriends do, you know. Instead she's off all the time filming or acting or the like," Paul replied.

"That's her career."

Paul groaned, "I bloody well know it's her career, I'm not dumb! I just wish she wasn't off all the time. Cyn's always there for John, Mo's always there for Ringo, Pattie's always there for George, why can't Jane be there for me?"

"That would require giving up her dreams," I said, my voice flat.

"She ought to consider it," Paul pouted, "A girl is supposed to follow her man around everywhere. I want her to be with me all the time, I don't see why she can't-"

"Paul," I interrupted.

"What?"

"Shut up."

He crossed his arms tightly around his chest and frowned. His doe eyes were droopy and pouty, but I couldn't care less. What he was talking about was exactly what I stood against. To think that he could be just as misogynistic as the rest of the population, I had to frown in disappointment.

"Did you tell her that?" I asked.

He scoffed, "Course I did."

"You bloody git."

"What?" he glanced at me, "What the bloody hell-"

I pointed at him, "You, James Paul McCartney, are a daft sod."

"What?! Lia!"

"I bloody well mean it!" I replied, "Think about what you're saying. You want Jane to quit her career, to drop her dreams, just to follow you around the world."

Paul glared at me, "I don't see nothin' wrong with it."

"I should have known," I shook my head, "What if the roles were reversed, huh? What if Jane asked you to quit following your dreams just to follow her around the world and be with her 'here, there, and everywhere', like you say."

"I'd tell her off," Paul replied.

I snapped, "Exactly! That's how Jane feels."

"But, she's the girl, and-"

"Paul, listen to yourself!" I exclaimed, "You're no better than the blokes that hit me with eggs!"

Paul seemed genuinely taken aback by my insult, "What? I don't-"

"Of course you don't, you were taught differently," I crossed my arms and glared at him, "You're sayin' Jane needs to drop everything to follow you around simply because she's a woman. Does that not sound sexist to you?"

Paul furrowed his eyebrows. He thought about it for a moment, I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. I waited patiently to come to a conclusion.

"Shouldn't she want to do it?" Paul asked, "I mean, if she loves me, shouldn't she want to be with me?"

I sighed, "Course she wants to be with you, but she wants a career too. If you love her, you'll let her pursue her dreams, even if you don't like it."

Paul mulled this over. I was completely ready to give him a lesson on sexism, even expanding beyond this. I waited patiently, readying my next argument.

"Maybe you're right," Paul sighed, "Bit sexist of me, yeah?"

I snorted, "I'd say more than a bit."

"Sorry, Lia," Paul shook his head.

"It's not me you need to apologize to," I patted his shoulder, "Don't worry, Paulie, we'll get the sexist outta ya."

Paul chuckled, "Thanks."

I smiled at him. While I was still a bit angry at him for even considering what he said, I was glad he came to reason. I was scared I would have to lecture him more.

We walked the rest of the way to the house chatting about nothing in particular. Both of us danced around the subject of Mrs. Mackenzie, mostly because I didn't want to talk about her. I preferred to ignore the pain, instead being the smiling force in Molly's life for the time being.

When we made it to the house, Paul was the one to knock. The door flung open and we were greeted with a smile that had gotten me through most of my childhood.

"Paul, Amelia, welcome home," Dad smiled.

Paul smiled as well, "Is dinner ready? I'm starved."

"When are you not?" I asked.

"Oh, sod off."

All three of us laughed. I stepped inside the house I once called home and took a deep breath. As soon as the door shut, I felt like I was shielded from the pains of the outside world, if only for a little while.


	124. The One With The Flute Solo

The death of Mrs. Mackenzie had a bigger impact than the death of Mr. Mackenzie. Perhaps it was because of how close the two deaths were; the wound from Mr. Mackenzie still wasn't healed when we lost Mrs. Mackenzie. The wound barely had enough time to scar before being slashed deeper than ever before.

All of us were hit hard. Even the lads felt the grief, and Paul and John were the only two who ever met the man. The entire world seemed to mourn right along with the remaining members of The Mackenzie Family.

I couldn't imagine it. I lost my mother when I was fourteen, but I had my father with me well into my adult life. Regina and Reginald were barely nineteen and they were effectively orphans. The last I had seen of them, they locked themselves in their bedroom with the only inkling of their presence being Regina's occasional sob.

The twins were hurt, but nobody was as gutted as Molly. She would barely talk or even get out of bed. It took a lot of coaxing to finally convince her to eat. Often, she would vanish into her room and ignore the world. I was the only one who could get her to talk, and even that was rare.

It hurt to see Molly like this. I knew the best thing I could do for her was to be there, even if I was several steps away. So long as she knew I was there, she would be alright. I took a step back, despite my heart screaming at me not to, because I knew she needed it. As much as she needed the comfort from a love, she needed time to grieve. Her grieving had to be done on her own, despite how much I wanted to be there for her. This was her battle, not mine, all I could do was be there to support her while she worked her way through her grief.

That's why I sat in the hall, my back braced against the wall and my knees pulled to my chest, staring at the locked door of Molly's room. It was nearing evening, and she had been in there all day. No amount of coaxing could get her out. I had to keep telling myself, this was normal, she was working through it and she would come out of it eventually.

What I needed was a distraction, and that came in the form of a phone call. I took one last look at the door, sighed, and moved into the front hall. My socked shuffled against the carpet, creating static electricity that shocked me as soon as I touched the phone. I yelped slightly.

"McCartney-Mackenzie residence, McCartney speaking," I answered.

"Mel, you know how to play the flute, yeah?"

I didn't have to ask who it was, "Yeah, why?"

"Good, can you come down to the studio? We need your help," John answered, "Cause none of these gits know how to play."

I heard several shouts in the background, ending with John scoffing. Vaguely, I could hear Paul accuse him of being unable to play as well. I simply rolled my eyes, "I s'pose I could."

"Thanks, Mel, I knew you'd come through."

I could almost hear his wink. Despite everything, a small smile crossed my lips, "Bye, John."

"See ya."

We both hung up. I shook my head and shuffled into my bedroom. My flute case sat in my closet, gathering dust. The case had a few faded stickers on it, one from The Cavern Club and one from The Indra Club. Both stirred a sense of nostalgia in me, one that made a smile cross my lips. It had been awhile since we needed a flute on a song. There was a chance I would be a bit rusty, but it was nothing a small warm up couldn't fix. I grabbed the case and slung it over my shoulders before making my way to Molly's bedroom door.

"Mols?" I gently knocked, "John called, said he needed my help in the studio. Would you like to come?"

There was no answer. I waited a few more minutes before sighing, "Alright, if that's what you want. I'll be back in an hour or two."

Once again, she didn't answer. I felt my heart fall a little bit more. It felt like ages since I had heard her voice, even though it was just that morning. Part of me wondered if Molly would ever come back to me or if she would be permanently trapped in this depressive wasteland.

I wanted to save her. I wanted to ride in on a majestic horse as her knight in shining armor, but I couldn't. There are something's even the strongest love can't save. At this point, Molly was the only person who could save herself, the rest of us were just along for the ride. I was the supporting character, not the hero, I just had to accept that.

When I stepped into the studio, I was greeted with Brian Epstein. He sat on one of the couches with his legs crossed delicately and a magazine open in his lap. His eyes were bloodshot, whether from exhaustion or an overdose of caffeine, I still don't know. When he saw me, he smiled, "Amelia, thank you for coming."

"Always ready to help out my mates," I replied.

Brian closed the magazine and stood, moving to place a comforting hand on my shoulder, "How are you doing?"

"Alright, I s'pose," I shrugged, "Molly won't come out of her room. To tell you the truth, I'm worried about her."

"This is all a part of the grieving process. She'll come back around, eventually, just give her time," Brian squeezed my shoulder.

"That's what I keep telling myself."

One of the hardest things was sitting back and waiting while your loved one went through hell. I knew I couldn't help her, but that didn't stop me from wanting to. Love is wanting to keep the other person safe, to rescue them from all of their troubles. Beyond that, love is knowing when to take a step away.

Brian gave my shoulder one last squeeze before turning to lead me into the studio. I followed, repositioning my flute case on my shoulder. It bounced against my back as we walked down the stairs.

"You got here quick," Ringo commented.

I shrugged, "We don't live far, you know."

Ringo grinned. He still lived in the same building as Molly and me. I had just seen Maureen getting the mail that morning. She seemed to be inflating more with each time I saw her.

"Thanks for coming, Lia," Paul said as I set my flute case down on the ground.

He pulled me into a tight embrace. It was tighter than usual, as if he were trying to protect me from something. I practically melted into it.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

I squeezed his middle, "I'm fine, it's Molly I'm worried about."

"She'll come out of it," he muttered, "You're exactly where you need to be."

I didn't know how to reply, I simply hugged him tighter. The rest of the lads were all watching us, but they didn't say a word. At the time, all I needed was a comforting hug from my big brother.

"Alright, well, I brought my flute," I announced as soon as we pulled apart, "What'd do you need me for?"

John shoved a paper into my hand, "This song for the new album. It's got a flute solo, and none of these gits know how to play."

"Ey, neither do you, John," George retorted.

"And it was your idea," Paul said, "Perhaps you should have thought ahead."

John crossed his arms, "Of course I thought ahead. I knew Mel could play the flute and I planned for this."

"Sure you did, that's why you called me at the last minute," I replied.

John glared at me. I shot him a smirk before looking down at the paper. Over the years, I had learned to read John's handwriting. It was a sloppy mess but mine wasn't much better. I had perfected my ability to read a handwritten John Lennon song during our time in Hamburg.

The song they wanted me to play on was completely acoustic. It would have Ringo on the tambourine and John and George on acoustic guitars. Paul would still have his bass, but, otherwise, this was completely different from an average Beatles song. It didn't even have the up-tempo beat of a usual Beatles hit. This one seemed like a relative of John's If I Fell. 

None of us noticed as Brian left to talk to George Martin in the sound booth. I looked over the song, muttered the words under my breath, and said, "This is a bloody good song."

"Thanks," John beamed, "Wrote it in an hour."

"With my help," Paul mumbled.

John chuckled, "Course, Macca."

The two smiled at each other. I removed my flute from the case and sat down on the floor. A mic was lowered to the ground, right at the level of my mouth. George was right behind me, sitting on his chair, and leaning over his guitar. He read the paper over my shoulder and strummed a few notes.

"I want it to go something like this," John said.

He began to hum a tune. I listened intently, committing every note to memory. When he was finished, I thought it over in my mind, before bringing the flute up to my lips and blowing. When I finished, I was a bit out of breath. Having not played for so long, my lungs weren't used to the pressure needed to use a flute. 

"Brilliant!" John exclaimed, "That's exactly it!"

George squeezed my shoulder. I smiled up at him as John and Paul went to grab their guitars. When recording, everybody played all at once. There was later editing, sometimes, but we strived to get everything we needed into one take. It was much easier that way. 

"Ready?" Paul asked the group.

Ringo shook his tambourine and grinned. Both George and I simply smiled as John held up his guitar. Paul nodded and started us off, "Three, two, one."

"Here I stand, head in hand, turn my face to the wall," John sang, "If she's gone, I can't go on, feeling two foot small."

I tapped my foot to the beat, humming slightly in an effort to keep up. My part didn't come until the end. Just after John finished the last verse, I began.

"Hey! You've got to hide your love away," John completed.

I brought the flute up to my mouth and began to blow. The flute was the only sound heard throughout the entire studio. George swayed along with the beat as Ringo nodded gently. Paul acted like he was conducting me, which John quickly joined. I simply rolled my eyes and finished the song.

"Splendid," George Martin's voice came over the intercom, "Good take, but, Ringo, you were a tad offbeat. And, George, slow down. You'll have to do it again."

The lads all glanced at each other and rolled their eyes. John chuckled, "Alright, Martin. Whatever the captain says."

I could hear George Martin shake his head. As the lads began to prepare themselves, I looked over the song. The lyrics were beautiful. Usually, when John wrote, he wrote from the heart. Whatever he put on paper was something he had truly felt, something he had experienced first hand, which was why his songs invoked so many emotions. Sometimes, he wrote about emotions he didn't even know he felt, emotions you wouldn't expect a confident man like John to feel. 

"Is this about Cyn?" I asked.

John blinked for a moment, surprised at my question. As I said, he writes from experience, and the only experience I've ever heard of him having to 'hide his love away' was when he and Cynthia first got married. Brian said it was unfitting for a Beatle to be married, so Cynthia had to be kept a secret. The secret had been out for years, had he wanted to write a song about her, he would have already done it.

"What?" John asked.

"Is this about Cynthia?" I repeated, "You write what you know, and you're the one who flaunts their love. Except for when you first got married. It's got to be about Cyn."

John blinked rapidly. He glanced up at the control booth and shook his head, "It's about Eppy."

"Wait, what?"

"He's got to hide his love away," George muttered.

Paul nodded, "Just like you."

"So, you wrote a song about him?" I asked.

John nodded. My heart broke right then and there. The song was a depressing love ballad, it perfectly described what Brian was going through. Both of us knew the pain of having to hide our love, John just put it into words. As I stared at my friend, I felt unshed tears gather in my eyes.

"Aw, don't go cryin' on us now," John grinned, "We've still got another take."

I wiped my eyes. There was so much I wanted to tell him, but no words to say it with. All I could do was nod and grip onto my flute. George moved to the floor to sit next to me, cocking his head as if asking if I was alright. I nodded.

John had put it into words. Not only words, but a whole song. He had perfectly described what Brian, me, Molly, and everyone like us were going through. Everyone who listened to the song felt the pain of loving someone you can't and having to hide it. Perhaps, by feeling what we were going through, they might open their hearts and finally allow us to love. 

The second take was the best one yet. It was perfection, as George Martin said. We had done it again.

"How about a drink?" John asked, "I could go for some whiskey right about now."

Paul rolled his eyes, "Ole Johnny, always ready to get sloshed."

"Right you are, Macca."

"I could go for a drink," Ringo set his sticks on the stool.

George shrugged, "I'm in."

Paul glanced at me and smiled, "Lia?"

"I would really like to get drunk right now," I closed my flute case, "Go on, then."

John cheered as Paul shook his head. We all headed out of the studio and towards the nearest bar. All I wanted was to get as drunk as possible to forget everything that was happening for just a moment. I wanted to forget my troubles, my tears, my fears, and the death that would inevitably find us all. The only way to do that was to get blackout drunk, and I was more than happy to take action.


	125. Don't Make It Bad

"Linda," I called, "How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?"

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "I don't think octopi can laugh."

"That doesn't matter, just answer the question."

"Um, eight?"

"Tentacles," I replied, "Get it? Ten tickles?"

Linda simply stared at me. I glanced at Molly, who was sitting on the beanbag next to Linda, her eyes on her guitar strings. She made no notion that she even heard me. All of my lame jokes were an unsuccessful attempt to make her smile, even if only slightly. Every time, the only ones who heard me were Linda, Heather, and Mitch. Each joke made the three adults roll their eyes, but Heather was laughing so hard she was crying. She was audience enough, but she wasn't the audience I had intended. The one who I kept trying to make laugh was hidden behind a blonde curtain of hair. 

"Please, Amelia, I think that's enough jokes for the day," Mitch sighed.

I glanced at Molly one last time before sighing deeply. She had yet to look at me that day. The night before, she locked herself in her room and wouldn't come out. It was the first night in a long time where I had slept alone.

Molly seemed to be getting worse, not better. I knew I needed to step back and stop being a 'helicopter parent' but I couldn't help it. Each day, she began to worry me more and more. I was terrified to leave her alone because I wasn't sure what I would come back to. The Mackenzie Family was cursed, and I was terrified of who might be taken next. 

"Let's continue, shall we?" Mitch asked, "From I Don't Know."

Linda was great on stage, but her true virtuoso came out in the studio. She was less nervous when it was only the five of us. Her way of playing fit perfectly with us and the way we recorded. She never missed a beat, and always played with a smile. That was what made a song good. No line of notes could compare to playing a song with all the joy in the world behind you. 

The fourth album of Revolution would be the first, in a sense. It was the first run of the new group. Molly, Janice, and I had already written the songs prior to Linda joining, and we decided to continue with what we had. Only one did Linda have any input on, and that was one I had left half finished.

"I don't know where I'm going, but I know I'm going far," Molly sang.

Her voice was different. It was quieter, more downcast. She had gone down a few octaves in her normal talk, and her singing voice could be mistaken with an older woman. To me, it was no less beautiful, it just wasn't Molly. My heart yearned to hear her bubbly voice ring out through the studio once again. Not too long ago, I had hope she would recover, but I slowly began to doubt that as each day passed. I knew I couldn't lose hope. If I lost hope, then Molly was doomed. She had already lost all her hope as soon as the phone rang that fateful day, and it was up to me to have the faith she couldn't have. 

When the song was over, Molly froze. She didn't drop her guitar, she didn't move the mic, she didn't do anything. Her fingers were still locked around the pick and her elbow still propped it on her knee. Linda and I both watched her, both of us worrying in our own ways.

"That was wonderful, girls, the best take yet," Mitch announced, her voice echoing through the room.

I glanced over at the oneway glass and grinned, "Feels good to be back in the studio."

"Enjoy it while it lasts, you'll be touring again soon enough," Mitch replied.

She came out from the production room and leaned in the doorway. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head, "Christ, I'm having war flashbacks."

"I don't know, it sounds like fun," Linda smiled, "Traveling the world in a rock and roll band, what could be better?"

"Staying at home with a cup of tea. It's more trouble than it's worth, Linds, trust me," I shook my head.

Linda furrowed her eyebrows. I raised my fingers and began to count off, "Nutty fans, hectic schedules, pushy people, not to mention the occasional shoe thrown at you. Or underwear, it really depends."

"Surely it's not that bad," Linda muttered.

"Ah, you'll see soon enough, mate," I waggled my finger at her.

Linda shook her head slightly. I remembered when I was that naïve, back when I thought being at the toppermost of the poppermost was synonymous with Heaven itself. Now I knew better. If anything, it was hell. With people ogling at us like a bunch of zoo animals and screaming so loudly the dead could hear them, it was nowhere near Heaven. Not to mention the guards who treated us more like objects than humans and the constant claustrophobia despite always moving. Touring was the bane of my existence, and yet, I never truly stopped.

"I heard Ellen talk of a tour after the new album release," Mitch smiled.

I gagged, "Christ, I'm gonna be sick."

"You'll be touring for two albums," Mitch explained, "And a movie."

"We just got home, bloody hell!"

Mitch shook her head, "The price of fame, Amelia."

I crossed my arms and sulked. My eyes fell on Molly. She had yet to move, but she heard every single word we said. Tears were falling down her cheeks as she stared, unblinking, at the shag rug beneath her. Her fingers were clenched around the guitar so tightly, I was scared she might break it.

Without hesitation, I stood from my stool and moved to kneel next to her. I tried to unwrap her fingers from her guitar, but she was stronger than I had anticipated. She never looked at me. When her fingers finally popped off of the guitar neck, I wrapped her hands in mine.

"By golly, Miss Molly, it's gonna be alright," I smiled.

She looked away. I felt a tiny piece of myself shatter as she jerked her hands from mine. She stood rapidly. Without sparing a glance at Linda or me, she sped to the door, only stopping when she stood just out of arm's length from Mitch.

"Can I go home?" she mumbled.

Mitch smiled sympathetically, "If you wish. We've gotten enough done for today."

"Thank you."

Molly sped off. All of us watched her go with forlorn expressions, mine the most broken of all. Every time she ran, every time she locked the door, another piece of me died inside. Everybody kept telling me to give it time, Molly would get better, but I couldn't believe it. It had been a fortnight, and she had only been getting worse.

"She'll be alright, Amelia," Mitch said, "Just give her-"

"Time? I've given her nothing but time, it's not working," I crossed my arms.

Linda shook her head, "It's only been two weeks, she needs more."

"How much more?" I asked, "I miss her, Linda, I miss her everyday and she's right in front of me."

I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in them. A soft hand rested on my shoulder. I glanced up to see Mitch's kind eyes looking into mine, "Molly cares about you more than you would think, and that is enough to keep her coming back. Trust me, you won't lose her, she'll come back."

"I know," I muttered, "But, I'm worried."

"If you weren't, I'd say you aren't human."

Heather, who I had forgotten was playing in the mound of pillows, came trotting over to sit herself in my lap. She clapped her hands on my cheeks and smiled a toothy grin, "It's okay. We'll make Missus Molly happy again!"

"And how do you propose we do that?" I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

"We'll get her a pony!" Heather exclaimed, "No, a unicorn!"

I chuckled, "She'll have to cheer up then."

"And we'll name it Poppy!"

"I love it already."

The little girl giggled. I pulled her into an embrace, smiling the entire time. Something about her childlike innocence appealed to me. If she could believe Molly would get better, so could I. So long as Heather had hope, things didn't seem so bad.

Linda and I didn't stay much longer. We bid each other farewell outside of the studio, each of us heading towards our respective homes. I walked all the way to the flat.

When I got there, I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and jiggled. It didn't budge. Two more jiggles proved fruitless. I sighed loudly, "I forgot my bloody key."

I almost never carried a key. I was notorious for losing every key I've ever had in my life. Luckily, Molly had prepared for that and hid a spare key behind the loose trimming around the door. I pulled it forward only to find the key missing.

At first, I began to panic that a crazy fan had found it and was already inside. That panic quickly died when I realized nobody would ever think to look behind the loose trimming. You couldn't even tell it was loose unless you pulled on it. That left only one logical explanation.

"She locked me out," I whispered, dumbfounded.

I stared at the door. It seemed to mock me like some high school bully. Molly had actually locked me out. I was the only one there to comfort her, and she locked me out. I couldn't believe it, she wouldn't lock me out, but there it was, clear as day. The door wouldn't open, the key was gone, and Molly was inside.

"I can't bloody believe this," I hissed, "She fucking locked me out!"

I kicked the welcome mat and grumbled a few more obscenities. She was just grieving and she wanted to be alone, this was nothing against me. I kept telling myself that, but I couldn't help being angry. She had locked me out of my own bloody house! Grieving or not, it was a bad move.

Since I was locked out of my house without any clothes or anything, I was left with one option. I stomped back to the lift and went up three floors, all the while grumbling under my breath. Molly wasn't the only one who needed some time away.

"Mel?" Ringo answered the door.

"She locked me out," I stated, "Can I stay here tonight?"

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "Of course. Did you two get into an argument?"

"Not yet."


	126. Take A Sad Song

Ringo and Maureen spent a few hours trying to calm me down, but it was all in vein. As soon as I came face-to-face with that locked door, a fire was lit inside of me and had spent all night gathering fuel. By the time the sun rose, I was ready to punch through the wall.

Maureen kept insisting that Molly was just grieving. Anger was the second step of the grief process. As soon as she made it past this stage, everything would be better. For now, she had to get her pain out and the only way to do that was to project it onto the nearest person, being me.

I tried to understand. For four hours after Ringo and Maureen went to sleep, I paced back and forth through the living room trying to understand. I did everything I could to come to terms with waiting for Molly to get through this, but I couldn't. All I could think was how I was the only person who still stood beside her and she shut me out.

Everyone had left. Her parents were dead, her siblings refused to come stay with her, and even her Uncle went back home. I was all she had left. Despite everything she did, I still stood by her and I still loved her. I did everything I could for her, and she locked me out of my own flat. As hard as I tried to understand, my anger took control and I found myself stomping back up to the place I called home the next morning.

"Keep your temper in control," Maureen had warned me, "As soon as you start shouting, so will she, and things will never get better."

I curled my fists, "I am the model of calmness."

To my surprise, the door was unlocked. I expected to have to pick the lock, but it swung open whenever I twisted the knob. I calmly walked in, doing my best to hide my anger behind a mask.

Molly sat in the living room. She was still in her pajamas with a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of tea in her hands. When I walked in, she didn't even look at me. Her eyes were glued to the empty fireplace watching imaginary flames lick at the invisible logs.

"Molly," I spat.

I stopped at the edge of the couch and placed my fists on my hips. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to start yelling at her right off the bat. So many shouts begged to be released, but I held my tongue.

She looked up at me with sad eyes, "Hi."

"Care to explain why you locked me out last night?" I asked, "And took the extra key?"

"I needed some alone time."

"You-" I paused, "Alone time? Really?"

She glanced at me. My skin was beginning to feel like it was burning. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to fight. I wanted to scream, shout, and storm out all at the same time. Most of all, I wanted her to feel my anger. I wanted her to know that I was ablaze with fury. Instead, I kept my voice level. Fury hidden behind calm was often more heart breaking than screaming. 

"Yes, alone time," Molly replied.

Maureen's words echoed in my head, but I completely ignored them. I flung my arms up in the air and shouted, "So you lock me out of the bloody house?!"

"Well, it's not like you would have listened if I told you!" Molly exclaimed, "Even if I locked myself in my room, you'd sit at my door and wait."

"That's no reason to lock me out of the flat, Molly! I'm just trying to help you," I snapped.

Molly jumped up, "You're suffocating me, Amelia!"

"I am not!"

"You are too!" she exclaimed, "You're always there, always. Everywhere I turn, there you are asking me if I'm alright. Well, guess what, I'm not alright! I am so far from alright!"

"You don't think I know that? I just want to help you!"

Molly stamped her foot. Her face had gone red and her lips were pursed together. Had there not been a coffee table standing between us, she may have hit me. Both of us were at the end of our ropes and clammering for more.

"I am not a baby!" Molly shouted, "I don't need to be coddled! I don't need to be cuddled and cooed at and told every second of everyday that it's going to be alright. I'm a fucking adult!"

"Then, act like one! Pick yourself up and stop treating those around you like shit," I shouted back.

Molly sneered, "I wouldn't treat you all like shit if you stopped treating me like some zoo animal. 'Oh, let's all come and gape at the poor girl who lost her bloody mother'!"

"I've never done that," I argued.

"No! You're too busy smothering me and acting like I'm some bloody vegetable!" Molly exclaimed, "I can take care of myself."

She stared me directly in the eye. Her face was filled with fury, veins popped out on her neck and her temples throbbed. Her ears had turned the color of raspberries as she gritted her teeth so hard, she shaved off a layer. As I stared into her eyes, looking at the forest of blood vessels, I felt my own anger grow even bigger.

I crossed my arms, "If you don't want me here, fine, I'll leave, but don't come crying to me when you're all alone without any shoulder to cry on!"

"Trust me, I won't!" Molly exclaimed, "I don't need you! I never need you!"

My heart fell to my feet, shattering into a million irreparable pieces. Had I not been so angry, I might have fallen on my knees and sobbed. My worst nightmares came true in a single second.

"Then, why are you with me? If you don't need me, why do you love me?" I asked.

Molly's voice went cold, "Maybe I don't."

"You don't mean that."

"I do," Molly replied.

For a moment, we stared at each other. The anger of the moment overpowered the heartbreak of a lifetime. I stared at her, the one person in the entire world who I ever loved, and I felt my heart break even further. Deep in my chest, a sob begged to be released, but I kept it locked inside. The two of us stared at each other, caught in the anger of a moment, the grief of a loss, and everything shattered.

"Fine," I spat, "If that's how you want it, so be it. All I have ever done was be there for you and, if that's not enough, I don't know what is."

Molly glared at me, "Get out."

"With pleasure."

I stomped into my room and threw a few articles of clothing into my rucksack. Molly was still standing in the living room with her arms crossed when I walked out. I went to the front door and sent her one last broken-hearted glare, "Goodbye, Molly, I hope you're happy with yourself."

Molly didn't reply. I slammed the door shut and stomped through the hall, doing my best to hold down the tears threatening to fall. I hit the button to the lift with so much force, the plastic nearly cracked beneath my fingertip.

Originally, I had planned to go and stay with Ringo some more, but that was too close. He was only a few floors away from Molly. I wanted to be as far away as I possibly could. There was one person who I knew would accept me no matter what.

That's why I found myself walking down the empty London streets in the morning hours when most people would be at work. Buses passed and a few pedestrians stopped to look at me. Not a single person stopped me, which was good for their sake as well as my own. Every bit of focus I had left went into keeping myself from breaking down.

When I arrived at Paul's flat, I knocked. For ten minutes, there was no answer, leaving me to believe he wasn't in. All of my adrenaline had washed away, along with the anger, leaving me with my heart in my shoes and tears on my face.

I slid down to the ground, bracing my back on the door and burying my face in my knees. Sobs began to shake my body despite every effort not to. My pants became saturated with tears as I sat in that empty hallway and released all the anger I held.

I love a lot of people, it's almost impossible to count them all. I love my family, my friends, but, above all, I love Molly. No matter what, I would love Paul, Dad, and Michael. To my dying day I would love John, George, Ringo, Janice, and the rest of my friends. I loved them with all of my heart, but that was different. The love for a friend is something completely opposite than the love for a lover. While my friends and family made my world go round, Molly was the core. She was the anything in my everything, the truth in my lies, and the light in my dark. I loved her and losing her was the worst nightmare of all.

A life without Molly didn't seem possible. I would still play my music and I would still write my songs. I would still laugh with Ringo, dance with Paul, play with John, and smile with George. Things would continue, the world will still turn, but it wouldn't be the same. My life would continue to go as it normally would, but there would always be that blank space. As I'm playing the drums, there would be an empty spot just a few feet from me where Molly was supposed to be. No matter what I did, no matter where I went, that empty spot would always follow me. After all, you can't run from something inside of you.

I felt like the world had ended, but I knew it didn't. I grew up on the idea that love didn't exist, and that it wasn't everything. While every one of my friends had girlfriends or boyfriends, I settled on the idea that I would never have love. When I found Molly, everything had changed, but then I lost her. While love does not make your life, it sure makes it a hell of a lot sweeter.

The lift dinged and two laughing voices echoed through the halls. My sobs had fallen silent, leaving me to hide beneath my curtain of hair and leak a few silent tears down my cheeks. The laughing voices made their way down the halls until they abruptly stopped just a few meters from where I sat.

"Lia?" Paul's concerned voice rang out.

I heard him fall to his knees before his gentle hands grabbed my shoulders. He made me look up at him. Whenever he saw my bright red face and tear stained cheeks, he knew something terrible had happened. I lunged forward to bury my face in his chest. He held me tightly as I curled in on myself, doing my best to fade of of existence and memory.

"She told me she didn't love me," I mumbled, "She told me to get out and she said she didn't need me anymore."

Paul tightened his embrace, "Oh, Lia."

"Molly doesn't love me anymore."

Jane came up behind Paul, crouching down to place her hand on my back. I could feel her concerned eyes glancing between me and my brother. All I wanted was to stop the pain. I wanted to leave the world, but I didn't want to die. I wanted to stop existing until all the pain passed.

"Let's get inside," Jane whispered.

Paul nodded, his chin tapping the top of my head. He stood slowly, pulling me along with him. The entire time he kept his arms around my shoulders to keep me from landing flat on my face. We made it into the flat and Jane shut the door, effectively blocking out the world but not blocking out the pain it created.


	127. And Make It Better

"Anger is like a drug, it makes people do crazy things they'll regret whenever they're sober," Jane smiled at me, "She'll come around, just give her time."

Jane and Paul had both purposefully avoided saying Molly's name. They had watched me spend most of the night before going through waves of intense anger and crippling depression. It was like I was a Newton's Cradle, one marble swung out into one emotion and came slamming the others into the next one.

They had stayed up with me most of the night, only going to sleep when they thought I had fallen asleep. Paul gently laid me in the guest room and left me. They thought I slept, but I never did. I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling thinking the world would end. The sun finally rose to tell me it wouldn't, not yet, at least.

I wasn't angry anymore, nor was I sad. I was simply, there. Nothing more nothing less. I didn't feel I existed. After a night of emotions so intense they could kill a man, I was left with nothing but numbness. Perhaps my emotions did kill me on the inside, I don't know.

Jane handed me a warm cup of tea and sat on the couch next to me. I held the green mug in my hands, staring at the brown liquid without ever making an actual effort to drink. All of my motivation was gone. I was left as a cardboard husk of myself.

"Thanks, Jane," I sighed.

Jane reached over and squeezed my shoulder, "Of course, you're always welcome here."

I sent her a small smile. She smiled back, her hope rising at the sight of my smile. It quickly vanished when I turned back to stare at my tea.

All I could think of was Molly's voice. Her words rattled through my mind all night long. It's like she kept telling me over and over again that she didn't love me anymore. Sometimes it would escalate and I could hear her telling me she never loved me in the first place and there was no chance she would ever love me again. I kept telling myself it wasn't real, but, it was tough to ignore the voices screaming in your head. 

"The pain will go away soon, Amelia, I promise," Jane did her best to comfort me, "The wound is still fresh but, eventually, it will heal."

I shrugged, "I'm not hurting anymore, I don't think. I'm just, I dunno, existing, I guess."

"Numbness is one step closer to healing," Jane said, though I don't think she believed herself.

The bedroom door opened and Jane and I looked up to see Paul step out. He had changed from his pajamas into a button up shirt and black slacks. He and Jane connected eyes for a moment. I watched as they stared at each other, ending with Paul nodding slightly. Jane stood and smiled before heading towards the kitchen.

"Get dressed, Lia, Ringo'll be here in a few minutes," Paul glanced at his watch.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"We're going to the studio," Paul replied, "You are in the desperate need of a distraction."

"I'm in the desperate need for some sleep, more like it."

"You don't have an option here. Now, get dressed before I drag you out of here in your jammies."

Paul stared me down, smirking ever so slightly. Ultimately, I sighed, abandoning my tea on the coffee table and shuffling off to the guest room. My rucksack was sitting untouched in the corner of the room. Pieces of clothes and a few stray papers stuck out, signs of my rushed packing.

The watch Molly had gotten me hung out of the cup holder in the side. I stared at it for a moment, tears welling up into my eyes. Before it could cause anymore pain, I shoved it into the back of the closet, hopefully to be forgotten with time. 

Once I was changed into a sweater and a pair of jeans, I met Paul back in the living room. He flung an arm across my shoulders and smiled. He didn't say anything, but nothing needed to be said. I simply hugged my middle and rested my forehead on his chest.

He left me alone when the doorbell rang. I was slow to follow. Whenever I did, I saw him smiling at Ringo. Sometimes it struck me of how short Ringo really was, he had to crane his neck to look up at Paul, just like I did.

"Mornin' Mel," Ringo waved at me.

I weakly waved back. Paul flung his arm around my shoulders once again and grinned, "Lia's gonna join us today."

"The more the merrier," Ringo replied, "Ready to go?"

Paul nodded. He vanished into the kitchen to kiss Jane goodbye, leaving Ringo and I alone in the hall. I glanced up at him and sighed, "She kicked me out again."

"Paul told me," Ringo smiled at me sadly, "I'm sorry, Mel."

"Don't be, you had nothin' to do with it."

Ringo shrugged, "I saw her this morning. She looked a state, she did. Took one look at me and ran away."

"Typical," I wrinkled my nose, "The bloody wanker."

Ringo simply shook his head. Paul appeared a few moments later and we were ready to go. Ringo had driven over, something which I didn't know he could do. I didn't know he even had a car. We were always being driven around and shuffled about, it had never occurred to me that most of us could actually drive. As it is, John and I were the only two without a license.

I sulked in the back as Ringo drove. He and Paul whispered to each other, but I couldn't care less. I simply kept my arms crossed across my body and my head down. All I wanted to do was vanish from existence, at least until the pain stopped.

As we walked into the studio, Ringo kept a comforting hand on my shoulder. Paul was close by as well. They didn't seem to trust me alone, but I couldn't blame them. I didn't even trust me.

George and John were already at the studio when we arrived. They were talking to George Martin but changed direction whenever Paul opened the door. They both glanced up at sent me sympathetic looks, which I ignored. I didn't need sympathy, I needed a distraction.

"I didn't know we were having a visitor today," George Martin stated.

Paul smiled sheepishly, "Sorry, George, should've said somethin'. Lia here is nursing a broken heart and needed a bit of a distraction."

"I suppose that's alright," George Martin smiled at me, "Welcome back, Amelia."

I simply nodded. John stood and came around to throw an arm across my shoulders. I buckled slightly under his sudden added weight, but we both managed to stay upright. His hand squeezed my shoulder as he smiled, "Nursing a broken heart, are ya?"

"She and you-know-who had a bit of a falling out," Paul commented.

George lifted an eyebrow, "Molly?"

I sneered at her name. Anger covered up my pain, but not very well. I could feel tears threatening to break as I remembered that night. Every time I heard her shout at me, imaginary or not, I felt a bit more broken inside. Soon, there wouldn't be enough of me left to break.

"George," Paul whisper-shouted, jerking his head to me.

George saw my unshed tears and cringed, "Sorry, Mel."

"It's alright," I muttered, "You didn't know."

"Ah, don't worry, Melly girl," John squeezed my shoulders, "The heartbreak of a breakup passes quickly, trust me. You've just gotta keep your chin up."

He tried to push my chin up, but I jerked it away. He smirked slightly as I shrugged his arm off, "How would you know? You married your teenage sweetheart."

"I had countless birds before then. Trust me, Mel, it'll get better," John grinned.

Paul nodded, "It's getting better all the time, you know."

"That's what they say," I slumped down on the piano bench, "I have a hard time believing it."

Paul and George both exchanged glances. Ringo had gone behind his drums, ready to play, and still sending me worried looks. They were all worried about me. It seemed as if the whole world was too busy worrying about me to actually help me get past this. Worrying wouldn't help matters, what helped was doing something about it.

"What you need is a bit of music," George smiled, "Music heals all wounds, they say."

John cocked his head, "Who says that?"

"George, apparently," Paul replied.

The four of them chuckled. They glanced at me as if expecting me to laugh as well, but I simply stared at the floor. I ignored their pitiful looks as they moved to their instruments.

John and Paul were sharing a mic with George standing not too far away. They were all so close, it was a wonder they didn't overlap each other and mess up the recording. Ringo had his little corner surrounded by plywood, just like the corner I had back at Aubergine Studios.

"It's only love, and that is all, so why do I feel the way I do," John sang.

Watching them play live and in the studio were two completely different things. When they played live, they played for the fans. They did everything and anything they could to please their audience. In the studio, they played for themselves. They were happier there than anywhere else. I had never seen them have as much fun playing than they did in the studio.

Once the song was finished, George moved over to talk to Ringo. John wrote down a few things as Paul furrowed his eyebrows. I could sense an argument before it actually began. Paul sighed deeply and shook his head, "I think the tempo needs to be slower."

"We've talked about this, Macca, it's fine as it is," John replied.

"It's not, it doesn't sound right."

John glanced over his shoulder, "I think it's fine."

"I disagree."

John's eyes turned cold. Paul glared at him, his arms crossed over his chest and his chin set in determination. From the corner of my eye, I could see George and Ringo step back, not wanting to take part in one of the famous Lennon-McCartney arguments.

"I wrote the bloody thing and I say it's fine," John spat.

Paul scoffed, "You wrote it? The last I checked I was the McCartney in Lennon-McCartney."

"Exactly, it's Lennon-McCartney," John replied, "So shut up."

"Shut up?! John, you git, listen to me!"

"The tempo is fucking fine, Paul!"

"It's too bloody fast!"

"No, it's not!"

George shook his head as the two butted heads. Ringo kept glancing at me, wary to how I would react in my present state. Instead of breaking down in tears or running out of the room like everyone expected, I clenched my jaw and stood. George and Ringo watched me as I stomped up to my brother and his best mate.

"Hey!" I shouted, "Shut up, the both of you!"

Both men turned to look at me. Paul sneered, "Stay out of this, Lia."

"No," I replied.

"We weren't talking to you, were we?" John asked.

"Doesn't matter if you were or weren't, I'm here," I replied, "You two are fighting for no bloody reason. It's Lennon-McCartney, that doesn't mean Lennon or McCartney, it's Lennon and McCartney you fucking twits. You're a team, start acting like one."

I crossed my arms and glared at both of them, daring them to say something else. John opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Paul looked at the ground sheepishly. Neither boy apologized, yet. I felt George come up behind me, "Mel's right, you two need to stop fighting so we can actually get the song done."

"We can come to an agreement," Ringo piped up.

Paul and John glanced at each other. Paul crossed his arms and sighed, "I s'pose so. The tempo's fine as is."

"Good," John replied.

I glared at both of them, "You're not done yet."

They gazed at me before glancing at each other. Paul smiled slightly, "I'm sorry, John, it's a great song."

"Thanks, Macca," John grinned, "I guess I'm sorry too."

The two lads hugged it out, both to their dismay. When they separated, Paul turned to me and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Sorry, Lia, of all the days-"

"It doesn't matter," I interrupted.

John glanced at Paul as he took a step forward. He seemed genuinely worried, and I know I should have cared, but I didn't. I was beginning to understand what Molly was talking about when she said she felt smothered. As much as I wanted Paul to hug me and tell me everything would be alright, I wanted him to leave me alone just the same. I didn't know what I wanted.

In the end, I let him hug me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I replied, "I'm alright."

When he released me, I was met with the sympathetic smiles of the rest of the lads. Their sympathy was beginning to get on my last nerve. As much as I despised it, I craved it as well. I wanted attention, I wanted someone to acknowledge that I was still here even though my heart had been ripped out and shattered into millions of pieces. Despite everything, I was still here, and I always would be.

At the same time, I wanted everyone to forget I existed for a little while. I wanted to be able to curl up in a corner and pretend like I had died, because that what it felt like inside. I craved attention but I craved solitude just as much. 

The lads had to retake the same song because John's guitar wasn't plugged in. This time, I decided to sit near Ringo. There was something joy-inducing about watching him play the drums. He seemed so happy, like there was nothing in the world besides pure joy. As he flung his head around and grinned brightly, I couldn't help but feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Watching him made me forget about the heartbreak even if for only a moment.

"I like that one," Ringo commented when the song was finished.

Paul smiled, "Me too, Ringo."

"Ey, Martin, what'd you think?" John asked.

A buzz echoed through the studio, followed by the voice of George Martin, "Very good, boys. Let's move on to The Night Before, shall we?"

"Jolly good," Paul said.

As they got ready, I pulled my knees to my chest and braced my head between my knees. Something was nagging at the back of head, telling me to leave. I felt out of place. Not like I was intruding, the lads made me feel more than welcome, more like I was meant to be somewhere else.

That nagging voice wouldn't shut up. I sat through one more song, getting more and more anxious by the second. By the time the lads had finished, I was about to explode. I had to get out, to go anywhere that wasn't there. I quickly stood and shuffled over to where Paul was tuning his Hofner.

"What's wrong, Lia? You're looking a bit peckish," he asked whenever I came closer.

I shrugged, "Tired, is all. I'm gonna go back to your place, if it's all the same to you."

"Of course, let me walk you there," Paul hurried to put his guitar down.

Something screamed at me. It told me he couldn't do that. Something negative would happen if he did that. I quickly grabbed his shoulder and smiled, "Thanks, Paulie, but I'll be alright. I can take the bus or a cab."

"I dunno, Lia, I don't think you should be out by yourself," Paul replied, his eyebrows knitting together.

"I'll call Jane, then," I replied, "You're busy, I'll call her. Maybe Mister Martin will let me use his phone."

Paul looked like he wanted to object, but he sighed, "Alright. She ought to be at home."

"I'll go call her then," I smiled, "Thanks, Paulie, for everything."

"Of course, Lia, what're brothers for?"

I gave him a quick hug before hurrying out of the room. Whenever I made it to the door, I waved goodbye to the rest of the lads. They all waved back. Ringo even waved his drumstick around.

Paul expected me to veer off to George Martin's office, but I didn't. I went straight for the front door and out onto the London streets. Never did I have any intention of actually calling Jane. I needed to be alone, just for a little while.

I began to walk along the streets. It was a cloudy day, perfectly reflecting my mood. At any second, I expected it to start pouring rain. Just another reason why the universe is against me. It never did, however, leading me to believe that even the universe had mercy.

That nagging voice never went away. The closer I came to Paul's flat, the louder it became. I was beginning to have a pounding headache by the time I stepped into the lift. My stomach did flip-flops and I felt like I was going to burst into tears. I didn't know what was happening, but I was about to explode with anxiety.

When the doors to the lift opened, I saw exactly what I was waiting for. I don't know how I knew she would be there or why I nearly went into a panic attack because of it. All I know was that, when I opened the lift, I was met with one person in an otherwise empty hall. She flung her head up and stared at with with familiar blue eyes. 

"Molly."


	128. Remember, To Let Her Into Your Heart

"Molly," I said.

Ringo was right, Molly was an absolute mess. Her hair was in knots and her face was an unhealthy shade of pale. Dark bags hung underneath her eyes like demons clawing at her skin. She was shaking just enough for me to notice. Her eyes, those big blue eyes I had fallen in love with more than once, were completely broken. She looked like she carried the weight of the world and she didn't do it very well.

Molly hurried to stand, "A-Amelia, I thought you would be here."

"I wasn't," I replied, keeping my voice steady, "But I am now."

Molly rubbed her arm, "I knew you would be, eventually. Nobody answered when I knocked."

"That's not surprising."

We stared at each other for a moment. I did my best to hide my pain behind a mask of anger. It wasn't as difficult as I had expected. Just by looking at her, I was angry. I was angry at her for what she said to me and what she took away. She had effectively built a wall between us all because of her moment of stupidity. Now, we were stuck standing in an empty hallway staring at each other and waiting for the other to say something.

"Well, this has been a lovely chat," I spat, my voice laced with sarcasm, "But I'm going inside."

Molly stepped to block the door, "No-wait, I came here to say something."

"Really? Cause it seems like you came here to stare at me like a bloody tourist or somethin'."

"No, Melly, listen," Molly stated, "I've got something to say and I'm going to say it and you're going to fucking listen."

I crossed my arms, "Get on with it, then."

Molly took a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I did and said, I didn't mean it. I was-angry. Not at you, at everything else. At the world, really, for taking my mother away. You were the closest person and I-I see that I took advantage of that. I'm sorry, Melly, I'm so sorry."

A few tears traced crooked lines down her flushed cheeks. I felt a stab of sympathy, but my face remained placid. I simply stared at her.

"I lied," Molly admitted, "Everything I said was a bloody lie! I do need you and I love you more than anything. I don't know how to function now, everything seems so bleak. Reality seems fake, in a way. I don't-I don't know- maybe I'm going insane. All I know is that I love you and that's the reality."

I wasn't sure how to reply. She seemed genuine, everything she said seemed more genuine than what she said the last time we came face-to-face. Her eyes were broken once before but, as she spoke, they became resolved. I could see her determination in the situation.

When my mother died, I was never the same. I lashed out for a few weeks. Dad was the most common recipient of these lashing outs. I had said a lot of things I didn't mean, and Dad had forgiven me on the spot. Molly was no different, I could see that now. She had lost her father not even a full year before, of course her pain was worse. I should have thought before I ran.

Then again, she did say a lot of things. She lashed out in full force. Instead of tiny shouts and screams like I did, she bundled it all up and released hell all at once. That was not something that could be forgiven immediately, but it could be understood.

I understood. I knew what Molly was going through. She was lost in a time where everybody was giving her directions. The world around her was black-and-white and she was left wondering where the colors had gone. I knew how she felt because I had been there myself. Out of everyone in the entire world, I was the one who knew exactly what she was going through.

"Really?" I asked, "You seemed pretty sure when you said you didn't love me."

Molly shook her head, "I know, I was angry. I can't make excuses, but I was. What I said wasn't true and I've hated myself for it. I'm so sorry, Amelia."

"Anger is like a drug," I muttered.

"Exactly, it is, a crazy drug that gives people the worst highs they regret the next morning," Molly said, "I'm sober now. Right now, in this moment, I'm telling you the truth when I say I love you with all I am and all I'll ever be."

I still remembered the first time we met, whenever we fell down those stairs at The Liverpool Institute. We had come so far since then. Through trials and tribulations, we had stuck together. We've gone through heartache, loss, anger, fear, and even death together. Through it all, Molly and Amelia were an inseparable team, and that wasn't about to stop now.

"We've been through so much together, when you said that, I thought I had died inside," I said, "I felt like the world was ending."

Molly broke a little more under my gaze, "Oh, God, I-"

"You're sorry, I know, you've said that."

"I am," Molly sniffed, "I am."

I shook my head, "When my Mum died, I did the same thing. I lashed out at Dad most of all. Most parents would have hit me or grounded me for life, but my Dad forgave me. He's done a lot of wrongs in his life, but I suppose that was one right."

Molly simply stared at me. We stood like that for a few moments. Part of me didn't want to forgive her. That tiny spiteful part of me wanted her to suffer for a bit longer, but the larger, more compassionate, part of me knew otherwise. She was already in enough pain, as was I. We would get back together eventually, both of us knew that. It might take a bit of time before we were back to what we were originally, but you have to start somewhere. Every good makeup starts with three words.

"I forgive you," I said.

Molly's face lit up, "You do?"

"Yeah, I can't stay mad at you forever. You may be a complete fucking wanker, but I love you anyways."

Molly rushed forward to hug me. I gratefully accepted it, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and squeezing. She buried her face in my neck just like she did before our argument. I felt like I had returned home whenever she hugged me. Home is where the heart is, and my heart always has been and always will be with Molly.

"I love you," Molly whispered.

I smiled, "I love you too, you absolute git."

"I deserved that."

"Yes you did, you tosser."

"And that."

"Daft bugger."

"Are you done?"

"Almost, you arse," I grinned, "That's all I've got."

Molly smiled, "You forgot nutter."

"Oh, yeah, definitely that."

We both laughed. It felt good to laugh with Molly again. She hadn't laughed in weeks, and I thought we might never laugh together again. It felt like we were finally putting all the pain behind us. We could move on, once and for all. We could go back to our happy lives together without any pain.


	129. Then You Can Start, To Make Things Better

Forgiving and understanding, as I have learned, are two very different things that go hand in hand. The first step in truly forgiving someone is to understand them. I understood what Molly was going through better than anyone else. I had already begun to forgive her long before I ever left the flat.

It would take a fair bit of time to really and truly forgive Molly. Her words still cut deeper than a knife, sometimes I could still hear them, but I knew to ignore it. She was here, with me, and she was smiling for the first time in what felt like years. She had left the rollercoaster of grief and began to come to terms with the world without her mother.

She was smiling, but she wasn't the Molly I knew. She moved a bit more abruptly, like she was anticipating the next ten steps and couldn't wait to get there. Every so often, she would fall into a depressive streak and not talk for hours. It was like a mountain; she would have a period of up hill climbing, ending at the peak where she was bouncy and agitated, only to fall down the other side into a depression. 

The doorbell rang, making me look up from my notepad. I could hear the sounds of the shower running and the cars driving past, but that was it. Molly used to sing in the shower. It used to annoy me, but now I long for anything beyond this impenetrable silence. 

"Georgie, I didn't expect to see you here," I said as soon as I opened the door.

"I should be the one saying that," George replied, "Thought you'd be at Paul's. Last time I saw you, you were a state. Move on already?"

I shrugged, "Turns out, I'm dating a nutter."

"I could have told you that."

I threw back my head and laughed. It was the first genuine laugh I'd produced in a while. George smiled a bit, "Glad you're happy. It's not right when you're moping around."

"Thanks, Georgie," I grinned, "Come on, then, there's no use in standing in the hall."

I stepped aside and let him in. He walked in and flopped on the couch just like it was his own home. I sat down next to him and grabbed my notepad once again.

"What're you writing?" he asked.

"Editing a song," I replied, "We've got a fortnight to finish this album."

"First one with Linda, yeah?"

I nodded, "It's something else, Georgie, I'm telling you. Nobody's ever seen anything like this."

George lifted an eyebrow but I simply shook my head. What we were doing was something brand new, not just for Revolution but for music. We had strayed so far from the beaten path, it wasn't even in sight anymore.

Revolution had three members, but you wouldn't know it by listening to the music. It sounded like there were five. Ellen had been against it at first, but she knew we wouldn't give in. In each different song, at least two of us were playing more than one instrument. We had violins, cellos, saxophones, flutes, pianos, drums, guitars, and even a triangle scattered through the songs. Linda had even proposed the idea of panpipes, an instrument she had first come into contact with on a Native American Reserve in America. On another, we had bagpipes backed by a harp. The album could be a train wreck, or it could be the most magnificent creation Revolution ever came up with. Personally, I thought we had never done anything that amazing. 

Our music was completely different this time around. In my opinion, it was better, but that was left for the fans to decide. There was a strong chance they wouldn't like our new style. People tended to want things to stay the same forever. They didn't like change. What we had done would completely flip the public image of Revolution. For better or for worse, I don't know.

It was time for a change. We weren't the kids we were when all of this began. The line up had changed, the environment had changed, and we had changed more than I can say. People can't stay the same forever, and, as they grow, so do the things they do. Revolution grew and changed with us, and it was time for the biggest change of all. We would go from the pop-hit makers the masterminds behind an album that would withstand the test of time. It wasn't the greatest album of the sixties, it wasn't even in the top ten, but it was just enough to fortify Revolution's standing in the history of music. 

"We're not recording today cause Ringo called in sick," George laced his hands behind his head, "I'm bloody bored."

"That's why you came over here?" I asked.

George nodded. I grinned, "Well, you're always welcome."

"I know."

Molly appeared in the doorway to the hall. Her hair clung together in dreadlocks and was darker than normal due to the water. When she saw George, she blinked rapidly. Something went through her mind, I could see a cloud pass her face. She quickly shook it off and smiled, "'Ello, Georgie, glad to see you."

"'Ello, Molly," George replied, "Do something with your hair?"

I snorted as Molly fingered her locks. She looked genuinely upset for a moment before realizing he was being sarcastic, "Always a cheeky one, aren't ya, Harrison?"

"It's in my blood, Mackenzie."

George winked at Molly causing her to giggle. I couldn't help but smile at the sight. To see her laughing like she used to made me have hope once again.

"We've got to get to the studio soon," I said.

George grinned, "Mind if I tag along? Don't think I've ever seen when you birds record."

"Course, Georgie," Molly replied, "Mitch loves visitors."

"You just don't do anything we'll regret," I cautioned.

George cocked an eyebrow, "When have I ever?"

"You're a swine, Harrison."

"And you're a git, McCartney."

"You're both tossers," Molly replied, "Come on, before we're late."

I stuffed my notepad in my rucksack and hurried to follow. George trailed behind us all the way to the lift. We called a cab to take us to the studio since none of us had yet to buy a car.

"Brian's already startin' to talk of another tour," George groaned, "I'm bloody sick of it."

Molly chuckled, "And we haven't even begun."

"I kinda miss it. There was never a dull moment like there is now," I commented.

"Instead we were treated like circus animals and nearly killed several times," George replied, "It's rubbish, really."

"We've got to do it."

George simply shook his head. We pulled up in front of Aubergine Studios just a few minutes later. Vines had begun to grow up the side to make it look like the building was vacant. Had it not been for the bright curtains hanging in the windows, you would have thought it was empty. George followed as Molly and I stepped inside.

"Your producer knew Buddy Holly?" George asked, pointing to a picture on the wall.

I nodded, "And she met Chuck Berry."

"Bloody hell."

Molly chuckled. Mitch and Linda were already inside of the studio. Heather wasn't too far away, sitting in the mound of pillows and playing with her dolls. When she saw us, she wasted no time in running up to greet us. Molly picked her up, giggling the whole way.

"I see we have a visitor," Mitch commented.

I nodded, "George here was bored. Thought we'd bring him along, you know, to make things interesting."

"Are they not interesting already?"

"Everyday with you three is interesting," Linda laughed.

"Why, thank you, Linda," I nodded, "Is it alright if he stays?"

"As I always say, the more the merrier," Mitch replied.

I winked at her, causing her to laugh. George nodded a thanks as she vanished into the recording studio. Linda glanced at Molly, who was still talking to Heather, and then at me, "What are we recording today?"

"Three songs, I've got them right here," I pulled out my notepad from my rucksack, "We've only got five more to record, then we're done with the whole bloody thing!"

"And good timing too. We've only got a fortnight before it needs to be on the shelves," Molly replied.

I handed Linda the papers and she read them over. I had written two of the songs while Molly had written the other. Usually, we did it together, but these were written just a few days before. They had some emotions in them we had never felt before. 

"These are great," Linda said.

I grinned, "Good ole Linda, always reeling out the compliments."

"I speak the truth."

"Thank you, Linda," Molly said.

Linda nodded. I took my seat behind the drums and spun the sticks through my fingers, "Everybody ready?"

Molly held up her guitar and nodded. Linda positioned her fingers over the piano. I watched as she readied her foot and nodded. We heard a beeping, telling us that Mitch had started the tape. With the tape came the music, starting with a steady drum beat.

"You birds are alright," George said whenever we finished.

I smirked, "You're alright, Georgie."

George grinned. Mitch's voice came over the intercom, "That was very good girls. One more take, the tape was a bit scratchy."

"Ah, show business," I sighed.


	130. Liddypool Bop

"I feel like a free woman!" I exclaimed.

Molly grabbed my arms and pulled them back down. The four of us were sitting on the top of a double-decker London bus, on our way home from the studio. Linda and Heather were coming home with us for a round of drinks or, in Heather's case, grape juice. We were finally celebrating the completion of our fourth album, the first with Linda.

"Calm down," Molly shook her head, "You'll scare the people."

She gestured to the pedestrians walking along the pavement. I crossed my arms and scoffed, "I don't care. Let them be scared! We finished our fourth bloody album!"

I cheered loudly. Molly laughed as Linda simply shook her head. All of us were in a state of complete bliss. After two months and endless hours in the studio, we had finally completed what I considered to be our masterpiece. Our new album, called Liddypool Bop, was something no one had ever seen before. It was a brilliant brain child of four creative minds; Molly, Janice, Linda, and myself. Four minds, four musicians, a brilliant producer, and the only manager ever able to keep us in line made that album possible.

"We should do something to celebrate this momentous occasion," I said.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "What do you suggest?"

"A vacation."

"To where?" Molly asked, "We can't go far, Ellen needs us on Monday for the promo video."

I furrowed my eyebrows, "Well, Fiji's out of the question. We could always go to Scotland."

I met Molly's eyes. She shook her head, telling me she wasn't ready for that. I squeezed her hand and nodded, "Alright, not Scotland, Wales then."

"What's in Wales?"

"Good point."

Molly shrugged, "We could always go to Liverpool and visit our families."

Liverpool was a good idea. I had recently purchased a stuffed unicorn I wanted to give Ruth. Most people would wait until Christmas, but that was still months away. Besides, I couldn't wait for her reaction when she realized it would sing to her. I also missed my father, it was about time we paid them a visit.

"Good ole Liddypool," I grinned, "It's about time we paid them a visit."

Molly turned to Linda, "Will you come with us?"

"I don't see why not. I've heard so much about Liverpool, I guess it's about time I saw it for myself," Linda replied.

I jumped up and grinned, "Brilliant! We'll show you where it all began!"

"Amelia, for Christ's sake, calm down!" Molly pulled me back into my seat.

"I can't be contained, Molly," I replied, "We're goin' home, and we'll show Linda where The Revolution was born. It's about time she got to see the legacy."

Linda smiled, "I'm looking forward to it."

"It's settled, to Liverpool!"

***

"Maybe we should've gotten the beards," Molly suggested as the train pulled into the station.

I glared at her, "I will burn those fucking beards."

"You say that, but you never do it."

"One day I will."

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "What beards?"

"Long story," I replied, "The lads have fake beards they use for disguises and I bloody hate them."

Molly chuckled, "They made Amelia wear one once."

"They put it on me while I was sleeping!"

Molly and Linda both laughed. The train veered to a stop, the whistles blowing and the wheels creaking. As soon as it jerked to a stop, Molly grabbed my hand. She seemed a bit agitated but, these days, that wasn't unnatural. I gripped her hand tightly, smiling as I did.

I felt more at home in a train, car, or even a plane than I did in my actual home. We were traveling more than we were living, and trains seemed to be a popular transportation vehicle. At least, it was in Europe. Every whistle, crack, smash, and bang had become familiar to me. I no longer looked up whenever the brakes suddenly started creaking.

Linda, however, was a complete stranger to the situation. While Molly and I acted just as we did in our own home, Linda kept looking up nervously at every noise. Every time the train veered in a different direction, she clutched onto Heather like they were about to be flung out. Molly and I had tried to assure her everything would be fine, but she didn't listen.

We all disembarked the train and were met with the familiar smell of fish. Linda immediately wrinkled her nose, the smell unfamiliar and disgusting to her. Molly and I, however, breathed in the deep aroma of putrid fish. Never did I expect to miss that smell as much as I did. Anytime I smelled fish, I smelled Liverpool, I smelled home.

"How did you live with this smell?" Linda asked.

I shrugged, "You get used to it after a while."

"I still smell like fish," Molly sighed, "And I haven't lived here in two years."

It didn't feel like that long. We had moved to London in late 1963. It felt like just days ago we were packing our bags and kissing Liverpool goodbye, not two years. In a way, we never truly left it. So long as we had family to come back to, we always would.

"Well, ladies, where to first?" I asked.

We arrived on the curb outside of the train station. Having only planned for a day trip, none of us had brought anything more than a rucksack. We came in disguise, of course, not wanting to be spotted by fans and have our vacation disrupted. Each of us had long coats and hats with brims covering our faces. We had donned our sunglasses as well, making for the perfect disguises. The only one not in disguise was Heather. She held her Mum's hand and looked around like Liverpool was some new toy just waiting to be played with. 

"We could go to The Cavern, the lunchtime show should be starting soon," Molly answered, grabbing my wrist and looking at my watch.

I grinned, "Oh, I'd love to see who those buggers go to play once they lost us."

"You mean once they lost The Beatles."

"The Beatles, us, same thing, really."

Molly rolled her eyes. Linda lifted an eyebrow, "We're going to a cavern?"

"It's not really a cavern," Molly replied.

I snorted, "It is, Molly."

"It is not," Molly argued, "It's just a basement that kinda looks like a cavern. Anyways, The Cavern Club is where Revolution and The Beatles got their start. We used to play there all the bloody time."

"We only played there when the lads couldn't. The Beatles were their star players, we were just a band that happened to be related," I shrugged.

Molly nodded, "But, soon enough, we got our own gig at a club just a few streets down."

"The Cavern, however, holds many memories for us, including the first time the fans went potty on us."

"But it holds more good memories than bad," Molly counteracted. 

I had played there more than Molly, both as a Beatle and a Rebel. It held memories for me both on and off the stage. The Cavern Club was our chosen hang out back when we were kids and even into our adulthood, until we left Liverpool. We hadn't been there in so long, I wondered how it had changed.

Linda followed Molly and I as we made our way down the familiar streets. Every time I walked down those streets, I felt like I was a child again. Once again I was running down those streets chasing my brothers.

It didn't seem like that long ago that I was rushing to catch up with Paul as we made our way to the festival at St. Peter's Church. Just minutes ago, I was fifteen years old and dragging Molly behind me on our way to school. It had only been seconds since I was sixteen and following John, Paul, and George to our next show at The Cavern Club. It had been minutes, not years. Hours, not days. Whenever I traced the same paths I did when I was a child, I didn't feel twenty-two anymore.

The Cavern Club never changed. It still had the same claustrophobic atmosphere and drippy ceiling. The same mods and rockers went in and out, often sparing cruel glances at each other. The only difference was the lack of a line outside. Nobody was lining up to see the infamous Beatles anymore. People casually walked in and out, sometimes not even sparing a passing glance at whoever was playing.

It was as empty as I had ever seen it. Molly, Linda, Heather, and I were actually able to move through The Cavern comfortably. Nobody spared us a passing glance, which was good, because we could have easily been recognized. We found ourselves a table in the corner and sat to watch the band.

The band itself was less than impressive. I expected a group of teenagers that didn't know an A string from a shirt string, but what we saw was much better. Two girls, twins I presumed as they looked identical, got up with guitars and three men to accompany them. They sang perfectly, occasionally doing Beatles and Revolution covers. They weren't the greatest I had ever seen but they were alright. They could become something great with a little bit of hard work.

"This is where you started?" Linda asked, looking around the cavern.

I nodded, "Soft, isn't it?"

"Not from where I stand."

"It was a lot more crowded when The Beatles played," Molly explained, "But, that's to be expected. Even we drew in a bigger crowd than this."

I shrugged, "You know what they say, when you hit the top, it only gets worse."

"Oh, come off it, Melly, the band's pretty good," Molly replied.

"Yeah, they're alright."

They had begun their cover of She Loves You, but they changed it to He Loves You. I rolled my eyes at this. Despite the pronoun change, they did a great cover. I found myself humming along.

We ordered a round of drinks. Mine came as a watered down golden brown liquid with three half-melted ice cubes in it. I smirked, even the quality of the drinks hadn't changed. 

As we drank, we watched the band. From the corner of my eye I could see the owner and the bartender talking quickly. The two of them hadn't changed either, it was the same two men that had been there throughout my entire career. Had it not been for the disguises, they would have been the first to recognize us.

"I don't know what to do," the owner, Clive, whisper-shouted, "The evening act cancelled and I can't schedule these kids for the late night show."

The bartender, Martin, shrugged, "I dunno what to tell ya, Clive. I don't know any last minute performers."

I smirked. An idea bubbled to life in my head and took hold of my consciousness. I placed my drink on the table and caught Molly's eye, "Hear that?"

"Hear what?" she asked.

I jerked my head at Clive and Martin, "They need a night act."

Molly glanced at the two whispering men and then back at me. It took her a moment to realize what I was suggesting. When she did realize, her face lit up as a sly grin came to her lips.

"Am I missing something?" Linda asked.

I grinned, "How are you for an impromptu performance?"

Linda blinked rapidly. Molly and I stood, gesturing for our friend to follow us. Linda held Heather on her hip as we made our way to the bar.

"Couldn't help but to overhear you chaps need a band," I said, leaning my elbows on the bar, "I think we can help you out with that."

Both Clive and Martin turned to look at me. Molly stood behind me with her arms crossed, effectively putting a wall between her and the men, and a loose smirk across her lips. Linda was still looking as confused as ever. Neither Clive nor Martin recognized us as they looked us up and down.

"Look, miss, I don't know who you are but you can't just come in here and tell me to let you play," Clive spat.

I rolled my eyes, "Ole Clive, always the oblivious one."

"Whatever happened to being our number one fan?" Molly asked.

"What the bloody hell are you two jabbering about?"

I took off my hat and glasses and winked at him, "Good to see you, Clive. Martin."

"Well, if it's isn't the famous Mac-twins" Clive grinned as Molly took off her disguise, "McCartney and Mackenzie, in the flesh."

"At your service," Molly replied, "This is our newest addition, Linda Eastman."

Linda waved. Clive glanced at her before looking back at us with a huge smile, "You'd fill in tonight?"

"It's always a pleasure to play The Cavern," I replied, "I'll admit, I've missed the place."

"You girls are a lifesaver."

Clive clapped us both on the shoulder. Molly and I smiled brightly. Martin jerked his head towards the back hall, "We've still got the old drum kit and guitars. And the new keyboard, if you need it."

"We will," Molly replied.

Clive smiled brightly, "Welcome back, girls."

***

I have played arenas, stadiums, and even The Royal Albert Hall, but The Cavern Club has and always will be my favorite place I have ever performed. There, you were just as much a part of the crowd as the crowd was a part of you. The performances were intimate. No screaming, no flying shoes, and no headaches the next morning. Playing at The Cavern was just as comfortable as playing at home.

"Oh, it feels good to be back," Molly muttered.

She stroked the top of the guitar Clive had loaned to us. I had my lucky drumsticks in my hand, slowly twirling them through my fingers with a satisfied smile across my lips. As usual, I had brought the sticks with me. Linda was just behind us, talking to Heather and telling her not to move from her chair. She was in sight of Linda on the keyboard but just out of range of the stage so she wouldn't get hurt. Linda handed her a coloring book before coming to stand next to us.

"I didn't realize how much I missed the place," I grinned, "This is gonna be fun."

Molly chuckled, "And they have no idea."

The crowd was already filling in the room. They had no idea who was playing, they were about to get the surprise of their lives. I glanced back at Linda and smiled, "Ready, Lindy?"

"Again with the nicknames?" Molly asked.

"She's gotta have one. One day, one will stick, just you wait."

Linda smiled, "I liked that one."

"Lindy it is."

The lights had changed, signalling our arrival. We all exchanged excited glances before waltzing out on stage. At first, we were met with half-hearted claps. Slowly, and then all at once, they realized who had just walked out on stage. The clapping became more vigorous as a few girls screamed. Our names were shouted again and again, making all of us smile brightly.

"It's good to be back," Molly said into the mic, "This first one we'd like to do, it's a cover, a few of our good friends did it to. You might know them, they played here to," the entire club burst into screams, "Anyways, if you know it, sing along. Ready?"

The crowd screamed. More people were slowly filing in through the door. The word spread quickly and, about halfway through the show, the entire club was full. I spun my drumsticks on my hand as Molly struck a single chord.

"Gonna tell Aunt Mary, 'bout Uncle John!" I shouted, "He claim he has the misery but he's havin' a lot of fun. Oh, baby!"

Playing the Cavern sent me back to the good old days before we had to worry about being killed because of a performance. We didn't have to worry about crazy fans, or policemen pushing us around, or even the tight schedules that came with being a musician. In The Cavern, we could play to our heart's content. It was pure fun, that's all there was to it.

We played a three hour long concert. Most of it was our own songs, including two off of our new album that hadn't even been released yet. We did a few covers, the most popular being Can't Buy Me Love, Please Please Me, and All My Loving. The entire club clapped and sang along, some even whistling the guitar riffs.

By the time we had finished, the three of us were drenched in sweat. It looked like we had just come from a swim. Performing took a lot of energy, you would sweat no matter where you were, but The Cavern amplified it. With all of the packed body heat and moisture in the air, you were lucky if you came off of the stage with a single dry hair. We were practically dripping wet as we stepped backstage.

The screams, shouts, claps, and whistles didn't stop for a solid twenty minutes. They called for an encore, but we were about to pass out. Molly's voice was practically gone and Linda's fingers had stiffened. My blisters had returned, making red welts on my fingers. Despite the pain we felt, and would feel for the next week, all I realized was my undeniable joy.

Both Molly and Linda had faces that looked like children on Christmas morning. We were all filled with the same excited feeling I had back in my Beatle days. The Cavern had reminded us what being a performer was truly like. It wasn't about big venues or record deals, it was about playing your music and loving every second of it. What mattered was the adrenaline you had after the show, and the smile you had for the next week.

"Best vacation ever," I breathed.


	131. Surprise

"I heard a tale of a man from Wales," I sung under my breath, "He came down the coast and began to boast about the rockin' sockin' tunes down the old Blue Jay."

Liverpool Bop was something familiar and yet different all at the same time. We had taken inspiration from twenties swing music and a New Orleans jazz performer we had seen during the tour. It seemed to have jumped out of the 1930's with a bit of the 50's bop to it. Molly, Janice, and I had written half of it during the tour and Molly and I finished the other half just before we started to record the album. The song was weird, definitely not fitting in with the pop-rock music we usually played, but I thought it was a sure-fire hit. The entire album had a few weird songs on it, but I had faith the fans would love it and take it straight to the top. Molly and Linda doubted it, but I had enough faith for the three of us. 

I straightened a few of the albums on our bookshelf. Molly had woken up that morning with the desire to clean the entire flat, even though it was never out of order. Everything was always where it needed to be, Molly made sure of it. She didn't function properly when the area around her was in disarray. I, however, functioned better in chaos than organization. Most of the time our flat ended up in a state of organized chaos.

"Melly, have you seen the broom?" Molly shouted.

I lifted an eyebrow, "We have a broom?"

"You're no help!"

I chuckled under my breath. Molly appeared at the entrance to the hall, her hair tied back in a loose bun and gloves on her hands. She glanced at the clean room and sighed in discontent. I set the stack of albums back on the bookshelf and spun around to face her, "What's got your knickers in a twist?"

"Since when we our flat so chaotic?" Molly asked, "It's a bloody mess, it is!"

I grabbed her arms and smiled, "Molly, calm down, it's clean as a whistle."

"It's not, it's-"

"Molly, honestly, there's not a single thing out of order."

Molly glanced around the room and sighed, "You're right. Christ, I don't know what's gotten into me."

I simply smiled and shook my head. She had been more frazzled since our argument. I chose to believe that had to do with her coming off of her grief induced high and nothing to do with our argument. In reality, it was a bit of both combined with the stress because we would soon have to do press spots for our album. It wouldn't stop there either, Ellen and Brian had already announced the next tour and the lads were about to start production for their next movie. Molly's stress had skyrocketed as of late, but I remained completely calm. Perhaps my subconscious knew I had to stay anchored for her, because the old me would have been pulling her hair out by now. 

"By golly, Miss Molly, it's all alright," I grinned.

Molly smiled, "Melly dear, you always know just what to say."

"That's what I'm here for."

I leaned forward to kiss her cheek just as the phone rang. Molly glanced at the front hallway and sighed, "I've got it. Probably Gina again."

Regina had been calling at least every other day since we last saw her. She and Molly would talk for an hour or two, both dancing around the subject of their parents. I watched as Molly pulled off her gloves and went to the phone.

"Hello?" Molly answered.

I went back to arranging the album shelf. Molly and I had built up a large collection. We had our own records as well as every Beatles record. They had their own spot at the front of the shelf along with a Beatles mug a fan had given me. We also had modern album and albums from the dawn of music. We had twenties swing tunes, thirties barbershop quartets, forties hip-swingers, fifties rock masterpieces, and the new-age music of the sixties. Our collection was impressive, it took up the entirety of the bookshelf.

As I dusted off our old copy of My Bonnie I heard Molly say, "Gina, calm down, everything is going to be alright."

I quickly abandoned the album and moved towards the front hall. Molly's voice was strained, like she might snap at any moment but was doing her best to remain calm. When I turned the corner, I found her hunched over the table with her fingers buried in her hair. She bit her lip just as she always did when she was nervous. I came up behind her and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Regina, listen, this isn't the end of the world," Molly said, "You'll be fine."

I heard Regina's muffled cries on the other end. She was sobbing hysterically, that much I could tell. My anxiety heightened as Molly released a deep sigh, "Respectable or not, it doesn't matter. What's done is done, now you have to live with it and, trust me, it won't be that bad. You are going to be fine."

A million and one problems ran through my mind. The most logical solution was that Regina had gotten hooked on a drug. She didn't seem like the sort who would do drugs, but that didn't mean much. She could have easily been pressured into it and now she couldn't stop. She was in a very vulnerable state, any tiny push could send her flying into oblivion. 

"You're welcome," Molly smiled slightly, "I'm always here to help."

Regina spoke. I couldn't understand what she was saying, but her voice sounded calmer. Whenever she finished, Molly gasped, "Really? Gina, I'm honored."

Regina said something else that made Molly smile brighter, "I'll come visit you soon, yeah? Maybe next weekend."

Her smile put me off. Something had obviously been wrong, but now, I was questioning it. I stood behind her, completely befuddled. Molly smiled brightly, "Love you too, Gina. Remember, it's going to be alright, I promise. Alright, bye."

She hung up and exhaled deeply. When she spun around, she was met with my confused face. I blinked rapidly and asked, "What the bloody hell just happened?"

"Gina had a bit of a breakdown," Molly sighed, "She's pregnant."

That was the last thing I had expected her to say. Regina had always been a pit of a prude. To my knowledge, she never even had a boyfriend let alone had the ability to get pregnant. Of all the people in this world, Regina was the last person I expected to get pregnant, and out of wedlock at that. She was only nineteen. That was barely old enough to be on her own let alone have a child.

"Blimey," I muttered.

Molly nodded, "She broke down a bit, but we got it sorted."

"Do you know the bloke?"

"No, some lad she goes to university with," Molly sighed, "He ran as soon as she told him."

I shook my head, "The wanker. Is she alright now?"

"Should be," Molly smiled a little, "She wants me to be the godmother."

I gasped, "Molly, that's gear!"

Molly nodded. Her eyes sparkled at the mere thought of having a niece or nephew. To this day, I still say Molly was born to be a mother. She always had this way with children, they gravitated to her and she loved each of them dearly, even if they weren't hers. Having a child blood related to her was a dream Molly never thought she could have. Even if the child wasn't directly hers, it was close. I knew for a fact that baby would never want so long as they lived.

"I'm gonna be an Aunt," Molly muttered.

I gripped her wrists, "You're gonna be an Aunt!"

She hugged me tightly, laughing the entire time. I could feel her pure joy radiating off her body. I was happy for her, she was finally getting her wish. That baby would be loved beyond measures. Between their mother and their Aunt, they might even begin to grow sick of love.

"I've got to get her a baby shower gift," Molly muttered, "Christ, I've got to throw her a baby shower! I wonder if it's a boy or a girl. Should I do blue or pink decorations? Maybe green, that's different."

I grabbed Molly's shoulders before she started pacing, "Molly, slow down, she's barely pregnant as is. You've got to wait until you can at least see the bump."

"Right, you're right, it's too soon. Oh, I'm just so excited!"

"Really? I couldn't tell," I smirked.

Molly pushed my shoulder playfully. I laughed, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her to me, "Mols, you're gonna be the greatest Aunt this world has ever seen."

Molly smiled brightly. The two of us grinned. I couldn't wait for this baby to come into the world. When Julian was born, I was elated, and I was sure this would be no different. We were getting another addition to the family and we couldn't be happier.

Neither of us expected what this baby would mean to us.


	132. It Don't Come Easy

After four times of making and publishing an album, the glory had yet to fade. Every time felt like the first time. Now that we were big names, our albums were advertised more. We had flyers in every record store and even promo videos of two of the songs aired on live television. It was everything we had dreamed.

With each album we made came the celebration. This one in particular was special. We were celebrating not only the new album but the first published proof of our new member. It was a momentous occasion that required the best celebration we could think of.

"I propose a toast," I raised my glass and grinned, "To a new album and a bloody brilliant new member."

Linda blushed slightly when I smiled at her. Ellen had offered to host a lavish party to celebrate Liverpool Bops, but we had denied. The greatest celebration we could have was spending time drinking and laughing with our closest friends.

"And a damn good band," Ellen laughed, raising her glass as well.

I gasped, "Ellen, I never expected you to have such a potty mouth."

"On occasion."

"A toast," Mitch grinned.

We all clinked our glasses. I fell back to sit in the mound of pillows with Molly. She raised her glass once again and whispered, "To us, love."

"To us."

We both tapped the edges of our glasses and downed the liquor. Ellen had originally been against us bringing whiskey, but I, being the rebel I am, brought it anyways. Once it was here, she couldn't stop us, so she joined us.

Linda sipped her whiskey and let Heather smell it. The toddler wrinkled her nose, instead choosing her apple juice while her mother laughed. Janice watched the little girl with a tender smile across her lips. She and Peter were practically sitting on top of each other on the corner couch.

There was nobody else. Just the eight of us, all of those who had contributed to this album and the rise of Revolution. We had rebels, past and present, the woman who got us there, the boy who helped her, and the woman who made sure we didn't sound like shit. There was no press, no screaming fans, and no important guests only there to be impressed. It was just us, and we didn't need anybody else.

"This album is going to go straight to the top, just you wait!" I exclaimed.

Molly laughed, "The entire album?"

"The entire bloody album!" I replied, "Why? Because it's different! Because it's fresh! Because it's the weirdest compilation of music I've ever heard of, but it works, and that's what makes it different. We've got panpipes for Christ's sake. And bagpipes, in the same song! It's the bee's knees!"

Molly grabbed my arms and pushed me back into the pillows whenever I tried to get up. She took my glass from me and chuckled, "I think that's enough for you."

"But Mols," I whined.

"You're already loopy, don't want you gettin' plastered."

Ellen nodded, "Molly's right, especially with the press conference tomorrow. You all need to be at your best."

I groaned, but complied. Molly set both of our drinks on the floor nearby before moving to wrap her arms around my shoulders. I smiled brightly.

"I will admit, I do believe this is the best album Revolution has made," Mitch commented.

I grinned, "Because it's different."

It was the best, not because we had changed members, but because we had changed our music entirely. We were no longer the love song, pop to the top, giggling and swinging pop band the world knew. Revolution had grown and became what we had dreamed for it. We carved a path through the music industry, one that had never been thought of before.

The album itself had started out as the same as it's predecessors. A few love ballads started it off, but you could sense the shift in the third song. Janice had come up with a hippie sounding song about peace and prosperity. She had written the entire thing before her untimely tragedy. Once Molly and I had heard her shift in music, we were close to follow. We had folk-rock, psychedelic, jazz, swing, something that reminded one of a nursery rhyme but with deeper lyrics, and even one that had Linda on panpipes, me on bongos, Molly on the acoustic, and the only bag pipe player in London. On paper, it sounded like a flop just waiting to happen, but on tape it was completely different. It was a pleasurable array of music that showcased every corner of music culture and a few nobody knew existed. The songs were wonky, they weren't anything anyone had seen before, but that's what made them great. They would be hits specifically because they were something new.

"I like this one better than the others too," Peter added.

Janice signed something and Peter smiled, "So does Jan, on paper at least, and she was apart of the others."

"Ah, Pete, you're too kind," I winked.

Molly smiled at our friend, "And we couldn't have done it without you, Jan."

Peter signed this to her and she smiled. I glanced past Molly at Linda and caught her eye, "And I'm glad that of all the people in the world, the Lovely Lindy was the one to show up at our audition."

Linda smiled. Molly laughed, "The greatest pianist I've ever known."

"Thanks for joining Revolution," I told Linda, "We love ya, Lindy."

Molly nodded in agreement. Linda blushed as her eyes sparkled brighter than the sun itself. That smile was something I would grow to cherish. We had always been close friends. Ever since she walked through that door, I already considered her a sister, but she turned out to be so much more than that in the end.

"Moving to London was the second greatest decision I made," Linda smiled, "The first being to show up to that audition."

I rolled over on the pillows to fully face her, "You never did tell us why you left America."

Molly rolled over as well. All eyes were on Linda. She glanced at the ground and sighed, "I lost my Mom and I divorced Heather's Dad. There's a lot of baggage there that I didn't want to carry, so, I left."

Molly looked like her heart had broken at Linda's words. I felt a stab of pity for my friend, but I made sure not to show it. Instead, I smiled at her, "I'm sorry you had to go through that, but I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Molly grinned, "We're all glad you came, Linda, wouldn't be the same without you."

Ellen, Mitch, and I all nodded in agreement. Linda smiled brightly, "I guess I made the right decision then."

All of us agreed. I took a glance around the room and my heart swelled. For what seemed like the first time in years, the entire team was together once again. Seeing so many people I loved in one place made me the happiest girl on Earth.

"I would like to propose one more toast," I grabbed my glass and stood before Molly could object, "To the past, the future, friendships young and old, and to the sounds of the bleeding revolution!"

***

"You know, you could get a better flat," I suggested.

Linda nodded, "I know, I just, haven't had the time I guess."

"We have only been slightly busy," Molly squished her fingers together.

I laughed. Between celebrations, vacations, promo videos, interviews, and the stress of a looming press conference, we had barely had a second to ourselves. The only peaceful moment we had was that morning, in our flat, while Molly and I spun around the kitchen making French toast.

"Thanks for letting us stay over while they get the power back on," Linda said.

Molly winked, "Anytime, Lindy."

"I knew it'd catch on," I muttered.

Molly laughed. The phone rang, a common occurrence in our household. I handed my spatula to Linda and grinned, "I've got it."

Heather followed me to the front hall. She was dragging her blanket behind her, and she looked like she was still half asleep. I pulled her up into my arms just before lifting the phone off the receiver.

"McCartney speaking," I answered.

"Amelia, it's Ellen."

I grinned, "Elly, lovely to hear your voice as always."

"I have wonderful news!" her voice sounded on the brink of cracking, "Liverpool Bops made it to number one."

For a moment, I fell silent. Pure joy wrapped around my ever muscle, making me freeze in order to comprehend what just happened. It was unbelievable, even I couldn't believe it and I had predicted it. 

"The whole thing?"

"The whole thing."

"The whole bloody thing!"

I spun around, tying the cord around Heather and me. The little girl laughed as I did. Our combined laughter rang through the flat, giving the tired atmosphere a new burst of energy.

"Brilliant!" I exclaimed, "I bloody well told you, didn't I?"

"You were right. I'm so proud of you girls," Ellen replied.

"Thanks, Elly. I'm a bit chuffed myself."

Ellen chuckled, "I've got a bit more planning to do for the press conference. I'll see you girls this evening."

"Ta, Elly."

With that, we hung up. I untangled the cord and placed the phone back on the receiver. Moving Heather to my front, I spun around and giggled, "I bloody well knew it!"

"Knew what?" Linda came around the corner.

Heather wiggled out of my grip and ran to her Mum. Just as Linda picked her up, I latched onto her side and spun us both around, "We did it! I told you we would!"

"Did what?" Molly asked from the kitchen.

I pulled Linda into the kitchen and grinned, "Ladies, we have our first number one album."

"The whole thing?" Molly asked, "Not just one song?"

"The whole bleeding thing!"

Molly flung her spatula into the air as she cheered. All three of us clasped our hands and began to dance in a circle. We were laughing, cheering, and singing all at the same time. After days of hard work, fights, compromises, and blisters covering all of our hands, we had finally done it.

Revolution had their first number one album.


	133. Plastered Plonkers

I despise press conferences. They were worse than any concert, any interview, or any stupid show we had to put on. In a press conference, the reporters could easily get a piece of you. Once, one of the reporters had snipped off a piece of Ringo's hair. It was a dangerous game to play, and yet, we did it time and time again.

There were two types of press conferences I had been to; the type where the band was on a stage and the sort where we were mixed in with the crowd. Being on the stage was bad, it was like we were behind glass, only there to be viewed. Being on the floor with them, however, was absolute hell. That was when it was the most dangerous for us.

Ellen had arranged a press conference at one of the luxurious hotels in London. This hotel was the sort you would expect The Queen to stay in if her house wasn't just down the street. It had a large ballroom up for renting. As soon as we walked in, we were hounded by the press. I got separated from Molly and Linda, which was their intention.

"Miss McCartney, this album, would you tell me why you chose to go in the direction you did?" one reporter asked.

The room was so loud, I had to strain to hear him. I lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What? What do you mean?"

"This album, Liverpool Bops," the reporter continued, "Why did you chose to do it so differently than your previous albums?"

"Well, why not? Doing the same thing all the time gets dull, you know," I answered.

"Yes, I suppose so."

He wrote something down as I was moved elsewhere. In a crowd such as that, you don't move yourself. You move with the flow of the crowd whether you like it or not. I was thrown around by reporters and security guards alike. Most of them didn't mean to push me along, they simply ran into me while someone else was running into them. I ended up slamming into the bar and groaning.

"I bloody hate press conferences," I muttered.

"Amelia, please, over here!" a voice called behind me.

I spun around to see a female reporter and her male cameraman. The man lifted his camera, asking for a picture. I nodded and smiled brightly. He snapped a few shots before thanking me.

"Amelia, which of the new songs did you most enjoy recording?" the reporter asked.

I shrugged, "They were all pretty great. I liked Kensington Gardens. That was a fun one, what with the panpipes and everything."

"What instruments do you play?"

"The better question is what instruments don't I play," I replied, "I play a bit of everything. Gotta keep up with the times, you know."

I grinned. The reporter nodded. Someone else tapped my shoulder to gain my attention. When I spun around, I was met with a bright camera flash. A man was smiling at me as he asked, "Miss McCartney, did The Beatles assist you in any way?"

"No, of course not," I spat, "We're not Beatles, you know."

"Yes, but-"

"Sorry, I'm needed over there."

I pushed through the crowd to get away from him. Several reporters stopped and asked questions, mostly about the new album. Ellen had lectured all three of us before coming here on what to do and what not to do. As usual, she told me, very sternly, not to curse or be rude to the reporters in anyway. If I was asked I question I didn't like, I was told to politely move on.

That was easier said than done. Once a reporter had you, it wasn't very likely that they would let you go. They had claws like steel that could grip tighter than a shark's jaws. Reporters had a lust for information, one that would drive them to great lengths to achieve, including cornering terrified band members.

"What do you think of Linda?" one reporter asked.

I sighed. This had to be the hundredth question I'd answered. We had only been there for twenty minutes, but I was already exhausted. All I wanted to do was go home and sleep.

"Love her," I replied, "She's a bloody good pianist and an even better person."

Just as the reporter began to write down what I said, I felt a familiar hand on my elbow. Ellen was smiling at me, "Time to go."

"Thank God," I whispered.

I allowed Ellen to lead me out, pushing through any remaining reporters. We made it out into the hall where a group of security officers were waiting to get us to the car. The fans had found out about this press conference and had crowded around the pavement outside. They clawed at us, but the security guards successfully kept them back.

I fell into the seat next to Molly. She and Linda were already in the car with Ellen's new assistant, Prudence. Since Peter had quit, Ellen had been on the hunt for a new assistant, though she claims nobody could replace Peter. She quickly found Prudence and the two clicked. This was Prudence's first assignment with us, and, already, I knew she would not work out.

Ellen seemed to draw in the anxious ones. Prudence wasn't as meek and timid as Peter, rather, the exact opposite. She was a manic, to put it one way. Always bouncing around with a naturally loud voice and hyper actions. What Peter did in an hour, she could get done in thirty minutes specifically because she was so fast. When she spoke, she spoke in one, run-on, sentence. I had difficulty understanding her fast-paced speech pattern.

Prudence was younger than us, only around twenty years old. She still had her baby fat, it seemed, and her ebony hair was always pulled into a braid. She wore a colorful assortment of pants and jumpers, all of which seemed to jump straight out of an acid trip. Never once had I ever seen her without a notepad and pen in her hands. She seemed to write down everything.

We were all used to the quiet, laid-back, Peter. While he was an anxious fellow, he kept it inside to where he seemed relaxed. Only when he blushed did you see what he truly felt. Prudence, on the other hand, was loud, high-strung, and outwardly manic. While Peter was the night, Prudence was the day. She spoke over people and her average tone was like she was yelling. Already, I could feel myself getting frustrated with her. It was only a matter of time before one of us, most likely me, exploded on her. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Ellen asked as the driver took off.

I groaned loudly, "Horrible, truly."

"Come off it, Melly, it was just like any other press conference," Molly replied, "Chaotic, stressful, and draining."

"And rubbish. A load of rubbish."

"That too."

Linda giggled as Ellen sighed deeply. Prudence glanced between us and Ellen, "I thought it was a success."

"It was, Prudence, the girls are just a bit tired," Ellen replied, "Nevertheless, I am proud of you three for doing that. The press for this new album will be astounding."

Molly squeezed my hand, smiling the entire time. Over the past two years, we had taken Revolution far. We had taken it across the world and reached the ears of everyone on the planet, but now, we had taken it to a whole new level. Revolution has only ever had one other number one hit, and that was a single. This was an entire bloody album. Every song on that record went straight to the top. We even kicked The Beatles out of the charts for a bit. This was truly a step up. It was our turn to stand at the top.

"As a dear friend of mine would say," I grinned, "We're at the toppermost of the poppermost, lassies!"

The entire car cheered. Even Ellen laughed along with us. For a moment, we were reeling in the newfound energy from our excitement.

That energy quickly vanished whenever our building came into sight. Molly and I stepped out, bidding goodnight to Ellen, Linda, and Prudence before they sped off. Whenever we stepped into the lift, I exhaled deeply, "I'm knackered."

"No, you're Amelia," Molly replied.

"Very funny, ya cheeky git."

Molly laughed. The lift opened and we shuffle into our flat. As soon as the front door shut, I kicked off my shoes and headed towards the bedroom. All I wanted to do was curl up with Molly and go to sleep. Molly, on the other hand, had different plans.

"I'm going to shower," she announced, "I smell like reporters and desperation."

I chuckled, "I'm gonna sleep."

"I'll join you in a bit."

She winked at me and vanished into the bathroom. I smiled before heading into her room. We had practically both moved into the same room, with her room being the chosen one. My window showed nothing but a brick wall. Molly's, however, had a good view of the park across the street. It seemed more open as well.

As soon as I fell onto the bed, the phone rang. I released a loud groan. Of course it would ring just as soon as I laid down. Part of me wanted to ignore it, whoever it was could wait until morning. There was a chance it was someone who really needed something.

"Hello?" I answered.

The first response I got was a hiccup followed by Paul's slurred words, "E-Ello, Lia. My baby sis-my baby sister."

"Paul, are you drunk?" I asked.

"Pfft, no," he replied slowly, "I'm just a bit sloshed is all."

"You're drunk off your gob, aren't ya?"

"N-No."

He trailed off for a moment, mumbling to himself. When he finally spoke again, his words were even more mashed together, "Y-you know, Lia, I-I'm proud of you, I am. You birds-you kicked us off the charts, you bunch of wankers, but I-I'm proud of you anyways."

"Thanks, Paulie," I replied.

"I-I've got somethin' else to say," he hiccuped, "It's about bloody time!"

He shouted the last part so loud, I nearly dropped the phone. Shaking my head, I asked, "What?"

"It's about bloody-time-about bloody time they gave you a number-a number one," Paul slurred, "You birds-you're great, you know? I'm proud."

Even though he was drunk and couldn't control what he was saying, I took it to heart. It meant a lot to hear him say that. I felt a genuine smile cross my lips.

"Thanks, Paulie, that means a lot. We're not as good as The Beatles, though."

"Rubbish! Beatles, Rebels, Rebels, Beatles, shoes, socks, what's the difference?" he asked.

"Well, for starters-"

"Oi, I wanna talk to her!" a loud voice came behind Paul.

John's voice was unmistakable as he is, when he was drunk it was even stronger. I heard a scuffle on the other end complete with female-like yelps. When everything calmed down, the very drunk voice of John came over the speaker, "Ey, Melly, heard you kicked us off the charts."

"Yeah."

"You bloody wanker," John muttered, "Thought we were friends."

"Course we are, John," I replied.

He shouted, "Then, why'd ya kick us off the bloody charts?"

"It's not our fault. Besides, you should be happy for us."

"I am," he answered a little too quickly, "You're still a git, McCartney."

"As are you, Lennon."

Before he could say anything else, the phone was jerked away from him. I could hear air moving past the mic with John shouting in the background. I waited patiently.

"Congratulations, Melly!" George exclaimed.

His voice always got higher when he was knackered. He sounded more like a toddler than a twenty-two year old man. I smiled, "Thanks, Georgie. Say, are you lads at home?"

It had only just occurred to me that they might be at a bar. If they were, and completely sloshed, it was only a matter of time before one of them got arrested. I dreaded his answer before I even asked.

"N-No," George replied, "We're at-er- we're at- say, Ringo, where are we?"

The phone was moved once again. Ringo came on this time, and his words were so slurred I barely understood him, "A bar."

"I guessed that," I sighed, "Which bar?"

"The one on First Street. With the bright sign."

"McHard's, right, should've know. Always was a favorite of yours."

McHard's had been their favorite bar since we moved to London. I never liked it, mainly because of how manly it was. The testosterone in the room nearly suffocated me. I had been there at least ten times, and not once had I seen another female. Each time, I left just as quickly as I had arrived. 

"Right, you lads are piss drunk," I said, "I'll come get you before you do something we'll all regret."

"Aw, Mel."

I rolled my eyes, "Do you want to get arrested?"

"N-No?"

"Stay right there, I'm on my way."

I hung up the phone and sighed deeply. It wasn't like them to get completely blackout drunk in a public place. They had an image to uphold, and they knew that better than anyone. While they were known for the occasional snide comment or public smoke, they would never get piss drunk in public. Something was up, I could smell it from miles away.

After writing a note to Molly, I grabbed my hat and hurried out of the building. The only option was to call a cab, since none of us had a car. I did and the cabbie sped me to McHard's.

Several old men gave me nasty looks as I walked in. I felt disgusted just by them looking at me. Averting my gaze, I scanned the room for my friends.

The four of them were leaning against each other in a booth in the corner. I could see Ringo's foot sticking out past George and John. He was passed out while the other three were in deep conversation. I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore the looks the other people in the bar gave me.

"Melly!" John exclaimed as soon as I approached them.

He leaped out of his seat and pulled me into a bone crushing embrace. Sober John would have never done such a thing. He was not one for hugs on a daily basis, only when he was so drunk he wouldn't remember it in the morning. I pushed him away and placed my fists on my hips.

"What the bloody hell were you lads thinking?" I asked, "You can't get drunk in public like this!"

Paul pointed at me, "We were thinking that we're-we're bloody pissed."

"I can see that."

"Pissed off!" John exclaimed.

He fell back into his seat and ran his hands through his hair. Part of me was worried his violent side would come out. There were two sides to drunk John; the crazy side and the crazy violent side. Right now, he was just crazy, as was evident in the hug he gave me. If he got violent, there would be no way I could stand up against him.

"What about this time?" I asked.

George hiccuped, "Another bloody movie."

"You're making another movie?" I asked, "Nobody told me."

"That's cause we don't want to! We're musicians not actors, the script is bloody ridiculous and we don't want to fucking do it!" John practically screamed.

I cringed, "John, please, calm down."

"I don't wanna calm down," John spat, "I'm bloody pissed. I don't wanna make another movie."

"Me neither. Ridiculous, it is," Paul replied.

George nodded, "Maybe-maybe we could run away before filming even-before it even starts."

"You're a genius Georgie!" John exclaimed, "We'll run so far, none of those nutters will find us. We'll go to-um-"

"India," George completed.

"India! We'll go to bloody India!"

"No, nobody's going to India," I replied, "I'm taking you home."

Paul pouted, "I don't wanna go home."

"You can't tell us what to do, we're older," George stuck his tongue out.

I gazed at him, "Are you sure?"

He turned to Paul and pouted. Paul copied his look and gave me the doe eyes that had won him so many arguments in his childhood. This time, they had lost their charm to the alcohol slowly making him groggier, "Please, Lia, one more drink?"

"That's not gonna work this time," I replied, "Come on, before I have to drag you out."

John crossed his arms, "You won't get me out. I'm not leaving."

"Oh, yes you are," I replied.

Had Molly been there with me, things would have been a lot easier. With two lads on the verge of tears, one as stubborn as a donkey, and another fast asleep, getting them out proved to be more difficult than I expected.

"Ringo, get your arse up," I demanded.

The man in question flung his eyes open and shot to a sitting position. He breathed heavily before locking eyes with me, "What? What's going on?"

"I'm takin' you lot home, come ed," I jerked my head to the door.

Ringo was more than willing to leave. George clung to him, which also helped to keep him up. Absent-mindedly, they followed me.

John and Paul were a bit more difficult. Luckily, when they were completely sloshed, they didn't have much fight in them. I was able to grip their arms and drag them out of the bar, ignoring their constant whining as we did.

I pushed the four drunk lads into the backseat. The cab was large, with two rows of seats facing each other in the back. John and Paul sat on one side while I took the other with Ringo and George. George had yet to release Ringo, but Ringo didn't seem to mind. He kept smiling a drunken smile at the youngest Beatle.

"I hope you lads know I'm never letting this go," I stated.

Paul snorted, "T-tosser."

"You're too sloshed for me to reply to that."

Paul and John both thought that was the funniest thing in the world. They both starting howling with laughter. Tears poured down their cheeks as they laughed so hard their voices went hoarse. I simply watched with a bemused expression on my face.

The cabbie took us to George's house first. He pulled up to a stop and glanced back at me, "You need some help, lass?"

"Not anymore."

I climbed out of the cab and pulled George with me. He was less than enthused to go. The poor chap practically clung to Ringo, whimpering about not wanting to leave. Ringo had fallen back asleep and was completely oblivious to George's whines.

"Come off it, George, you're gonna see him tomorrow," I groaned, "Pattie's probably worried."

"Pattie?" he muttered.

"Yes, Pattie, you know, you're girlfriend."

George mumbled something and released Ringo. I wrapped one of his arms around my shoulder as we made our way to the door. Every step seemed to take an eternity, since George was dragging his feet. He was going to pass out at any second, I could tell by the way he fluttered his eyelids. Luckily, we made it to the door without him collapsing on me. I knocked abruptly, moving around to where I could hold up George.

"Oh my God, George!" Pattie exclaimed as soon as she opened the door.

I transferred George into her arms. He smiled drunkenly at her, "You're a pretty-a pretty bird."

"Georgie, you said just one drink," Pattie sighed.

"It's never just one," I replied, "I've got to get the other three home. Good luck, Pattie."

"Thank you for bringing him home."

I saluted and spun around. Pattie shut the door just as I stepped off the patio. John and Paul both had their faces squished against the cab window. They looked like a couple of kids. Whenever I slid into my seat, they were giggling maniacally.

"I really hate drunk John and Paul," I muttered.

John hiccuped, "Bugger off, Melly."

"Yeah, bugger off," Paul agreed.

I simply shook my head and sighed. They branched off of each other on normal days, drunken them just capitalized on that. It occurred to me that I had never seen them drunk except for when they were together. Part of me wondered what drunk John and drunk Paul were like without the other one. Deep down, I knew that's when John got violent.

My fears began to grow with that. The only choice I had was to bring him to Cynthia, but that would mean separating him from Paul. If he was giggly and child-like with Paul, there was a chance he became violent without him. I didn't want to leave a violent John with Cynthia and Julian. Who knows what he could do when he wouldn't remember it the next morning.

I was given no other choice. Had we been in Liverpool, I would have taken John to his Aunt Mimi. He couldn't stay with any of the other lads, since they were just as drunk as him. As it was, I already had my suspicions that Paul would be staying with me. There was no where else for John to go.

Reluctantly, I wrapped John's arm around my shoulder and began to help him to his flat. The further he got from Paul, the more upset he got. At first, he fell silent, simply shuffling along with his eyes on the ground. As the lift climbed up the building, however, he got a bit out of hand.

"Ah, fuck off, I can handle myself," he pushed me away.

I stumbled back to the wall and sighed. He stood straight and wobbly, like he might fall over at any minute. I stood nearby just in case.

When the doors opened, he began to make his way out. His steps were crooked and he never went in a straight line. I nervously followed him. As much as I wanted to force him to let me help him, I didn't want to get hit.

"Amelia?" Cynthia asked when she opened the door, "John? What happened?"

John forcefully pushed past her and stumbled into the living room. I saw him flop onto the couch. Cynthia watched him for a moment before turning back to me.

"They called me from the bar, piss drunk. I had to save their arses before they did somethin' daft," I replied.

Cynthia frowned, "Thank you, Amelia. He said he would only have one drink."

"It's never one, is it?"

Cynthia shook her head. She glanced back at John sadly. I searched for any sign of fear. If she showed even a tiny speck of fear, there was no way I was leaving her with him. The only thing I saw in her eyes was an intense sadness.

"Are you gonna be alright with him?" I asked, "I can come right back after I take Paul and Ringo home."

Cynthia smiled and shook her head, "We'll be alright. This isn't the first time. Thank you, Amelia."

"Of course. Just- don't hesitate to call me if you need me, alright, Cyn?"

She nodded, "Alright. Thank you."

"Anytime."

She shut the door lightly. I was still a bit nervous about leaving her with John, but I knew it was nothing she couldn't handle. They had been together for years, she knew exactly what drunk John was like. Hell, she handled him on a day-to-day basis, that in itself was an achievement. I'd have pulled my hair on the very first day.

Ringo was still unconscious whenever I slid back into the car. Paul was looking around like a lost child. When he saw me, he grinned, "Where's Johnny?"

"Back home," I replied, "Is Jane home?"

His face instantly fell, "Course not, she never is. The bloody-"

"We're not getting into this now. You'll come home with me, yeah? I don't trust you alone."

He didn't argue. The cabbie took us to our building. Once I paid him, I woke Ringo up and pulled the two stumbling lads out of the cab. They both leaned heavily on me as we made our way into the building. In the lift, Ringo nearly fell over.

As soon as Maureen answered the door, she glanced at Ringo and sighed deeply. She waddled over, her belly nearly making her capsize, and took him from me, "So much for one drink."

"Did all of them say that?" I asked no one in particular, "With them, it's never one drink, it's always at least six."

"He can barely handle three."

Maureen sighed deeply and looked at her husband. I glanced at her belly and smiled. She was due any day, Ringo had told me so. Soon, we would have yet another addition into our ever-growing family. I couldn't wait to meet Ringo Jr.

"Thanks, Mel, I suppose I should put him to bed," Maureen smiled weakly at me.

I returned the smile, "Same with Paulie. Hey, Mo, if you need any help, don't hesitate to call. I'm just a lift ride away."

"Thanks, but I think we'll manage."

"Alright. Goodnight, Mo."

"Goodnight, Mel."

She shut the door and I began to drag Paul back to the lift. He was nearly unconscious at this point. As we entered the flat Molly and I shared, he mumbled something incoherent. I simply shook my head and dragged him to my room.

He flopped onto the bed and was unconscious in an instant. I crossed my arms and shook my head, "Like a child, you are."

Of course, he didn't reply. I slipped out of the room and shut the door on his snores. Stepping into Molly's room, I felt a wave of intense exhaustion hit me.

It was nearly three in the morning by then. I was so tired, I might have blacked out right then and there. The lamp was on and Molly had a book across her chest, like she had been up waiting for me but fell asleep. I smiled at her sleeping form. After removing the book and turning off the lamp, I crawled into bed next to her and sighed in content.

"Finally," I breathed before falling into oblivion.


	134. Starr Child

Our building had a wall of mailboxes in a room right next to the lobby. They were nothing more than small, metal, lockers packed into a wall with the numbers of their respected flats painted on the front. Each one smelled like steamed broccoli, which was both disgusting and slightly alarming. Every time I had to get the mail, I quickly opened the box and grabbed the letters before slamming it shut as quickly as possible.

Shuffling through the papers, I saw mostly bills. Nobody had found our address yet, so we didn't receive any fan mail. We did, however, receive a small package from Molly's uncle. I held that in my hand and carried the letters under my arm.

Our building was large. It was neither luxurious nor shabby, it was somewhere in between. The lady in the lobby was always smiling, though I was sure her teeth were fake. The lights in the halls never went out and the lift always smelled like fresh strawberries. The neighbors weren't rowdy, and the neighborhood itself was rather secluded. Sometimes the carpet had weird stains in it and most of the windows saw nothing but brick walls, but that was a small price to pay for the seclusion of it all. 

The entire building could smell like wet cat and I wouldn't care, all that mattered was the fans had yet to find us. They never thought to look in a middle class neighborhood for some of the biggest stars of the time. That meant we had privacy for the first time in what felt like forever.

As I waited for the lift, I hummed to myself and tapped my foot. The medley was nothing in particular, but it fell into the rhythm of the lift's alert system. As it climbed down the floors, it beeped, loudly.

The lift doors opened. I expected an empty elevator, but I was met with the exact opposite. The first thing I saw was Ringo's panicking face. His skin had gone blood red as his eyes were wide and bloodshot. He was bouncing in every direction, doing his best to hold up his shouting wife.

Maureen looked like she was dying. She had gone decisively pale, and her very hair seemed to stand up. Every muscle in her face was stiff, her eyes were clenched so tightly, I thought they might fall out. She was gripping her bulging belly and crying out. Right between her legs, a dark spot was developing, quickly spreading along her jeans. The package I was holding hit the floor as I jumped in shock.

"What the bloody fuck?!" I exclaimed.

"Mo's in labour," Ringo hurriedly replied, "I-I've got to get her into the car."

He was having difficulty helping her move. She swayed too far to the left, and Ringo could only hold her on the right. Without hesitation, I shoved the mail and the package into my rucksack and hurried to Maureen's other side. Ringo and I each supported her on the way to the car.

Ringo's beige car was parked behind the building in a row of other cars. The two of us worked together to lay Maureen in the back. She was practically screaming now, gripping her stomach and shouting curse words I never thought I'd hear her say. Ringo looked on the verge of a total breakdown.

"You drive, I'll watch her," I told him.

He nodded and hurried to the driver's seat. I sat next to Maureen and put her head in my lap. She screamed so loudly, my ear drums threatened to burst.

"Mo, listen, it's going to be alright," I told her, "Ringo's drivin' us to the hospital right now."

"Fucking hell! I'm gonna bloody explode, fuck!" Maureen screamed.

Ringo squeezed his fingers around the wheel tighter as he weaved through traffic. I'm not sure who I was more worried about; Maureen or Ringo. Maureen was the obvious choice, she looked like she was actually dying. I half-expected her to explode right then and there. Ringo looked like he was going to faint, but, miraculously, he remained steady. I ran my fingers through Maureen's hair in an effort to comfort her.

"Deep breaths, Mo," I told the screaming woman.

"What do you think I'm doing?! Fucking hell!"

Ringo gritted his teeth, "We're almost there."

"Christ!"

Maureen screamed once again. The denim of her jeans between her legs began to turn a few shades darker. I wasn't sure if it was water or blood, but I didn't care. The mere thought made me want to throw up. I focused on Maureen's face, but that didn't look much better.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, Ringo rushed inside. He returned moments later with a wheelchair and a nurse. The three of us worked together to get the screaming Maureen into the wheelchair. She fought back, but I realized she wasn't fighting us, she was fighting the pain.

I hurried to follow Ringo into the hospital. A few people turned to look at us, a few even muttered our names, but nobody stopped us. As we approached the room Maureen would be staying in, the nurse turned to us, "Family only."

"Good luck, Ringo," I gripped his shoulder.

He spun to me and offered a loose smile. He didn't have to tell me for me to know he was on the verge of a breakdown. I gave him a reassuring grin.

"Can you call the lads, tell them what's happening?" Ringo asked.

"Will do."

He grinned, his grin quickly turning into a beam, "I'm about to be a Father."

"And a bloody good one. Go on, then, your lady needs you."

He nodded before rushing into the room Maureen had been taken in. I watched him go for a minute, smiling the entire time. The look on his face was one of terror, but also pure excitement. I had no doubt that Ringo would make the greatest father in the world.

I had been in the hospital many times before, but never for a birth. I had gone to hospitals for death, but not for a new life. It gave me a whole new perspective on hospitals. No longer were they a place for death, rather, a place for revitalization.

There was a payphone in an abandoned hallway just a few doors down from Maureen's room. Even from there, I could hear her screaming. If I concentrated hard enough, I could hear Ringo screaming right along with her. As I dialed, I did my best to block out the screams of my friends. 

"'Mackenzie speaking," Molly answered.

"Molly, I'm in the hospital."

"What?!" she shouted, "What happened? Are you okay? You just went down to get the mail, how did you wind up in the bloody hospital?!"

"No, not in the hospital in the hospital, I'm standing in it," I replied, "I met Ringo and Maureen in the lift. Maureen's in labor, Molly! She's having the baby!"

Molly gasped, "What?"

"She's having a bleeding baby!"

"Blimey!" Molly exclaimed, "I'm on my way. The one on Elm Street?"

"The very same. You don't have to come, Mols, it'll be a while."

I could almost hear Molly shake her head, "I'm not leavin' you alone. Besides, who else will help you carry Ringo out?"

"Fair point," I giggled, "Bloody hell, Mols, Ringo looks on the verge of collapsing."

Molly giggled, "He's about to be a Da."

"Tough to believe, honestly."

"I'll see you in a minute, Melly."

"See you, love."

It was difficult to believe Ringo was going to be a father. While I knew he would be a great one, I couldn't believe it. He was such like a child himself, it didn't seem fitting for him to have a child of his own. Yet, I had witnessed it, Maureen was about to have his baby.

I decided to dial Brian next. As he was Ringo's manager and close friend, I found it only fitting to call him next. To nobody's surprise, he answered after the very first ring.

"Epstein's office, Brian Epstein speaking," Brian answered.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Don't you have an assistant to answer for you?"

"Yes, but Moxie is out for the day," Brian replied, "What can I do for you, Amelia?"

"Ringo's having a baby."

Brian hesitated, "Maureen went into labor?"

"Yeah, caught them in the lift, I did. We're at the hospital on Elm Street. Mark my words, Bri, Ringo's gonna faint before Mo does."

"Thank you for telling me, Amelia, I am on my way," Brian replied, "Tell Ringo to stay calm."

"Kinda hard when he's in a different room," I answered, "It's gonna take a long time, Bri, you don't have to come right now."

"I have a duty to Ringo as both his manager and his friend. I'll see you in a minute, Amelia."

I shrugged, "See you then, Bri."

With that, we hung up. That was two out of five. Seeing as how it was a Tuesday, I presumed the lads would all be together in the studio. It was a wonder Ringo wasn't there at the time. I dialed the number for EMI Studios only to have George Martin himself answer.

"Ey, Martin, it's Amelia," I said.

"Amelia, to what do I owe this pleasure?" George Martin asked, his voice obviously displeased.

I grinned, "I need to talk to the lads, it's urgent. Are they there?"

"Three of them, at least, we're still waiting for Ringo."

"See, that's why I called. Mind putting one of them on?"

"Of course."

I waited patiently for a moment. In the distance, I could hear George Martin calling out for the lads. A door slammed shut and three familiar voices were heard. They argued for a moment before George Martin silenced them and handed the phone to one in particular.

"Lia?" Paul answered.

"'Ello, Paulie," I grinned, "I'm in the hospital."

"What? What'd you do? Are you hurt?"

I frowned, "No, why does everybody think that?"

"Phrasing, Lia, bloody hell," Paul sighed, "Why're you in the hospital?" 

"Maureen went into labor, I helped Ringo get her here."

"Wait- Mo's havin' the baby?!" Paul shouted.

I heard John and George both shout incoherently in the background. A small smile crossed my face as I waited for Paul to reply. When he finally did, he was laughing as he spoke, "Bloody hell, that's wonderful! Has Ringsy fainted yet?"

"I dunno, he's in the room with Mo."

"Five pounds says he has."

"That's a sucker bet."

We both laughed. John said something in the background to which Paul replied, "Yeah, yeah, bugger off, John. Say, Lia, which hospital are you at?"

"The one on Elm Street. You know, with the big, red, cross?"

"Yeah, yeah, that big oaf of a building," Paul replied, "We'll be right over, yeah?"

I shrugged, "She's gonna be in labor a while, Paulie. It takes a long time."

"How long is a long time?"

"I dunno, actually. A few hours?"

As it turns out, I was off by about seven hours. It took Maureen ten hours to finally have that baby. Paul sighed on the other end, "We'll come tomorrow mornin', then, yeah? Keep it less crowded?"

"Brian and Molly are coming anyways, I think Ringo's covered," I smiled, "Not that any of us are gonna see him."

"You're gonna stay?"

"Probably not the whole time, I dunno," I replied.

"Good luck, then. I'll come visit you lot later on."

I grinned, "Alrighty, Paulie. Say, drag Johnny and Georgie with you, yeah?"

"Course."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone for the last time and spun around to face down the hall. Even then, I could still hear Maureen's screams. Her screams were ear-piercing even through five different walls. I felt them vibrant my very bones.

Just as I fell to sit on one of the uncomfortable hospital couches, the doors opened. Molly appeared. She scanned the room before her eyes landing on me. Shuffling over, she plopped next to me, "How're they?"

"I dunno, haven't seen them yet," I replied, "Bri's on his way too."

"Brian? Why?"

"Says it's his duty as Ringo's friend and manager."

Molly shook her head, "He imagines more 'duties' than he actually has."

"And he wonders why he's so stressed."

Molly laughed. We watched as three nurses sped past, running towards their next job. Molly leaned back into the couch and sighed, "I s'pose we're in for a long wait."

***

Ten hours later, Ringo finally appeared. Molly and I had been drifting in and out of sleep, each of us taking turns going home and grabbing things to keep us entertained. When Ringo came out, Molly was fast asleep on the couch while I sat on a nearby armchair. Brian wasn't too far away, his chin braced on his chest as he snored softly. I glanced up as soon as I heard the door open.

Ringo looked elated. His face was a fresh shade of pink and his smile was wider than I had ever seen it. He seemed to have aged up a few years, just in the way his eyes were. I instantly leaped up and rushed to meet him with a hug.

"Well? How is she?" I asked.

The two of us were out of earshot of Molly and Brian. She had only just fallen asleep, and I didn't think it right to wake her just yet. While Molly and I had been drifting in and out of sleep all night, Brian stayed wide awake. He had finally passed out just thirty minutes before. Ringo gripped my elbows, his smile growing wider with every second, "Mo's fine. She's asleep right now."

"And the baby?"

"A boy," Ringo replied, "I have a son."

"Oh, Ringo, that's amazing!"

I pulled him into another embrace. He was giggling like a little child. Never have I seen Ringo as happy as he was in that moment. His very being seemed to glow with enthusiasm.

"Do you want to see him?" Ringo whispered.

"Of course I do, I haven't been waiting out here for nothin'."

Ringo grinned and beckoned for me to follow. He led me through the winding halls of the hospital. Each room smelled of bleach and lemon cleaner, both mixing together to give me a headache. That headache was nothing compared to the pure joy I felt for my friend. He had been waiting so long, and, finally, the baby had come.

The newest addition to The Starkey Family was fast asleep in a plastic cradle in a room of similar cradles. Only a few were filled, others eagerly awaited their occupants. The baby was large with lots of fat and legs. He seemed more legs than anything else. His tiny fists were curled around the blue blanket that he was bundled in.

"He's beautiful," I muttered.

Ringo beamed, "His name is Zak."

"He looks just like you, you know."

That only made Ringo smile wider. Though the baby was asleep, I was sure he had the same sparkling eyes as his Dad. Ringo pressed his hands against the glass and gazed at his brand new son.

There are few things more beautiful than the smile on a new parent's face. Ringo was glowing with that new Father shine. I could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin even from a few meters away. At any moment, I expected him to break out into song, just like in a musical. As he stared at his first born child, his eyes shone with unshed tears. They weren't tears of sadness, quite the opposite actually. Tears of pure, unfiltered, joy threatened to fall down his cheeks at any moment.

A baby was a momentous occasion, worth celebrating for years to come. It was a new life full of innocence and wonder. Anything could lay ahead of that baby; every laugh, every cry, every love, and every heartache. That child had his entire life ahead of him.

I felt it too. Watching that baby take his first few breaths filled me with a sense of wonder I had never seen before. I'd seen plenty of newborn babies before, but none as new as Zak. He had barely been alive for an hour. Never have I seen anything as pure as a newborn baby.

"I'm so happy for you, Ringo," I whispered.

Ringo smiled, "This is the greatest moment of my life."


	135. The Birds Gather

"Can't believe I had to leave so soon," Ringo huffed.

"Aw, Ringo, don't be so glum," I smiled, shifting the phone to my other ear, "You're in the bloody Alps. Is it nice there?"

"Beautiful. We're about to go up on the mountain now. Paul's freezing his arse off."

I laughed, "Paulie and the cold never did go together well."

"We might have to bring him back and shove him in the microwave."

"Ah, but when you get to The Bahamas, he'll turn from a popsicle into a puddle."

The filming for Help! had started just three days after Zak was born. Ringo was made to go all over the world for a movie he didn't even want to make, leaving his wife with his newborn son all alone. Luckily for him, Maureen was as tough as she was beautiful. She was up and walking around just ten minutes after giving birth.

"Wish we didn't have to leave," Ringo huffed, "Say, Mel, wouldja mind checking up on Mo for me?"

"Was planning on it anyways, Ringo. Mols, Pattie, Cyn, and I thought we'd give her a bit of company."

Ringo's voice raised a little, telling me he was smiling, "Thanks. I've got to go, duty calls."

"Don't eat the yellow snow," I cheekily remarked.

"I'll keep that in mind."

With that, I set the phone back on the receiver. Even from several thousand miles away, I could hear the lads complaining. Doing another movie was the last thing on their agenda, but Brian had dutifully reminded them that they had a contract. Technically, their contract was for five movies, this was only the beginning.

The same director, Richard Lester, was directing Help! Once again, he had written in a cameo for the rebels. This time, is wasn't just me, it was the entire band. Molly, Linda, and I had an entire scene in the movie. Ellen had showed us the scripts and given us a bit more warning this time, unlike last time when Lester called me the day before filming. This movie seemed to be planned out better than the last.

"Bloody fuck!" I heard Molly exclaim.

I strolled into the living room to find her on the floor. She was doing her best to wrap the present we had gotten for Maureen. The silver wrapping paper was tangled around the box and Molly had tape stuck all over her body. She was desperately trying to hold together two pieces of paper that were just a hair too short to wrap around the box.

"It's going well, then?" I sarcastically asked.

Molly glared at me, "Bugger off, Melly."

"Come off it, let me try."

"I've got it!"

"Do you?" I asked, "You've got tape in your hair. Did you know that?"

She moved her hand to her hair. As she did, the entire wrapping job came undone. She threw her arms up in exasperation, "That's it! Mo's gettin' a bloody box!"

"Calm down, Mols, let me have a go."

"Rubbish!" Molly exclaimed.

I gently pushed her aside to kneel next to the box. The main problem was that she had cut the wrapping paper too short. I abandoned her original project and started over.

"Wanker," Molly muttered when I showed her the wrapped box.

I smirked, "Aw, poor baby."

Molly rolled her eyes and chuckled, causing me to grin. Tucking the package under my arm, I said, "We better go, then, before we're late."

Molly nodded. She slipped on her boots and we were off, carrying the present with us. When the door to the lift opened, we were met with a toddler shouting, "Auntie Melly! Auntie Molly!"

Julian ran forward to hug my legs. I laughed, bending down to lift the toddler into my arms. Cynthia was smiling at us all. She carried a gift bag with the top of a wine bottle sticking out.

"Seems like I meet lots of people in the lift," I commented.

Cynthia lifted an eyebrow while Molly shook her head, "Lucky lift, I s'pose."

"Say, Cyn, is that a bottle of grape juice?" I asked, pointing to the bag.

She lifted it up and smiled, "Grape juice for adults."

"Isn't that a little early?" Molly asked, "Mo just had a baby, seems like a bad time for wine."

"On the contrary, Molly, it's the perfect time. Take it from me, she's going to need the whole bottle," Cynthia replied.

We all glanced at each other before bursting out in laughter. The lift bell dinged moment later, signalling that we had arrived at our destination. I led the group to the perfectly white door and let Julian do the knocking.

"You really like getting gifts, don't you?" Maureen commented as soon as she saw the silver box beneath my arm.

She had been very insistent on not having a baby shower, and that meant no gifts. The only two people she allowed to give gifts were both sets of grandparents. That, and three stubborn friends.

"What kind of Aunt would I be if I didn't spoil the kid?" I replied.

Molly chuckled, "She just likes buying gifts."

"And don't you forget it either."

Maureen shook her head, "Thank you, even though we said no gifts."

"Ah, yes, but I never listen," I replied, "Only on occasion."

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "Name one."

"She listened to Paul that one time," Cynthia pointed out.

"What one time?"

Cynthia went to answer but fell flat. I crossed my arms and scoffed, "Tossers."

"Come in, then," Maureen stepped aside to let us walk past her.

Julian wiggled out from my arms and rushed forward to hug Maureen's legs. Maureen accepted the hug. She had yet to go back to the twig she was when I first met her, but she was getting there. In just under a night, she had deflated to the point where it looked like she had shed enough to make a whole nother person. Her smile was a lot brighter too. Whether that be from relief from the pains of pregnancy or the joys of being a Mother, I don't know.

"Is he asleep?" Cynthia asked.

Maureen nodded, "Just went down a few minutes ago. Come on, you can see him if you like."

Cynthia was practically beaming. I took Julian's hand and smiled at the three women, "I'll stay here with Jules. You go."

Cynthia muttered a thank you before shuffling down the hall with Maureen. Molly was quick to follow. She had seen Zak in the hospital, but that wouldn't stop her love for children. I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when Regina had her baby. Seeing a friend's child was one thing, but seeing a baby that was blood related to you was something completely different. Something more beautiful.

"Melly! Melly, guess what!" Julian exclaimed.

I smiled at the boy, "What?"

"Daddy taught me how to sing a song!"

"Really? Which one?"

"The star song!"

He began the first few lines of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. He was off beat and out of tune, but proud all the same. When he sang, he had the same cocky grin John did. Julian was only two and he was already acting like his Dad. He even looked like John, with the same facial structure and cheeky grin. As he sang, I watched him bob on his legs like a cork. The similarities between him and John were almost scary. The world could barely handle one John Lennon, let alone two.

"That was lovely, Jules," I grinned.

Julian beamed, "Will you sing it with me?"

"Sure!"

Just as we neared the end of the second verse, there was a knock on the door. Maureen, Cynthia, and Molly were still in the other room cooing at the sleeping newborn. The second knock was a bit louder, and I was worried it would wake up Zak. Holding Julian's hand, I went to answer.

"Pattie, pleasure meeting you here," I grinned.

Pattie smiled brightly, "I'm not late, am I?"

"Can't be late when we didn't have a time."

Pattie laughed. She greeted Julian before stepping past me into the living room. As usual, she was positively stunning. Her hair was curled, and her dress brought out her baby blue eyes. It was no wonder George had fallen for her beauty as well as her brains. George always loved girls who were pretty and intelligent.

"Where are the girls?" Pattie asked.

She set her gift on the table next to ours and Cynthia's. Cynthia seemed to be the only one who brought the new Mum liquor, which I found odd considering she despised it when John drank. Only once have I ever seen Cynthia with a drink, and that had been before she and John got married.

"In the back, cooing over Zak," I replied, "They should be back soon."

As soon as I said that, we heard a baby crying. Both of us instinctively turned towards the hall. Through the thin walls, we heard Maureen shushing the baby. Just a few seconds later, all three girls emerged with Maureen cradling Zak.

"Oh, he's positively gorgeous," Pattie cooed.

Maureen smiled, "Thank you, Pattie. He looks like his father, doesn't he?"

"I dunno, he's got his Mum's eyes," I replied, "He's got Ringo's smile, though, it's unmistakeable."

Zak opened his eyes and we all immediately saw we were wrong. Big blue eyes, bluer even than the sky, looked up at us with wonder. Maureen had rich brown, almost black, eyes. Those eyes could only have come from Ringo. As the baby smiled a wonky grin, just like one I knew, I realized Ringo had a clone.

"Blimey, Mo, you're right, he looks just like Ringo," Molly muttered.

Maureen nodded, "If I wasn't there, I'd wonder who the mother was."

All of us laughed. Maureen glanced up at Molly and smiled, "Would you like to hold him?"

"Of course!"

She delicately took the baby in her arms. It seemed to be natural for her, holding a child. She had never had a child of her own, and yet, she acted like a Mum all the same. I watched as she gazed down at the little boy with complete adoration in her eyes. She whispered to him, making him giggle for the first time.

I'll never forget seeing Molly hold Zak. I had seen her with babies, toddlers, and children alike, but that was different. As she held the newborn baby, she seemed to glow with joy. She held him with such tenderness, he might as well have been her own. Even Maureen saw the motherly qualities of Molly, making her smile slightly.

"Here, Mo, open ours first," I shoved the silver package into Maureen's arms.

As Molly held Zak, soon to be passed around, Maureen sat on the couch. We all surrounded her and watched as she opened the gifts. She was one who preferred to save the paper rather than rip through it. I felt like pulling my hair out by the time she was done.

"Oh, Mel, it's lovely," Maureen smiled, "He'll love it."

She pulled a pair of tiny bongos out of the box. Zak would have to grow into them, but Molly and I had planned it that way. We found the colorful bongos on Carnaby Street. They were decorated in psychedelic designs that the sixties had made iconic. 

"I should have expected that," Cynthia smiled.

Pattie chuckled, "I'm sure Ringo will be happy with that gift."

"He already gave Zak his first drumsticks," Maureen replied, "Not that he can hold them."

The entire group laughed. Maureen opened the next gifts, the bottle of wine from Cynthia and a singing teddy bear from Pattie. After she had thanked them, Cynthia went to the kitchen to pour the wine.

"How does it feel being a Mum?" Pattie asked.

Maureen smiled, "Wonderful. Zak is the greatest thing that ever happened to me."

Pattie smiled wistfully. It was her turn to hold Zak, and she did so with gentleness. Maureen smiled at the woman, "What about you, Pattie? Do you want any kids?"

"Oh, yes," Pattie replied, "I love children."

"So does Georgie," I commented.

Pattie giggled, "He better."

"Ritchie wasn't sure if he wanted kids or not," Maureen smiled, "I didn't give him much of a choice."

I threw my head back and laughed at that. Molly smiled brightly, "You two make wonderful parents."

"Do you want kids?"

Both Molly and I stopped. We shared a glance. She was at a loss of what to say. Nobody else knew about us. We had yet to even tell Linda, and we knew that was inevitable. As much as we loved Cynthia, Maureen, and Pattie, it just didn't seem like something we should tell them.

"Oh, I don't know," Molly replied, "I haven't really thought about it, I guess."

Cynthia appeared moments later. She gave each of us, except for me, a glass of wine. I was the only one who disliked wine. It tasted like rotten grapes to me, and I wasn't a big fan of grapes in the first place. Instead, Julian offered me a sip of his grape juice, which I gratefully accepted with a giggle. 

"Just what every new mother needs," Cynthia winked at Maureen.


	136. Help!

The first movie went over well. A Hard Day's Night was both a hit with the fans and The Beatles themselves. It was fun to film, it fit their personalities, and it provided a perfect snapshot into their daily lives. Overall, that movie was probably the best they ever made, at least, of the movies they were actually in.

Help! was a completely different story. The script was horrible. It involved Ringo being chased all over the world by some religious cult that wanted to sacrifice him all because he wore some special ring. The lads absolutely hated it, but that wasn't surprising. They had been on a downhill drive recently, what with all the touring and stress of a new movie they didn't want to film in the first place. The sickness had just begun to set in and this movie just added medicine that didn't work. 

I had to go on set a few hours before Molly and Linda. They got extra sleep while I sluggishly made my way around Twickenham Studios. Ellen pulled me into various rooms while telling Prudence what to write down. I never heard anything, and nearly fell asleep on my feet several times. When we finally made it into the dressing room, I fell onto the couch and groaned.

"I'm bloody knackered," I muttered.

Ellen sighed, "You wouldn't be if you actually slept at night."

"I tried, Elly, honest," I replied, "Insomnia's a bitch."

Prudence began to write that down before I glared at her. She turned a ripe shade of red and lowered her pen. Ellen glanced between us and uttered one of her world famous sighs.

"Prudence, remind me later to find a cure for insomnia," Ellen told her assistant.

Prudence dutifully wrote this down. I glared at her once again, but she chose to ignore me. Ellen moved to sit on the armchair next to the couch. She leaned forward to smile at me, "I'm proud of you, Amelia."

"For what? Not sleeping?"

"For doing this," Ellen replied, "I know you do not like being in movies, but you didn't argue, and I'm proud of you for that."

I looked up at her and smiled, "Thanks, Elly, I live for your approval."

The door opened and one of Richard Lester's stagehands poked his head in. He whispered something to Prudence before quickly vanishing. The young girl turned to us and smiled, "Amelia is needed on set."

"If he gives me that bloody magazine I'm gone," I said, standing up.

Ellen shook her head, "I reviewed the script, he won't. I made sure of it."

"Elly, you're a saint."

She simply smiled. Ellen led both Prudence and I onto the set. To get there, we had to exit the main studio building and wander down a block from the lot to a row of houses. Each house looked exactly the same, except for the four houses with brightly colored doors. Films crews went in and out of those doors, all mumbling to themselves and doing their best to carry the equipment.

The four houses were connected to seem like one. Even on the inside, the rooms had been extended by four to make one large room. Each section was a different color for a different lad. Right in the middle, in the section which I instantly identified as John's, was a couch, two chairs, and a group of lads I knew all too well.

"Mel, you look a state," John commented.

He sat in the armchair with his guitar across his lap. Ringo was in the bed, which was in a hole in the floor. He grinned up at me, shaking his tambourine. Paul was leaning against the bookshelf with his beloved Hofner while George sat with a woman I didn't know on the couch.

"Bugger off, John," I replied, "I'm bloody knackered."

Paul chuckled, "You wouldn't be if you slept."

"Tell that to my insomnia."

All four lads laughed. The woman looked uncomfortable, but smiled all the same. At first, I thought I was looking at Ellen. This woman had the same tanned skin and jet black hair as Ellen. They even had the same tired smile and intelligent eyes. She was dressed in an elaborate purple coat with jewels in her hair and heels on her feet. She looked like a Princess.

"Amelia, good, you're right on time," Richard Lester said.

I spun to face him. He looked stressed, but that wasn't surprising. I didn't have to ask to know the lads had been testing his limits. It wouldn't surprise me if they had shown up to work drunk on more than one occasion. The only person who could rein them in was Brian, and he was in America for a meeting with Capitol Records.

"Course I would be, I'm contractually obligated," I replied.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "You signed a contract?"

"Technically, I did," Ellen replied, "Amelia simply agreed."

"Caught you on a technicality," John waggled his finger at me.

I stuck my tongue out at him before turning to the director. Richard Lester was about to pull out the hair he didn't have. He had his arms crossed and his foot was tapping. All of us watched him with bemused expressions.

"We are already behind on schedule, McCartney, if you please," he gestured to Paul.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "What'd I do?"

"Not you, the other McCartney."

"And who could that be?" I smirked.

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, "Please, Amelia, we're behind."

Ellen shot me a glare. I shrugged, "Where do ya want me?"

"Next to Mister McCartney. Elias, the flute, please."

One of the stagehands handed me a fake flute. I inspected it, my eyebrows furrowing, "If you woulda told me, I'd have brought my own."

"It's a bit late for that," Richard replied, "Places, everyone."

I was told to sit behind a chair, just out of view of the camera. When given the signal, I was supposed to roll out and sit at Paul's feet. The entrance seemed a bit odd to me, but, I wasn't supposed to argue.

Just before we began, Ringo spun around to glance at me. He winked, giggling as he did. I returned the gesture before he turned back around.

"Here I stand, head in hand," John began.

Suddenly, I understood exactly what we were doing. One of the music scenes was You've Got To Hide Your Love Away, the exact same song John and Paul had called me into the studio to help with. It was only logical to have the same flute player in the studio and in the scene.

When my part came on, I crawled from behind the chair and sat at Paul's feet. He looked down at me and grinned, not stopping his strumming. All four lads stopped all at once and turned to watch me go into the solo.

"Mel?" Ringo asked, "How'd you get here?"

I shrugged, "Music montage?"

"Well, get out, will ya? We're in the middle of a crisis," John stated.

I stood and winked at them all, "Cheerio, lads."

They waved as I shuffled out the door. Ellen pulled me behind the camera and outside of the building. We entered the humid air and I wrinkled my nose, "It's bleeding hot out here."

"Luckily, your scenes are inside. Come along," Ellen gestured.

She led me across the street and to another building. This building was exactly the same as the lads' commune, but it was only one room. We stepped inside to see a swingin' sixties teenage paradise.

The set had been built with the hippy culture in mind. Bean bags populated a fuzzy purple rug and wicker swings hung in every corner. Lava lamps decorated a piano and psychedelic pictures covered the walls. I was dizzied by the colorful lamps lighting the entire place. Someone had burned twice as many incense as they should have, leaving the entire building to reek of cinnamon. It reminded me of Aubergine Studios, but on steroids. 

"Bloody hell," I coughed, "Obviously, someone visited Aubergine Studios and forgot about Mitch's eccentric simplicity."

Ellen covered her nose with her hand, "This is-not what I was expecting."

"What is this rubbish?" I poked one of the lava lamps, quickly recoiling as it burned, "It's like a hippie's paradise."

Ellen shook her head, "Mister Lester assured me he would craft a set to fit your personalities."

"Janice's, maybe, but not ours," I replied.

"I must speak with him," Ellen muttered, mostly to herself, "Amelia, stay here, Prudence should be back with Molly and Linda at any moment."

I wrinkled my nose, "Can't I come with you? These incense are given me a headache, you know."

Ellen glanced around the room and sighed. I watched her for a moment, curious as to what she would do. Ultimately she crossed her arms and nodded, "Yes, of course, come along, we'll find somewhere else for you to wait."

I followed her out of the building. The fresh air, as humid as it was, was a welcome alternative to the putrid cinnamon of the building. I sucked in a deep breath as Ellen stood at the end of the drive.

Richard Lester and his crew were coming out of the house. The lads were still inside, I presumed the filming of that scene wasn't quite done yet. Ellen watched as Richard spoke to one of his cameramen at the edge of the lot.

"Wait here, I'll speak to him," she said before speed-walking away.

It was evident in her quick steps and sharp movements that she was angry. She had her eyes set on Richard Lester with cold face. I had been on the receiving end of that anger one time too many, it was not pretty. When Ellen got angry, she became determined. Nothing would stand in her way when she wanted something.

I pushed myself to sit on a half-wall nearby and watched as Ellen stomped up to Richard Lester. She began to talk in a sharp voice, while I couldn't hear her, I could see her. She never once moved her hands like the rest of us, nor did she break eye contact with Richard. Even from this distance, I could feel how uncomfortable he had become.

"Good luck, Lester," I muttered, moving to lie on the half-wall.

It was a beautiful day, one that didn't deserve to be ruined by the pressures of filming. Puffy clouds lazily crossed the bright, blue, sky, and the occasional plane flew past. Birds were singing in the distance, providing the perfect soundtrack for a beautiful day. All I wanted was to go on a picnic with Molly, but, instead, I was stuck at a wonky movie studio with high lads and a stressed director. 

"Melly!" a familiar voice called.

I lifted my head and glanced down the lot. Molly and Linda were just a few meters away. Both looked to be completely refreshed while I was exhausted. They came up to me and smiled.

"You look tired," Linda commented.

I bowed my head and groaned. Molly, pushing herself to sit next to me on the wall, chuckled, "Poor Melly's got a chronic case of insomnia."

"It's bleedin' annoying," I replied.

Linda furrowed her eyebrows, "Mom used to give me passionflower tea."

"Tried that," I muttered, "Didn't work."

I rested my forehead on Molly's shoulder and sighed. She giggled as Linda pushed herself up to sit on my other side. Molly gazed over my head at Linda and grinned, "Usually, I just slip her crushed up sleeping pills."

"You wanker," I muttered.

"You sleep, don't you?"

I grumbled under my breath, causing Molly to laugh. All three of us heard the clicking of heels moments later, announcing Ellen's presence. She came up to us and smiled, "Molly, Linda, you are right on time."

"Mornin', Elly," Molly waved.

I chuckled, "It's afternoon."

"Mornin' for me," Molly replied, "I woke up at noon."

"Lazy bum."

Molly, Linda, and I all laughed. Ellen shook her head. I glanced up at her and asked, "Didja get it changed?"

"He does have a second set he was planning on using for a different scene," Ellen explained, "But, he has agreed to let us use it."

"What's wrong with the original?" Molly asked.

I glanced at her, "It's a hippie's paradise that reeks of cinnamon, and not the good kind."

"That sounds like a headache," Linda commented.

"It is."

Ellen was about to say something when Prudence ran up to her, "Ellen, they have the set ready."

"That was fast. Come along, girls."

We followed Ellen two doors down. These houses were real, it didn't seem difficult for them to make a set out of it. Each one already had decorations to make it seem like a normal house on a normal street in London. All they needed to do to create a new set was to unlock the door.

Ellen led us to one at the end of the fake street. Just like your average street in Liverpool, each house was a carbon copy of the next. Every brick was the same, every pane, and every board. The only difference was the decorations inside and the gardens the occupants chose to upkeep.

The inside of this house was suited more to us than the other. It reminded me strongly of Dad's house. The same beige paint covered the walls along with pictures no one could quite make out. The furniture was normal, they even had the exact same coffee table Molly and I had. One of the stagehands was starting a fire in the fireplace while another was organizing magazines on the coffee table. Richard Lester stood right in the middle of it all.

"Is this more to your liking?" he asked, a hint of disdain in his voice.

Ellen's eyes turned cold, "Yes, thank you, Mister Lester."

"Wonderful," he spat, "Maybe now we can actually get something done."

Ellen became as rigid as a statue. Richard gestured to one of his helpers, who handed each of us a script. All of us had already reviewed and practiced our lines, but it was best to be prepared.

"Wait here, we begin filming in twenty minutes," Richard snapped.

He shot a glare at Ellen before leaving with his stagehands right behind him. Molly scoffed, "Twat."

"Some thing's never change," I mumbled, falling to sit on one of the couches.

Molly took one of the armchairs while Linda chose to stand. Ellen stood by the door, glaring at the place Richard once stood. I half-expected her to march after him and give him a lecture he would never forget.

"Elly, it's alright," Molly smiled.

Ellen sighed, "I'm sorry, girls, had I known it would be this way, I would have denied his offer."

"Ah, what's show business without a little hell?" I asked, "Gives us somethin' to fight, you know?"

Ellen nodded, "Yes, I suppose."

Molly and I both shot her confident smiles. Linda was shuffling through the script, her eyes slowly climbing up her head. She moved to sit next to me and frown, "He wants me to flirt with Paul."

"Really now?" Molly asked.

She had a knowing smirk across her lips. I glanced at her, my frown deepening. Paul had a very loyal girlfriend, that didn't seem right. Jane would be furious once she saw it.

"Rubbish," I muttered.

Molly chuckled, "I dunno, might not be that bad."

"You're not helping," I told her, "It's rubbish, I tell you! Jane'll be pissed!"

Linda shrugged, "I'm not too comfortable with it either, but it's not real."

"Rubbish," I muttered one last time.

Molly simply rolled her eyes and opened her script. The knowing smirk never left her lips, leaving me to question what she knew that I didn't. I stared at her, waiting for a hint, but she never gave me one.

In the scene, I had the most lines. Seeing as how I had been in the movie before, Richard knew how I would fair. Lying was not my strong suit, it never was, and acting was no different. The only reason I had done well on the last movie was because the writer had taken the words directly out of my mouth. Everything was so natural, we didn't even have to act. In this movie, however, things were a bit different.

When it was time for the scene, Ellen left the room. She gave us all a good luck before doing so. I glanced at the two girls and smiled weakly, "Ready to film?"

"No," Linda replied, "Let's do it anyways."

Molly laughed, "That's the spirit, Lindy."

"Jolly good," I grinned.

We all took our positions. Mine was at the front door, waiting for the inevitable knock. Through the front window, we could see the cameramen chasing four 'terrified' lads across the street. Behind them came a bunch of men dressed in rags and turbans with scimitars. The lads ran up to the front door, ultimately losing the crazy men in traffic, and furiously knocked on the door.

"What the bloody-" I began.

John interrupted me by pushing past me and into the house. Paul, George, and Ringo all followed, faking their fear. Paul, George, and Ringo all fell on the couch, out of breath, as John slammed the door. He hurried to cover the windows as the cameramen moved to the back of the room.

"John?" I asked, "Paul? George? Ringo? What're you doing here at this hour?"

Paul leapt up and covered my mouth, "Ssh, Lia, they'll hear you."

"Who?" I asked behind his hand.

"Them!"

Molly and Linda, both standing by the fireplace, exchanged glances. Molly watched as John fell on the couch, "Them who? What did you blokes do this time?"

"It's all Ringo's fault," John huffed, "He got us into this mess."

Ringo waggled his finger at John, "Ey, don't go blaming this on me, it's that birds fault, you know."

"You didn't have to put on the ring, mate!"

I pushed Paul off of me and scoffed, "If someone doesn't tell me what's going on I'm going to open the door."

"You'll kill us all if you do," John replied.

"Well then I guess-"

Just as I turned to the door, Paul grabbed me once again and covered my mouth. He held me tightly to his chest and whispered a tiny, "Sorry."

I grumbled something the camera didn't quite catch. It panned over to Linda who sauntered over to the window, "I suppose this has something to do with the men currently battling traffic."

"Right you are, love," Paul winked at her.

He walked over to the window, dragging me along with him. I nearly tripped several times. John snorted loudly, earning a glare from me. Paul only stopped when he was casually leaning against the wall next to Linda. I was stuck between his arm and his side, putting my head in his arm pit. For a moment, and I could see was the fabric of his sleeve. When I pushed past it, I managed to get my eyes exposed to glare up at him. 

"We've got to hide here until they're gone," George said.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "Why?"

"They're after me ring," Ringo showed Molly a ring with a rather large red jewel on top, "They want to sacrifice me, they do!"

I pushed Paul off me once again, "What did you do to make them want to do that?"

"I put on the ring."

"You git, you don't just go puttin' on every ring you find in the street!" I exclaimed.

Paul moved to cover my mouth once again, but I ducked out of the way. I ended up standing next to the couch and sneering at the lads. Paul did his best to hold back a chuckle at my weak attempt at a fake sneer.

"Doesn't matter, we've got to hide out here until we're safe," Paul said.

Linda laughed, "Oh, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like."

"Knew you'd come through, darling," Paul winked at her.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Paul, noticing my staring, quickly turned away. The flirting was supposed to be fake, but I could sense the hint of legitimacy behind it. Paul was a flirt, it was simply who he was, but not Linda. I had known her long enough to know she wouldn't know what a flirt was if it hit her from miles away. She simply brushed his flirts off as a part of the script, completely oblivious to the real part hidden away.

"It's not like you're hidin'," I said, "You just ran across the street, they're bound to find you eventually."

John giggled, "Ah, but we have a man on the inside."

"You do?"

"Yes, a very beautiful man."

"Hm, Johnny, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Molly belted out laughing as Richard groaned, "Cut!"

All of us took the time to laugh as loudly as we possibly could. Richard did his best to get our attention, but it was all in vein. Our funny bones had been hit and there was no stopping us now. This was always how it was, Brian and Ellen had been victim to our laughing fits more than once. As soon as one of us started laughing, the others would quickly follow. We'd get louder and louder until the entire world was filled with our laughter. We only stopped when one of us ran out of breath, or Ellen and Brian pulled us apart. 

"Please, for once, take this seriously," Richard sighed. 

John flung his head back and grinned, "Your name can be shortened to Dick Les. Did you know that?"

"John," Ellen said sternly as the rest of us laughed. 

Tears fell down my cheeks as I laughed so hard my belly ached. Paul held onto the wall as George nearly rolled on the ground. Ringo had his face buried in his hands, Molly shoved her face in a pillow, and Linda was so red she blended in with her shirt. 

"If you please!" Richard shouted, "We are on a deadline and I will not tolerate your shenanigans."

I grinned, "I don't recall any shenanigans, do you, George?"

"I don't recall any, do you, Ringo?" George asked. 

"Not me," Ringo shook his head, "John?"

"No, son, Macca?" John asked. 

Paul snorted, "Not whatsoever. Molly?"

"We're the perfect angels," Molly replied, "What do you think, Linda?"

"Modeled citizens. Right Amelia?"

"Right on the nose," I tapped my nose for emphasis.

I swear, Richard Lester lost a full decade off of his life because of us. He looked like he was going to explode, or scream, or both. All of us simply watched on with smirks. 

"Boys, girls, please, take this seriously," Ellen stated. 

She met my eyes. I felt a cold wave wash over me, chilling me to the core. Gulping, I nodded, "Course, Elly."

"Right, from 'a man on the inside'," Richard said, "Action!"

We all resumed our positions and John smiled, "Ah, but we have a man on the inside."

"You do?" I asked. 

"Yes, a very beautiful man."

John cackled. His laughter was fake, but John had no trouble faking laughter. I rolled my eyes and huffed. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ringo yawn with George soon to follow. whether it be out of boredom or actual exhaustion, I'll never know. 

"Well, I think it's a bunch of rubbish," I said, "Want to sacrifice you all because of a ring, rubbish, I tell you."

"We're not lyin'!" Ringo exclaimed.

There was a heavy knock on the door. All of us turned to stare at it. Ringo looked absolutely terrified as he clung to the edge of the couch, "Don't answer it!"

"It's them!" John exclaimed.

George's eyes widened in terror. Molly and Linda exchanged glances as I groaned, "You're not in danger, and I'm going to prove it to ya!"

"Mel, no!" Ringo exclaimed.

"Bugger off."

I stomped over to the door and flung it open. There, six different men dressed in the same rags stood. The man in front, a bald man with wonky eyes and a toothless grin, smiled at me, "Hello, we're looking for a few boys, perhaps they ran here?"

"Depends," I answered, "I've seen a lot of boys come and go."

Paul nearly busted out laughing. I shot him a glare before turning back to the bald man and offering a sweet smile. It pained me to smile like some child, I would much rather sneer like the rebellious teenager I was at heart. 

"Long hair," the man motioned a mop top, "Fine suits, fine lads, they are. One has a big ring on his finger?"

He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the lads practically begging me not to answer. Behind them, Molly and Linda were about to laugh, I could see it in the tears leaking down their cheeks. I grinned slightly, "Sorry, no boys here. Just me and my girls."

I gestured to Molly and Linda, though he couldn't see them. Ringo breathed a deep sigh of relief and spun around to return to the couch. In his spin, he pulled the curtains off the wall. The fabric looped around his arm and sent him to the ground, along with the curtain rod and a lamp. I cringed as the crashes were heard throughout the street.

"That was my-erm-cat," I said, "Yeah, my cat."

A few of the men quickly moved to look through the window. They were met with the terrified eyes of John, Paul, George, Molly, and Linda. As soon as they saw them, they started whooping and howling.

"Out of my way, it's time for a sacrifice!" the bald man exclaimed.

He pushed me onto the stairs, ignoring my constant grumbling. The group of men jumped into the room and started attacking the lads. Molly and Linda tried to help, but were pushed against the wall. Paul stopped one man from hitting Linda. He winked at her, causing her to blush.

"Rubbish," I muttered before diving into the fight.

I jumped onto the backs of one of the men. They struggled to get me off, nearly knocking me into the wall in the process. I could feel my arms giving out, but, luckily, I held on just long enough. He pretended to hit his head on the wall and fall unconscious. 

As I jumped off, I spun around just in time to see Ringo duck behind me. A wave of bright red paint hit me in the face and poured down my body. I was stunned silent for a second that felt like a lifetime. Nobody had bothered to warn me about the paint. Ringo jumped out from behind me and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry, Mel."

"What the bloody hell is this?" I asked, "Since when was there paint?!"

"They need it to sacrifice him, mate!" John exclaimed, "Now, stop your bloody jabbering and get back to fightin'!"

Ringo and I nodded at each other before diving back into the fight. The end of this scene was, by far, the worst Richard Lester could have come up with. He could have had us all run off into the sunset after we won the day, or even just running away. Instead, he decided to have the men knock Molly, Linda, and me unconscious while the lads escaped through the front door.

It wasn't a difficult scene to film. All I had to do was collapse as one man hit me on the back of the head. He didn't hit hard, and I went down softly. My head landed near Molly's and Linda's was close to follow. We all had our eyes closed as the lads escaped, running down the street and shouting.

"Cut!" Richard Lester exclaimed, "Onto the next scene, chop chop!"

I flung my head up, "I can't believe we just did that."

"It wasn't all bad," Linda replied.

The film crew hurried out of the house, moving on to their next scene and completely forgetting about the girls on the floor. Nobody had dared say a word to us. It wasn't because they didn't like us, rather, because they were intimidated by us. Specifically, by our manager. Probably a good thing they left early, I would have given them a piece of my mind. 

"Rubbish, I tell you," I argued, "Not a single line was good."

Molly sighed, "I agree with Melly."

Ellen appeared at the doorway. She took one look at us and sighed, "Mister Lester has dismissed you."

"We can go home now?" I asked.

"Yes, you all may go home."

I jumped up and grinned, "Brilliant! I'm bloody sick of this place."

"Come on, girls, let's go home," Ellen looked at us with a small smile.


	137. So Many Bands, So Little Time

The first leg of our third tour was not so much a part of the tour at all. Both bands, The Beatles and Revolution, had gone down to Blackpool for a special television appearance. While Ellen insisted that it was a part of the tour, I didn't feel like it was at all. Rather, it felt like nothing more than another appearance on an average day.

We weren't the only bands. It seemed as if every British band in existence had shown up. There were appearances by Cilla Black, The Rolling Stones, Peter and Gordon, and The Who. Each band was wonderful in their own right, but The Beatles took the headlines. Everybody who showed up for that live performance came, mainly, for The Beatles.

"Has anyone seen Heather?" Linda asked.

I glanced up from tying my shoes and lifted an eyebrow, "Wasn't she just here?"

"I thought you took her to the loo," Molly pointed out.

"No," Linda breathed, her face going flush, "She was just here."

She began to search every corner of the room. Molly and I joined; lifting pillows, moving couches, and opening every single cabinet in the room. After five minutes of endless searching we met back in the middle.

"She's gone," Linda muttered.

She looked on the verge of a panic attack. Her eyes darted around the room and her muscles jittered. Her breathing was labored as she wrung her hands together. Molly and I exchanged nervous glances.

Linda was hesitant on taking Heather on tour in the first place. She had done her best to find a full-time nanny, but none were available. She had even contemplated sending Heather to her father in America, but that idea fell through when she heard he was on holiday. Linda had been terrified of this exact thing happening. While Molly and I had tried to reassure her Heather would be just as safe as she was at home, Linda was still hesitant. We hadn't even begun the tour and her worst nightmare already came true.

"Linda, take a breath," I gently held her shoulder, "It's going to be alright, she can't have gone far."

Linda sucked in a shaky breath. Molly held her other shoulder, "We'll split up and search the entire building. We'll find her, Linda, promise."

"You two go upstairs. I'll gather some recruits," I smiled.

Molly nodded and led the panicking Linda out of the room. I watched them go down the hall before turning around and sprinting in the other direction. The largest dressing room was at the very end of the hall. I didn't even knock, instead flinging the door open and practically jumping in.

"Christ, Mel, do you ever knock?!" John shouted.

"Lads, emergency!" I exclaimed, "Heather's gone missing."

Paul, George, and Ringo all turned to look at me while John was still pissed. Paul was the first to his feet, "You lost her?"

"I didn't bloody lose her, she wandered off," I replied.

"That's losing her."

Ringo stood up, "We've got to find her."

"Molly and Linda already went upstairs. We've got to look down here."

"Jolly good," Paul said, "George, Ringo, you two look around the theater. Lia, John, and I will look backstage."

"We'll find her, Mel, don't worry," Ringo smiled at me.

I frowned, "It's Linda that's worrying."

He and George vanished towards the theater. Paul, John, and I began walking around backstage. We looked behind every crate, every amp, every clothes rack, and even in every vent. There were so many places for a three-year-old to hide. It seemed almost impossible to find her. The theater was so large, and Heather so small, it was a fruitless task.

"Bloody hell, how many places could a toddler possibly be?" John asked.

Paul snorted, "I dunno, John, you're the only Da here."

"Julian is an angel child."

"Well, if he's related to you, I highly doubt that," Paul replied.

"Bugger off, Macca."

I pushed one of the amps out of the way and sighed. Heather was nowhere to be found. I could almost hear Linda flipping out upstairs. Molly had a knack for calming people, even distressed mother's, Linda was in good hands.

With every room we looked in, I found my worry growing even more. Heather was a tiny toddler in a world of grown adults, she could be anywhere. She was too trusting. Anyone could walk up to her and she would take everything they said to heart. My fear kept growing with every Heather-less second that passed.

"She's got to be around here somewhere," I muttered.

Paul knelt to look under a table, "Where did you last see her?"

"In our dressing room."

"How long ago?"

"Um," I hesitated, "Fifteen minutes?"

John snorted, "Remind me not to trust you with Jules."

"Ey, I'm not the one that lost her."

He shook his head and moved to look behind a clothing rack. I knelt down and began to shuffle through a crate of costumes. It was so deep, I eventually had to bend over and bury myself with clothes in order to effectively search.

"Looking for something?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

I popped up and spun around to see two men gazing down at me with mischievous smirks across their lips. Both had Beatles haircuts and puffy lips. One had a nose to rival Ringo's, and the other exuded an air of arrogance. They looked me up and down in a way I didn't particularly like. Part of me began to wonder how long they had been standing behind me, and how hard I might have to hit them. One in particular smiled, "Well, if it isn't the infamous Amelia McCartney?"

He had curly brown hair that puffed out around him. It reminded me a bit of those frilly shirts men wore back in the renaissance era. His dark eyes gleamed with curiosity, but his smirk was less than inviting. The first thing I thought when I saw him was how he could give John a run for his money, both in cheekiness and self-assurance.

"What were you doing in our clothes chest?" the other asked.

The second boy looked similar to Paul, but had George's cheekbones. Both boys had the mop top haircut, but the second one wore it better. His eyes were intelligent. He looked me up and down as if reading a book. He was looking for something, but it wasn't something on the surface.

"I'm looking for my friend's daughter," I said, "Have you seen her? Blonde hair? About ye high?"

I hovered my hand over the ground at my thigh height. The boys both exchanged glances before shaking their heads.

"Sorry, haven't seen her," the first man answered.

The second shrugged, "Maybe Brian knows."

"That wanker doesn't even know what a kid is."

Both boys began to laugh. I crossed my arms and scoffed, "Epstein?"

"No, Jones."

They continued to cackle. I watched them for a moment before rolling my eyes, "Ah, you buggers are no help."

I turned to walk away, but the first one grabbed my arm, "Aw, we're sorry, darlin'. Why don't you stay?"

"Yeah, come on, we only just started talkin'," the other added.

"In case you didn't understand, I've got a kid to find."

"Oi, Lia, what're you-" Paul rounded the corner and stopped when he saw me glaring at the two boys.

He looked at where the first boy had his hand on my elbow. When he glanced at me, he saw the fire in my eyes. These boys were on my last nerve, and they were about to get it. Paul stepped forward just as John came around the corner.

"Well, if it isn't Jagger and Richards," John chuckled.

The boy gripping my arm grinned, "Lennon."

"What're you lot doing?" Paul asked, moving to stand next to me.

I jerked my hand from 'Jagger', "Tryin' to find Heather, but these buggers got in my way."

"I beg to differ, darlin," Richards winked, "We are the way."

Jagger cackled as John rolled his eyes. Paul scoffed, "Come on, Lia, we haven't checked the control room."

"Good luck on finding your friend!" Jagger called out.

I shot him a glare as Paul lead me around the corner. John was close in tow, waving and laughing at Jagger and Richards. When we were out of sight, I huffed, "What a couple of twats."

"Aw, come off it, Mel, they're a right laugh," John added.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Of course you would think that, John."

"You've met them before?" I asked.

"At a show last year," Paul answered, "That was Mick Jagger and Keith Richards."

"From The Rolling Stones?"

"The very same."

I cringed. I had never met The Rolling Stones before then, and I didn't fancy meeting them again. Later in life, they would mellow out, but I had first met them during their 'bad boy' streak. It was the time where they thought they had to live their public image in every way and everyday.

The control room had even more places for a little girl to hide. Paul, John, and I all separated, going to different corners and searching for the toddler in question. I crouched by a line of cabinets and took to opening every single one.

Once I opened the last cabinet, I sighed in relief. Heather was sitting there with her doll and a big smile across her lips. She looked up at me from the empty cabinet and giggled, "Hiya!"

"Hi yourself," I sighed, "You gave us all a right scare, Heather."

I pulled her out of the cabinet and into my arms. As we stood, she frowned, "I was just playin'."

"Playing or not, your Mum's worried sick."

"I'm sorry."

I simply shook my head and moved her to my hip. She held onto my shirt with one hand and the doll with the other. We went to meet John and Paul at the front.

"Bloody hell, Heather," Paul mumbled, "Nearly gave us a heart attack."

John shook his head, "You're goin' to hear it, too, once we get back to your Mum."

Heather's lip began to tremble. Tiny tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes as she sniffled. I sighed deeply, "It's alright, Heather, we were just scared, is all."

"I'm sorry, Melly, I didn't mean too!" she exclaimed.

She buried her face in my neck and began to cry. I took a deep breath, rubbing her back, "Come on, Heather, don't cry."

"I didn't mean to," she whined.

"Ah, but you did it," John stated, "That was a very bad thing to do, Heather."

Heather looked up at him and began to cry harder. I shook my head, "Let's just get you back to your Mum, yeah?"

John and Paul both vanished find find George and Ringo to tell them the good news. I carried Heather back to the dressing room in hopes that Molly and Linda were there. To my great relief, they were.

"Heather!" Linda exclaimed as soon as we walked in.

I passed the crying toddler to her Mum. Linda hugged her daughter close and asked, "Where was she?"

"Playin' in an empty cabinet in the control room," I answered.

Linda pulled Heather away from her and said, "Heather, you know not to run away like that, you nearly scared me to death."

"I'm sorry, Mama."

Linda hugged Heather once again and exhaled a sigh of relief. Molly came to stand by me, shaking her head the entire way, "You got help?"

"John and Paul helped me search," I replied, "George and Ringo searched the theater area."

"We ran into The Who, they weren't much help."

I snorted, "Neither were Mick Jagger and Keith Richards."

"Aren't they members of The Rolling Stones?"

"Yep," I replied, "And a couple of twats, they are."

Molly laughed. We both watched as Linda held onto her daughter like their lives depended on it. Linda even shed a few relieved tears.

I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be a mother. Having to watch your child all day everyday sounded stressful, especially when they pulled something like Heather did. I couldn't imagine being a mother. While I was fairly good at taking care of my mates kids, I could never take care of my own. All of my friends wanted kids someday, some already had one, but I could never dream of it. I was going to be the friend who never had a kid of their own, and I would be happy with it. I wasn't born to be a mother.


	138. History Made

The Beatles made history on more than one occasion. I watched them remake the mold of the music industry to what we know today. I watched as they went from a wonky band playing the lunchtime rush at a dingy club in Liverpool to the biggest band in the world playing a place meant for sports games.

"A stadium?" I nearly shouted.

Ellen nodded, her face glowing, "Yes. Shea Stadium, to be exact."

Molly, Linda, and I stared at her. Never before has a band played at a baseball stadium, or any stadium for that matter. The biggest audience we had ever played for was at The Royal Albert Hall when people where sitting on the floor in an effort to see us.

It seemed like a dream; an impossible imagination that had just become reality. We all had big dreams of performing in front of large crowds, but never did we imagine this. That stadium would be able to hold ten times more people than the largest venue we had ever played in.

"Bloody hell," I muttered.

Molly covered her mouth with her hands, "H-How many people?"

"55,600 tickets have been sold," Ellen explained, "The entire stadium is sold out."

Linda nearly fainted right then and there. Ellen's face was like a lightbulb. Her smile showed all of her dazzling teeth and her eyes, previously exhausted from the stress of touring, were as bright as ever before.

We had barely even begun the tour. Shea Stadium would be the performance that would, technically, open our 1965 world tour. It was the grandest opening any band could ask for. At the time, I knew history was being made, but I didn't quite realize the impact that concert would entail. That one concert, standing as nothing more than an opener for our tour at the time, would grow to be the pinnacle of success for bands in years to come. It would redefine the concert portion of show business and outline how every performance from then on out would happen. 

"You will play a forty-five minute set to open for The Beatles' hour long performance," Ellen explained.

"55,600 people," Molly muttered, "That's unheard of."

Ellen nodded, "Today, you girls will make history."

We made history several times. From being the first band to include a panpipe in their album to the first all female band to hold the number one spot in the charts for two months. We had made history, but this was different. This was something nobody ever expected.

Ellen left the three of us to our shock. She went out into the hall, presumably to talk to Brian. As soon as she was gone, Linda fell into a nearby armchair. Her face had lost all color as she stared at the wall. Molly landed on the couch while I stayed standing.

In just under an hour, we would perform a show nobody would ever forget. The Beatles and Revolution would make history as the first bands to ever play a sports stadium. It was difficult to wrap my mind around.

"55,600 people," Linda whispered.

I shook myself and looked down at her. Linda had only ever performed live with us twice; once at a small concert hall and the other in the comforts of The Cavern Club. She had never seen an audience above two hundred people. Molly and I were shocked, but Linda was petrified.

I gently sat on the arm of her chair and rested my hand on her shoulder, "Nervous, Lindy?"

She shook her head, but I knew otherwise. Molly moved to sit on the opposite arm of the chair and smile, "It's nothin' to be nervous about. It'll be just like any other show."

"Any other show where we play to 55,600 people," Linda muttered.

I shook my head, "Just picture the audience in their knickers."

Linda chuckled quietly, her face still devoid of all color. Molly and I exchanged glances. Even I was feeling nervous, and I almost never got stage anxiety. We had played countless shows at countless venues, all leading up to this, but we still weren't ready. Nothing in the world could prepare you for that.

"It's going to be bloody brilliant," I said, "You're going to be bloody brilliant, Linda. This will be the greatest concert the world has ever seen and we get to be a part of it!"

Molly laughed as I flung my arms up. Linda watched, an amused smile across her lips. Both girls were smiling, which was exactly my goal. To keep them smiling was to keep their nerves at bay. After all, a smile can cure almost anything.

"We need a set list," Molly muttered, "Something to last forty-five minutes."

Linda wrung her hands together, "We could do the new album."

"Let's just run through the whole bloody thing, yeah?" I suggested.

Molly furrowed her eyebrows, "There's sixteen songs, we can't fit them all in."

"Half of it, then."

Linda shook her head as Molly shrugged. We pieced together a set list of ten songs in all, most of which were from the new album. Only three songs were not on the new album, and those were covers. Otherwise, the set was completely our own.

Ellen returned an hour later. She looked just as excited as before. When she looked at us, she beamed, "Get ready, girls, it's time to go."

We all jumped up and hurried to get dressed. With a new rebel came a new look. We no longer wore the classic suspenders and striped shirts. Ellen had taken us shopping and gotten us a whole new look for a whole new band. Now, instead of the beatnik Revolution everyone thought of, we were the suave rock band. We had traded our striped button down for a pristine white one. Instead of black trousers, we wore black jeans. Ellen had even gotten us a tie to match our black jackets.

When we exited our rooms, all dressed in the same outfit, Ellen smiled. She looked at us with pride, much like a parent watching their child go off to school. Everything she had wished for us, we had become, it was evident in the single tear rolling down her cheeks.

"Aw, Elly, don't go cryin' on us now," I cheekily grinned.

Molly chuckled, "You might need to drag us on stage."

"I'm so proud of you girls," Ellen smiled, "I could not have asked for better."

Molly and I exchanged glances before rushing up to hug her. Linda was just behind us, latching onto to Ellen from behind. Even Heather toddled over to hug Ellen's legs. We all stood there for a moment, latched together, and smiling.

When we finally separated, Ellen composed herself, "Come along, we can't miss the helicopter."

"Wait, the what?" I asked.

Linda hoisted Heather onto her hip and we were off. I gripped my lucky drumsticks in my hand, all the while feeling myself going paler and paler. Ellen was smart and waited to reply whenever we were in the lift.

"The helicopter," Ellen finally said, "Brian and I decided it was best to take a helicopter to the stadium. It is the quickest and safest way."

Had it not been for Molly having a tight grip on my arm, I would have hit the ground. Flying on a plane was one thing, but a helicopter was completely different. I had barely mastered flying on a plane. Two years of constant flying and I still got queasy every time we boarded. I had never been in a helicopter before then, and I would have gladly gone my whole life without it.

"Melly, take a breath," Molly warned me.

Her eyes were glued to my face. She was watching for any sign of sickness, any hint of green or odd ripple of muscles. All I did was stand there and stare at the lift doors.

"I can't do it," I breathed, "I'm gonna take a cab, I can't-"

"Amelia, please, you can and you will do this. It's not much different from riding in a plane," Ellen interrupted.

I turned to her "This is so much different than riding in a plane."

"Picture the helicopter in its knickers," Linda muttered.

Molly was the only one who laughed. Had I not been terrified of our ride, I would have laughed as well. As it was, I was rooted to the spot out of petrifying terror.

We had to take a short flight of stairs to get to the roof. As soon as the doors opened, I stopped. The helicopter was waiting on the launch pad for us. It's blades were turning, the doors were opening, and the roar of the engine blocked out any other sound.

Molly and Ellen worked together to drag me to the helicopter. I did good to stay upright, let alone move. The two women pulled me into the contraption and dropped me onto the seat furthest from the window.

"Just picture yourself in a car and it'll be over before you know it," Molly smiled.

Linda and Heather sat down across from us. I slid down lower into my seat to where I nearly slid off. Glancing up at Molly, I felt my breath hitch in my throat, "I need to get off."

"Melly, no, it's alright," Molly placed her hand on my chest, "I'm here, it's alright."

I gripped her hand and shut my eyes. So long as I wasn't looking around, I could convince myself I was on a plane. Never did I think pretending to be on a plane would be a relief.

The helicopter shook a little, causing me to suck in a deep breath and grip Molly's hand tighter. We weren't even off the ground yet and I was already having a mild panic attack. I was terrified to think of what would happen as soon as we got into the air.

"Everybody on board," Brian's voice echoed through the helicopter, "Come on."

I heard five different set of footsteps echo through the helicopter. Just after they arrived, the door was shut. A few of the footsteps passed us by, but two stopped.

"Mel, you alright?" Ringo asked.

Molly answered for me, "Just a little airsick."

"We haven't even taken off yet," John replied, "You're not scared, are ya?"

"Sod off, John," I spat.

John cackled, "Aw, poor Melly, scared of a wee little helicopter."

"John, you're not helping!"

John laughed once again before heading off to his seat. Ringo glanced at me and furrowed his eyebrows. Paul appeared over the top of the seat and looked down at me, "It's gonna be alright, Lia."

"That's what everyone keeps saying," I muttered, "I beg to differ."

Paul laughed, "Just picture yourself in a car."

"That's what I said, she didn't listen," Molly replied.

The helicopter took off. For a moment, I felt like there was nothing around me. I was floating through the sky on my own invisible wings. To most people, it was be peaceful, but, for me, it was terrifying.

"Melly, please, take a breath," Molly gripped my hand.

I sucked in a shaky breath, doing my best to relax my muscles. As we rose higher into the air, I became more tense. Eventually, I leaned forward and buried my face in Molly's chest.

"I bloody hate flying," I muttered, "Especially in helicopters."

Molly rubbed my back, "Just keep your eyes closed, I'll tell you when it's over."

I barely realized when Paul reached forward and ruffled my hair. My focus was on anything but my surroundings. I tried to picture myself back home in my own flat, with the radio softly playing in the corner and the fire crackling in the fireplace. Even that didn't help. My stomach lurched with every move the helicopter made and my head felt like it was going to explode. At any moment, I was scared I might burst into tears.

"Fucking hell, look at that!" John suddenly exclaimed.

I subconsciously tensed, my breath hitching in my throat as I waited for the helicopter to plummet. Molly gently rubbed my back and whispered to me, telling me everything would be alright. Slowly, I relaxed. 

Everybody rushed over to the other side of the helicopter. Molly and I were the only two to remain put. Everybody else gazed out of the window.

"That's our stadium?" George asked.

"Yes," Brian mused, "And that, boys, is the audience."

They all gasped. I could guess they were laying on eyes 55,600 people. That was the most people any of us had seen in once place at one time.

"That's a lot of bloody people," Paul muttered.

Ringo laughed nervously, "We'll give em a show, eh?"

"That we will, Ritchie," John clapped his shoulder, "We'll give them a show they'll never forget."

All four boys cheered. Linda and Heather returned to their seats across from us just moments later. Linda was still looking pale, but she did well to hide it. At the time, I didn't think to comfort her, I was too wrapped up in my own fears.

When the helicopter began to descend, I gripped onto Molly's shirt like it was the only thing holding me down. She rubbed my back and hummed soothingly. I did my best to focus on her voice and her voice only, but that was difficult, especially when the helicopter touched down.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Molly muttered.

I groaned, "My life just got three years shorter because of that."

"Aw, come off it, Melly," John came up on the other side, "We're alive, aren't we?"

"Barely."

Paul sighed, "Let's just get off of this tin can, yeah?"

They didn't have to ask me twice. I was the first to jump off of than flying tin can and into the arms of security officers. They kept back the few fans that had known where we would land. Screams hit my ears as I looked around.

"This way," Brian announced.

He gestured for us to follow him. We made our way into the dugout area of the stadium where the baseball players would wait for their game to begin. For now, it worked as our dressing room.

The place smelled like sweaty men and too much deodorant. I took one sniff and wrinkled my nose. Each locker smelled worse than the next and the benches seemed to have permanent sweat stains on them.

"It smells like shit in here," George wrinkled his nose.

Brian sighed, "I know, but it's the best we could do."

"I think it's brilliant," Paul muttered, "Come ed, lads, let's make the best of it."

"Teachers pet," John snorted, earning a eye roll from Paul.

I shook my head as if shaking spiders out of my hair, "Where's the loo in this place?"

"Right around the corner," Ellen directed.

"I'll be back."

I skated around the corner and turned into the women's bathroom. It smelled worse in there than anywhere else in the building. By the time this show was over, I was sure I would lose all sense of smell. I went to the sink and splashed my face with cold water, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm myself down.

Being back on the ground was a blessing. I began to feel better as soon as my feet first touched solid ground. Slowly but surely, my stomach returned to normal and I didn't feel like I was going to faint.

"Let's do Ticket to Ride," Paul suggested.

John nodded, "We'll follow that up with Roll Over Beethoven."

The lads had waited until the extreme last minute to put together their set list. John, Paul, and George sat on the stained benches tuning their guitars as they went over their set list. Ringo wasn't far away, zipping up his tan jacket.

"You lads are the definition of procrastination," I stated, plopping down to sit between Paul and Molly.

John grinned, "Wrong, we invented it."

Paul and George laughed. I rolled my eyes, leaning back on the wall and pulling out our set list. Molly and I both went over it once more.

Linda was in the corner with Heather. She was channeling her focus into her daughter, but all of us could see her nerves. Linda held together remarkably well, nerves almost meant nothing to her.

"You alright, Lindy?" I asked.

Linda glanced up and nodded, "Just a little nervous."

"It's only natural," Molly moved to sit behind her, "You're going to be brilliant, I just know it."

I grinned, "You're always brilliant."

Linda smiled a genuine smile. Ellen appeared at the door a moment later, her smile both bright and filled with anxiety. She glanced at each of us in turn, "It's time for the opening act."

Only then did my stomach start doing flip flops. I ignored it, following Ellen through the halls of the stadium. We could hear the screams even before we stepped out into the field. The screams were bad enough with a few hundred people, let alone over fifty-thousand.

"There's no way we're comin' out of this without a headache," I muttered as we approached the door.

"That's why I brought acetaminophen," Ellen said, "Now, girls, don't be nervous. This is just like any other show."

I grinned, "Since when have we ever been nervous?"

"We're gear, Elly," Molly beamed.

Linda simply nodded. Ellen clasped her hands together and smiled, "Good luck. I'll be right here watching."

"We're counting on it," I winked, "Can't perform without Elly nearby."

Molly nodded, "It simply doesn't do."

Ellen chuckled. Linda kissed Heather's cheek before handing her to our manager. Heather cheered for her Mum. We all shot them a single smile before going to stand at the metal doors.

The three of us hesitated at the door. I stood in the middle and glanced at my companions. Linda looked forward with a straight face, but her eyes sparkled in fear. She was barely blinking let alone breathing. I slid my hand in hers and squeezed. Molly grabbed my other hand, smiling the entire time.

"Ready, girls?" I asked.

Molly nodded. Linda glanced at me and offered a weak smile, "Ready as I'll ever be."

"Let's fucking do this."

Together, we opened the doors. We were hit with a wave of warm air and screams. As the police officers lined our path, the fans screamed even louder. The entire stadium seemed to be filled with screams.

Our stage was a hastily thrown together, rickety, lift with chain link surrounding it. A few amplifiers sat around along with a camera and a crew. They all pushed us onto the stage where we waved at our audience.

I couldn't make out a single face. In all of our concerts before that, I could at least make out the faces in the front row, but not at Shea Stadium. All I saw was a blur of colors and the occasional readable sign. Usually, I could make eye contact with someone and sing to them. I felt more disconnected to the audience in that concert than I had ever been before.

The night was windy, it blew our hair around, making it difficult to play properly. New York was a bit chilly in August, but the overhead lights made it feel like summer. We were sweating before we even began to play. I nearly slid off the seat whenever I sat down.

"'Ello!" Molly shouted, earning a round of piercing screams, "Good to see you too!"

The entire audience exploded in their loudest screams yet. Just when I thought they couldn't get any louder, they create a new octave. Already, I could feel myself going deaf. I winced slightly, hiding it with a bright smile and a wave of my drumsticks. 

"We'd like to start off with- yes, hello!" Molly waved at the shouting audience, "We'd like to start off with one of our new songs, off our new album, in England. It's called Liverpool Bop!"

We began to play and the crowd went wild. A few objects were thrown, but they never made it to the stage. We played with every ounce of passion we had, but nobody got to experience it. The stadium was filled with people who came for our music but all they heard were screams. Their screams even drowned out the amplifiers used to pump our music through the speakers scattered around the stadium. Our music had been drowned out before, but it was worse at that stadium. With more people came more screams and a bigger headache later on.

Playing Shea Stadium was something I will always remember. I can still feel the bright lights on my skin and see the blur of people shouting our names. People of all shapes, sizes, ages, races, genders, and occupations came together to listen to our music. It seemed like the entire world was shoved into that arena, and I didn't even get to experience it. 

Our shows had become monotonous. When we were touring, we did the same thing every night without end, it became more of a chore than something we enjoyed. I hadn't felt the rush of excitement I used to get when performing for a long time, until we played Shea Stadium. The rush returned, leaving me to feel exactly like I did back when we were known as The Quarrymen. I laughed and shouted, dancing along to the music as I banged the drums. I felt like a kid again.

The show was over much too quickly. I stood from the drums as we all bowed, our smiles unable to be wiped away. Molly gestured for Linda and I to come forward. We wrapped our arms around each other, ignoring the sweat and the smells coming off of us, and bowed.

We left the stadium to screams and applause. People shouted for us as we left. I grinned brightly, a jump in my step that hadn't been there in a long time.

"That was wonderful!" Ellen exclaimed as soon as we appeared backstage.

Molly beamed, "Bloody brilliant, I'd say."

"The greatest fucking show on the planet!" I shouted, "Brilliant, I tell you!"

All of us laughed loudly. Ellen clapped, "You girls were wonderful, I'm so proud of you."

"We couldn't have done it without you, Elly," I winked.

Had I not been soaked in sweat, I would have rushed forward to hug her. Instead, I opted for a bright smile. Ellen returned the gesture.

Brian appeared moments later with the lads in tow. They seemed as casual as they would going on stage at The Cavern. We could hear the announcer talking to the crowd outside. They paused at the door.

"Did you birds go for a swim?" Paul asked.

John snorted, "Sure seems like it, Macca."

"Just you wait, mates," I waggled my finger at them, "You'll come out of there looking like you just got out of the bath."

"Ah, but we'll smell better," Paul covered his nose in disgust.

I flipped him the bird, to which Ellen slapped my hands. All four boys broke out into laughter. Ringo glanced at the door and smiled, "Was it very bad?"

"Ringo, that was the greatest show we've ever done," I grinned, "You'll have a bloody good time doin' it."

George clapped Ringo's shoulder, "Just like every other show, yeah, mate?"

"Every other show," Ringo agreed.

Molly came up behind me and grinned, "Break a leg, lads."

"You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you, Mackenzie?" John grinned, "Then, you'd be the headliners."

"Oh, bugger off, John," Molly rolled her eyes.

Paul winked at us and George nodded as they left. We watched from the doorway as the lads marched out onto the grass. They were met with the loudest screams yet. Even from the inside of the stadium, I could feel myself go deaf. I watched as my mates climbed onto the stage and made history with their first chord of the guitar.


	139. The King and The Beats

During a tour, we got very few days off. Those days we did have free should be counted as blessings. We finally had a day where we could breath in peace without any screaming or projectiles. I should have been relaxed, but I was far from it. I felt antsy being stuck in that hotel room. My fingers itched for a bit of a drum despite having played every night since the tour began.

When you spend months in a constant state of movement; when you were never not busy, you get used to it. It becomes natural to be busy. Being relaxed was both unnatural and boring. My body was used to going and doing all of the time, it couldn't handle being still for a subjected period of time. 

Molly and Linda were relaxed on the armchairs, both nearly falling asleep. I sat on the couch with my legs crossed beneath me and a notepad opened in my lap. While the two women in front of me drifted in and out of consciousness, I did my best to calm my nerves.

There was no way I could concentrate. A million things ran through my mind at once, and my muscles were itching to move. I couldn't sit still if my life depended on it. I needed to get out and do something.

"I'm going for a walk," I announced, jumping to stand up.

Molly opened her eyes and gazed at me, "I thought we were relaxing."

"I'm relaxed," I replied, "And I'm bloody bored."

"Like a child, you are."

"A cute child, yes?"

Molly chuckled. Heather toddled over to me from her spot by her Mum. She gripped my pants leg and looked up at me with puppy dog eyes, "Can I come too, Melly?"

"If it's alright with your Mum."

Heather turned to Linda, her eyes wide and pleading. Linda smiled at her daughter, "I suppose you can go, if you promise to be good for Melly."

"I promise!" Heather giggled.

I gripped her hand and smiled, "Come on, then, let's have an adventure."

Heather laughed as I grabbed her hand. I swung it dramatically as we skipped off to the door. From behind me, I could hear Molly giggling.

The hall was completely empty. Our floor was abandoned except for us and the sleeping Ellen. The lads had gone off somewhere, but they wouldn't tell me where. All I knew was that I was bored without them. Those few times where I wished they would show up at my door with fake beards and a stupid plan, they never did. 

Heather and I skipped over to the lift, laughing the entire time. The little girl was bouncing around like a rubber ball that never lost momentum. She could tire out even the most energetic adult. I shut the door to the lift and turned to her.

"How about an ice cream, yeah?" I asked, "I'm sure your Mum won't mind."

Heather's entire face lit up like a light bulb. She squeezed my hand as tightly as her little fingers would allow her and squealed shrilly. My ears nearly burst at the sound of her squeal.

The lift stopped at the third floor. Both Heather and I turned to watch as the doors opened to reveal two teenage girls. They were talking together, but stopped as soon as the lift opened. The first girl blinked rapidly before squealing.

"Oh my God, it's Amelia McCartney!"

They jumped in just as the lift closed. I backed up to the wall, doing my best to smile widely and hide any sort of fear growing in my heart. Every other encounter I've had with fans didn't end well, and I didn't expect this one to be any different. I shoved Heather behind me and smiled, "'Ello, girls."

"I can't believe it's you," the second girl, a blonde, held her cheeks with her hands, "I love you!"

The other girl, a brunette, nodded, "Would-would you sign my shirt?"

"Oh! And mine!"

"Course, girls, always happy to please a fan," I winked at them.

Both girls squealed once again. They handed me a pen which I used to sign my name on their shirts. I always signed it as Amelia M. instead of Amelia McCartney. While I was well-known in my own right, my last name was always taken as someone else.

"Thank you," the girls said as the lift opened.

I smiled, "Always a pleasure."

The girls left the lift, slowly followed by us. Heather had fallen completely silent as she gripped my pants for dear life. She had seen the crazy fans before, and she knew exactly what could happen. I pulled her up into my arms and looped into the lobby, towards the dining room area.

"It's alright, Heather, they weren't going to hurt you," I smiled.

Heather gripped my shirt, "They're loud."

"Yeah, gives you a headache, doesn't it?"

She nodded. We found a table in the dining room and sat down. Heather knelt on her chair and watched as the waiter walked up.

"What can I get for you?" he asked in a thick Boston accent.

"How about," I grinned at the toddler, "Two banana splits."

"Yeah!" Heather exclaimed.

The waiter smiled at Heather before heading towards the kitchen. Heather became wrapped up in her coloring pages while I watched her. She scribbled outside and inside of the lines with three different colors at once. There was no pattern, simply colors.

I couldn't imagine what the tour must be like through her eyes. She was with us every step of the way, except for when we were on stage. Even then, she was behind the curtains, listening to her mother perform. She saw all of the screaming fans, the hectic schedules, and the crazy security we had to have. Heather was forced to follow us as we were treated like zoo animals once again. It didn't seem fair to make a child go through that, but we didn't have a choice.

She seemed to enjoy it. She loved riding in a plane and exploring our hotel rooms. Several times I had caught her singing along behind the curtain as we performed. Despite all of the stress, Heather was happy. In the end, that's all that mattered, the happiness of those around me. 

Our banana splits came sooner than I had anticipated. Heather released a tiny gasp whenever she saw the treat. The waiter placed it in front of us and smiled whenever Heather attacked it with a spoon. Within seconds, she had a face full of whip cream and chocolate sauce.

"It's good then?" I asked, smiling at the child.

Heather exposed her chocolate-covered teeth, "It's yummy! Thank you, Melly!"

"Anytime, junior."

She ate so fast, I had to warn her several times to slow down or else she'd get a stomach ache. Even so, she never stopped. I sighed when I realized she was going to get a stomach ache no matter what and I was going to get a lecture from Linda.

"Lia!" a voice shouted.

Only one person ever called me that. I glanced up, watching as Paul, John, George, and Ringo all ran into the dining room. They ignored the flustered hostess and sped to our table. Without even asking, they each grabbed a chair from a nearby empty table and sat around ours.

"Lia, you'll never guess what just happened to us," Paul grinned.

He was always easily over excited. It wasn't difficult to get him out of breath and flushed. Each one of the lads was like that, all smiling brightly and gasping for air. Only John seemed relatively normal. He simply smirked at Paul as he spoke rapidly.

"Considering you wouldn't bloody tell me," I replied.

John smirked, "Had to be a secret."

"Bollocks."

"Bloody hell, Lia, just guess!" Paul exclaimed, "Come on, guess!"

I held up my hands, "Christ, Paul, calm down before you give yourself a heart attack."

"Just bloody guess already!"

"Um, you went for a drink."

"Guess again!"

Ringo smirked, "We met Elvis."

"Ringo, I wanted her to guess!"

My jaw nearly hit the table. I stared at my brother and my mates, all the while the shock coated my body. It took me a moment to fully absorb what they had said. Paul bounced in his seat while the others watched me and waited for my reaction.

"You what?!" I exclaimed, "You met Elvis?!"

John nodded, "Elvis Presley, The King himself."

"We went to his house!" Paul exclaimed, "And we played with him!"

George snorted while Ringo elbowed him. I blinked rapidly, "Bloody hell, I can't believe you met Elvis and didn't tell me!"

"We're tellin' you now, aren't we?" John asked.

"You know what I mean."

All of us had dreamed of meeting Elvis. Ever since we were kids, we had dreamed of meeting The King himself. I was the only one who never got to achieve that dream. By the looks on Paul, George, and Ringo's faces, it went exactly how we dreamed it would. John, however, thought differently.

"He's more of an arse in person," John admitted.

Paul playfully slapped his shoulder, "Come off it, John, he wasn't that bad."

"You can't blame him for gettin' antsy," Ringo said, "We wouldn't speak."

"Why couldn't you speak?" I asked.

George shrugged, "Star struck."

That was logical. If I ever met Elvis, I was sure I would faint right then and there. The fact that they remained on their feet was an achievement all their own.

"Doesn't matter anyways," John laced his fingers behind his head, "It's not like we had anythin' in common with the bloke."

Paul rolled his eyes, "We played together, didn't we?"

"You did what?" I asked.

"Elvis was strumming a bass guitar, so I offered to show him a few riffs," Paul beamed, "We all jammed together."

I gaped. Ringo chuckled, "I played on the table."

"That's about all there was to it. The twat kicked us out soon after," John explained.

George sighed, "We left, John."

"Ah, but he might as well have kicked us out," John wiggled his finger, "It was a load of rubbish, I tell you. Just like meeting Engelbert Humperdinck."

Hearing John compare The King of Rock and Roll to a casual British singer seemed bewildering to me. Elvis was Elvis, he was the top tier, everything we ever aspired to be. Never did I expect to hear John dismiss him as such.

"John's just mad that he supports The Vietnam War," George explained.

I lifted an eyebrow, "He does?"

"He and John almost got into a row about it," Ringo jerked his thumb at the lad in question, "Had to pull them apart, we did."

John rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't have hit him."

We all simply stared at him. John huffed as Paul shook his head, "The point is, we met Elvis!"

I laughed, "That's bloody amazing!"

Paul seemed to be the only excited one. The rest simply smiled, John scowled. He shook his head slightly as Paul began to describe Elvis' home.

Some say it's best never to meet your idols. Meeting them could ruin your mental image of them, thus demolishing any love you had for them. The lads meeting Elvis only confirmed this. Sometimes, meeting your idols is all it's cracked up to be, but, others, it's far from it. After that meeting, Paul was the only one who still liked Elvis. The rest had mixed views on the former King of Rock and Roll.

I chose to look at what he was to me rather than what he was to everyone else.


	140. McCartney Vs Everyone

We had been to the Southern part of America several times in our vast careers. Most of the time, we visited in the autumn or winter. Brian and Ellen were smart enough not to send us to the south in the summer. Unfortunately, it didn't change much for six kids who were used to English autumns.

"I'm bloody boiling here," I moaned, falling onto the bed and sighing.

One of our few early shows was over and done. Outdoor concerts had become the bane of my existence, especially when in the south. It was boiling hot in Texas, and the residents were walking around in jeans. I could barely survive in shorts.

"I'm melted," Molly fell down next to me, "Can't play guitar if I'm a puddle."

Linda casually sat down on the nearby couch. Heather was sitting next to her, as dry as a bone without so much as a droplet of sweat on her. Both girls were completely dry while Molly and I were soaked.

"It was actually somewhat cool today," Linda commented.

I flung my head up, "What?!"

"It tops one hundred degrees in the summer."

"Fucking hell!"

I forgot she was using Fahrenheit while I was stuck in Celsius, but that didn't stop the shock. It was only sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit that day, which was, apparently, cool for Texas. To us Liverpudlians, we had stepped into an oven. To Linda, an American girl who had spent a fair portion of her life in America, it was a cool walk in the park. 

"Blimey," Molly muttered.

I shook my head, "Next time we play in Texas, let's come in the winter."

"That wouldn't be much better."

"It snows, sometimes," Linda commented.

"There you go, that's better than this blistering heat."

Linda shook her head as Molly and I sighed. Despite the three fans blowing and the air conditioning on high, I was still sweating profusely. By the end of that visit, I was sure I wouldn't have any sweat left in my body and we still had to go to Arizona.

All of us had relaxed our muscles and taken a deep breath. The tour had only just begun and we were already stressed. At any moment, I expected the cabin fever to make a comeback. We would be fighting just like last time. I despised fighting with my mates, but, sometimes, you lose a bit of your sanity when being shoved around like prisoners.

The cabin fever did make a comeback. It started with all of us hearing two shouts from across the hall. Linda glanced up nervously, holding Heather closer. Molly looked confused while I sighed loudly.

"Betcha a fiver I know who's shouting," I muttered.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "Sounds like John and Paul."

"Bingo."

I pushed myself off from the bed and moved to the door. Sighing deeply, I flung it open. The door to John and Paul's room was open. Inside, I could see the famed duo yelling at each other with George and Ringo standing, silently, in the corner. Once again, the arguments had surfaced.

I was in no mood to play peacekeeper. After coming off of a vigorous show in searing heat, all I wanted to do was take a nice shower and a nap. I didn't want to have to break apart two gits who probably didn't even know what they were fighting about.

"It's my song, so my name should go first!" Paul shouted.

John snorted, "Your song? I wrote half of it, you bloody git!"

"Two lines!"

"Half!" John shouted.

"This isn't a test of your bloody ego, John!" Paul shouted, "I wrote the fucking song and I want my name first."

John sneered, "It's Lennon-McCartney, now, sod off before it becomes Lennon-Lennon."

"You bleeding git!"

"Daft sod!"

"Egotistical arse!"

"Controlling git!"

I stepped inside of the room and placed my fists on my hips. The two lads were so red, they could have exploded at any moment. All of the pressure of their anger was too much to bear, they had to let it out somehow, and the only way how was to scream. George and Ringo were standing in the corner watching this affair with pissed off expressions.

I took a deep breath and tried to remind myself that this wasn't them. They were tired and sick of the tour, that was it. It was the cabin fever talking, not John and Paul. On an average day, they would argue, but not this bad. They would have already made up had we not been on tour. All we had to do was pull them apart. The worst thing I could possibly do was start shouting. Of course, that's exactly what I did.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, "Shut up, the both of you!"

John turned to sneer at me, "Oh, wonderful, if it isn't Smelly Melly."

"Bugger off, you daft sod, I'm tryin' to help you," I argued.

"Why can't you ever stay out of it?" John asked, "You're always under foot! Bugger off, will ya?"

"Don't talk to Mel like that," George said.

I frowned, "I wouldn't always get in the middle if you two gits would stop arguing for once in your bloody lives!"

"We wouldn't be arguing if John would stop being such an egotistical arse and listen to me for once!" Paul shouted.

John scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Maybe I'd listen if you weren't jabbering on all the bloody time, princess!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"What the bloody fuck do you think it means you git?!"

Ringo flung his arms up and shouted, "Will you two shut up already? I'm tired of your yelling!"

"Don't you start too," I spat, "I've got enough to deal with in these two."

"You've got to deal with us?!" Paul shouted.

"You're both a couple of children, someone has to!"

Paul rolled his eyes, "Who died and made you our mother?"

"James Paul McCartney, you take that back right now!"

"Will you all just shut your yaps for one bloody second?!" George shouted.

Paul and I both turned on him and shouted, simultaneously, "Shut up!"

All five of us started shouting at once. John, Paul, George, Ringo, and I were shouting endlessly about things none of us would remember once we stopped to take a breath. I vaguely remember John insulting Ringo's nose and George calling Paul a daft cow. Someone told me I was just a stupid kid while someone else said I was about as smart as I was tall. Insults and shouts flew through the room without any goal in particular, they were just meant to hurt.

Molly and Linda were forced to watch all of this go down. They stood in the doorway watching as we shouted at each other for no rhyme or reason. Eventually, Molly got fed up with it. She stomped over to us and placed herself in the middle of our tiny circle.

"Stuff it, the lot of you!" she screamed, "You're all soundin' like a bunch of bleeding children. Now shut up before I have to put you in a timeout!"

John scoffed, "I'm not gonna listen to some bloody bird."

"Ey, don't talk to her like that!" I shouted.

"I'm not gonna listen to you either, you wanker!"

"Piece of shit."

"Oh, that's low," John scoffed, "Motherfucker."

"John!"

"I mean it!"

"All of you, shut up!" Molly shouted before any of us could start screaming again, "You're all a bunch of daft sods, you know that? Do you even know what rubbish you're fighting about?"

"I do, you're all a bunch of gits," John spat.

He spun on his heel and stormed out. None of us knew where he was going, but nobody cared. We all turned on each other with fire in our eyes. George was the next to cross his arms and sneer, "Can't bloody believe this."

"Oh sod off," I spat.

"You first, arse."

"Git."

He shot me a burning glare before storming out of the room. Ringo didn't even say anything, he just left, giving us all a single glare. Paul fell on the couch and sneered, "This is my room, I'm not going anywhere."

"Christ, Paul, you're like a bloody baby," I muttered, "Why don't you try to act mature for once, yeah?"

Paul glared at me, "Sod off, Amelia."

"You first, Paul."

Without another word, I spun on my heel and left. Molly followed, but only as far as the hall. She slammed the door to our room, abandoning me in the hall. I grumbled to myself before storming into the stairwell. As soon as I flung open the door, I was met with a cloud of smoke and a very angry John Lennon.

"Fuck off!" he shouted, "Get your own stairwell."

I sneered, "Bloody arse."

"Look who's talking."

I shot him a glare before storming out once again. With very few places to go, we were all struggling to find somewhere. I eventually settled down on the fire escape outside of Ellen's empty room. She and Brian were off arranging the necessary security for our next show, leaving us without a peacekeeper. I sat on the cold metal and pulled out a cigarette.

We didn't fight often, and, when we did, it was tiny skirmishes we resolved in under an hour. Only during tours did we storm out on each other and get into arguments strong enough to keep us from talking for days on end. It was only while we were touring the world that we all saw our friendships as nothing more than a struggle.

Touring was stressful, that much was obvious. Being treated more like enslaved animals rather than people would put anyone on edge. We were pushed from place to place by nervous policemen and screamed at by rabid fans on a daily basis. All we saw were the walls of hotel rooms, the windows of cars and planes, and the interior of a studio. We were never allowed to be human all because we were scared of what would happen. The sheer pressure was enough to make even the sanest person crack, let alone everything we had to deal with. Of course we would snap, and we had to take out all our pent up anger on the nearest person. As it happens, the nearest people were always our best mates.

"Amelia?"

I glanced at the window to see Linda leaning on the windowsill. Heather was just behind her, gripping onto her Mum's pants leg and looking absolutely terrified. She had tiny tears running down her cheeks and her eyes were bright red. I took one look at her and everything came tumbling down.

"Did she see?" I muttered.

Linda glanced at Heather and nodded, "Yeah. She ran off closer to the end."

Heather refused to look at me. As Linda slid out onto the fire escape, Heather stayed behind. She stood in the middle of the room with her head down and her arms wrapped around her favorite doll. I looked at the sad child and sighed, crawling forward to where I was closer to her.

"Heather?" I called, "Junior, will you look at me?"

Slowly, she looked up. Her eyes met mine and I smiled sadly, "I'm sorry you saw that. It was a bad move on my part, I'm sorry, Junior."

"Are you gonna keep fighting?" she asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Are you gonna keep fighting like Mama and Papa did?" she asked.

I glanced back at Linda. She shook her head sadly, and I could guess exactly what that meant. Almost every divorce begins with endless fighting. I turned back to Heather and tipped her chin up to look at me, "Course not, Junior. We'll make up sooner than you'd think."

"Promise?" Heather asked.

"Promise."

Heather smiled and lunged up to climb onto the fireplace. I pulled her into my lap and hugged her tightly. Linda smiled slightly.

We sat in silence for a moment, watching the traffic pass. It was boiling hot, but we didn't care. At the time, all I cared about was releasing a bit of steam.

"Is this always what touring is like?" Linda asked.

I shrugged, "It's get to you, you know? You get so stressed and so angry, you gotta take it out on someone."

"And you're all the closest person," Linda commented.

"Exactly. Don't get me wrong, I love those lads with every fiber of my being, but I'm bloody sick of em."

Heather giggled. Linda shook her head, "Can't live with them, can't live without them."

"Exactly, Linda, you put it into words!" I exclaimed, "I love them, I hate them, we fight, but, in the end, we're all still mates."

"I've never seen friends as close as all of you, that doesn't go away with one tiny fight," Linda said.

I nodded, "It doesn't go away with one thousand gigantic fights either. They're my brothers, you can't grow out of that."

When you love someone, that's it, you love them. Friends, lovers, family, that's the end of the story; you love them. You can fight to the point where you want to kill each other but, it all comes down to the final line in the story, you love them. No matter what you say or what you do, if you really and truly love them, and they love you, you'll always come back together in the end. 

"There's only one thing left to do," Linda said.

I glanced up at her and cocked an eyebrow, "Was this entire thing just a plot to get me to apologize?"

"Maybe," Linda smiled, "Someone has to. I've known John, Paul, George, and Ringo long enough to know it's not going to be any of them."

I gazed at her for a moment before smiling, "Ah, you're not wrong. Those lads wouldn't apologize if the world depended on it."

"Stubborn are they?" she asked.

"A tribe of stubborn arses," I grinned, "But, can't say much, I'm one of them."

Linda flung her head back and laughed. I gently pushed Heather off of my lap and slid through the window. Turning back, I winked at Linda, "Thanks, Lindy."

"Anytime," she smiled, "After all, I didn't want to have to fly home with all of you glaring at each other."

"Cheeky."

Linda and Heather followed me down the hall. I figured the best person to apologize to first was Molly. I knocked on our bedroom door only to find it wide open.

"Mols?" I called.

She glanced up from the bed, "Come to apologize?"

"Of course, love," I grinned, "Can't stay mad at you."

"Were you ever actually mad at me?" she asked innocently.

I rolled my eyes, "You're not as much as an angel as you think."

"You sure about that?" she smirked, "And here I thought you loved me, darling."

"You know I do, you cheeky wanker, come 'ere."

I pulled her up to kiss her cheek. She pulled me back and kissed me, holding the back of my head to keep me from escaping. Nothing would have made me want to pull away if it weren't for the throat clearing behind us. Both of us turned to see Linda cheekily grinning at us from the hall.

"Surprise," I muttered as Molly blushed.

Linda shook her head, "Cute."

"We were going to tell you," Molly muttered, "It's just-"

"You were scared. Don't worry about it, I guessed the moment I met you," Linda grinned.

I lifted an eyebrow, "And here I thought we were being discreet."

"No best friends are that touchy feely," Linda replied, "Come on, we've still got four angry boys on our hands."

"Brilliant," I rolled my eyes.

Molly smiled at Linda as we passed. Once again, I felt like things weren't so bad. Everyone we cared about had accepted us and our love exactly as we were made. Nobody had reported us, nobody had told us what we were doing was bad, everything seemed to be going so well.

We made our way down the hall to the next room. George and Ringo were the easiest to reconcile with. Ringo hardly ever got honestly angry; I had only ever seen him furious once before and that was not at his mates. He was a happy soul, nothing could dampen that.

George was a different story. While he was prone to temper 'tantrums', in his soul, he was calm. Above anything else, he was calm. He hardly ever let his emotions take control unless they were warranted. George would be the first person to see the pettiness in our arguments and to look past them.

Molly, Linda, Heather, and I found George and Ringo in their room. They were sitting hip-to-hip on their bed, both smiling and laughing together. When Ringo saw us, he grinned, "Apology train, yeah?"

"A what now?" Linda asked.

I laughed, "Ah, the daily Ringoism. Can't live without them."

"A what?" Linda asked.

Molly shook her head, gesturing that she would explain later. I stepped forward and smiled, "Ringo here is right, I came to apologize. I'm sorry I shouted and said what I did."

"To be honest, I don't remember what you said," George replied.

"Me neither, but I'm sure it wasn't good."

Ringo stood and pulled me into a hug, "We were never really mad, Mel."

"I'm used to you all actin' like gits," George replied.

I rolled my eyes and pulled him into the hug, "You're all a bunch of buggers, but I love you like mad."

"Love you too, Mel."

Molly joined the hug a few seconds later. We all hugged it out, feeling our tensions wash away with each other. When we pulled away, George sighed, "Now we've just got to get the other two sods to listen."

"Impossible," Ringo shook his head.

I shrugged, "I dunno, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

George glanced up at me and began laughing. I smirked. Back when we were in Hamburg, I would separate John and Paul by pulling their ears, just like a mother. It used to make George laugh like nobody was watching.

"Am I missing something here?" Molly asked.

I rolled my head and grinned at her, "Nothin', Mols, just old memories."

George placed his hands on his knees and was doubled over laughing. I chuckled as well. Ringo slapped George's back and lifted an eyebrow, "You alright, mate?"

"Gear," George replied, "Come ed, let's go get those wankers."

I laughed once more before we went off to make amends. In the hall, we paused. George turned to me and asked, "You handle Paulie and we'll handle Johnny?"

"Good plan. I'll give Paulie an earful," I grinned.

Ringo smirked, "We'll give John one of his own."

"Come ed, girls, let's go talk to that arse."

Molly and Linda exchanged glances before following me to the Lennon-McCartney room. Paul hadn't moved from his spot on the couch. When he saw us, he sneered, "Oh, what do you lot want?"

"To apologize," I replied, "I'm sorry for what I said, Paulie. I didn't mean it."

Paul blinked for a moment before smiling sheepishly, "To be honest, I don't remember what you said."

"Me neither. Friends?"

"Course."

He stood and I pulled him into a hug. He ruffled my hair and laughed when I pulled away, "Alright, you wanker."

"Tosser," I replied.

Paul laughed. Molly stepped forward and smirked at us, "You're both a couple of gits."

"Aw, love you too, Mols," Paul winked.

I rolled my eyes as Molly giggled. Just a few moments later, the door opened. John entered with George and Ringo just behind him. Ringo winked at me, telling me all I needed to know.

"Come to apologize, I presume?" Paul asked.

John crossed his arms, "Course not, I came for an apology."

"John, you absolute-"

"Paul," I interjected, "Both of you, man up and apologize."

John turned to me and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he saw three girls giving him the death glare. He turned away and refused to say anything. Luckily, Paul stepped up.

"I'm sorry, John, for everything," he smiled, "Mates again?"

John glanced up at him and smirked, "Aw, Macca, you sap."

"I'll take that as a yes."

All of us smiled at each other. I flung an arm around Molly and grinned, "All's well that ends well, laddies."

"Except that fact that you're all still a bunch of gits," John added.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Love you too, Johnny boy."


	141. McCartney Vs Everyone

We had been to the Southern part of America several times in our vast careers. Most of the time, we visited in the autumn or winter. Brian and Ellen were smart enough not to send us to the south in the summer. Unfortunately, it didn't change much for six kids who were used to English autumns.

"I'm bloody boiling here," I moaned, falling onto the bed and sighing.

One of our few early shows was over and done. Outdoor concerts had become the bane of my existence, especially when in the south. It was boiling hot in Texas, and the residents were walking around in jeans. I could barely survive in shorts.

"I'm melted," Molly fell down next to me, "Can't play guitar if I'm a puddle."

Linda casually sat down on the nearby couch. Heather was sitting next to her, as dry as a bone without so much as a droplet of sweat on her. Both girls were completely dry while Molly and I were soaked.

"It was actually somewhat cool today," Linda commented.

I flung my head up, "What?!"

"It tops one hundred degrees in the summer."

"Fucking hell!"

I forgot she was using Fahrenheit while I was stuck in Celsius, but that didn't stop the shock. It was only sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit that day, which was, apparently, cool for Texas. To us Liverpudlians, we had stepped into an oven. To Linda, an American girl who had spent a fair portion of her life in America, it was a cool walk in the park. 

"Blimey," Molly muttered.

I shook my head, "Next time we play in Texas, let's come in the winter."

"That wouldn't be much better."

"It snows, sometimes," Linda commented.

"There you go, that's better than this blistering heat."

Linda shook her head as Molly and I sighed. Despite the three fans blowing and the air conditioning on high, I was still sweating profusely. By the end of that visit, I was sure I wouldn't have any sweat left in my body and we still had to go to Arizona.

All of us had relaxed our muscles and taken a deep breath. The tour had only just begun and we were already stressed. At any moment, I expected the cabin fever to make a comeback. We would be fighting just like last time. I despised fighting with my mates, but, sometimes, you lose a bit of your sanity when being shoved around like prisoners.

The cabin fever did make a comeback. It started with all of us hearing two shouts from across the hall. Linda glanced up nervously, holding Heather closer. Molly looked confused while I sighed loudly.

"Betcha a fiver I know who's shouting," I muttered.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "Sounds like John and Paul."

"Bingo."

I pushed myself off from the bed and moved to the door. Sighing deeply, I flung it open. The door to John and Paul's room was open. Inside, I could see the famed duo yelling at each other with George and Ringo standing, silently, in the corner. Once again, the arguments had surfaced.

I was in no mood to play peacekeeper. After coming off of a vigorous show in searing heat, all I wanted to do was take a nice shower and a nap. I didn't want to have to break apart two gits who probably didn't even know what they were fighting about.

"It's my song, so my name should go first!" Paul shouted.

John snorted, "Your song? I wrote half of it, you bloody git!"

"Two lines!"

"Half!" John shouted.

"This isn't a test of your bloody ego, John!" Paul shouted, "I wrote the fucking song and I want my name first."

John sneered, "It's Lennon-McCartney, now, sod off before it becomes Lennon-Lennon."

"You bleeding git!"

"Daft sod!"

"Egotistical arse!"

"Controlling git!"

I stepped inside of the room and placed my fists on my hips. The two lads were so red, they could have exploded at any moment. All of the pressure of their anger was too much to bear, they had to let it out somehow, and the only way how was to scream. George and Ringo were standing in the corner watching this affair with pissed off expressions.

I took a deep breath and tried to remind myself that this wasn't them. They were tired and sick of the tour, that was it. It was the cabin fever talking, not John and Paul. On an average day, they would argue, but not this bad. They would have already made up had we not been on tour. All we had to do was pull them apart. The worst thing I could possibly do was start shouting. Of course, that's exactly what I did.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, "Shut up, the both of you!"

John turned to sneer at me, "Oh, wonderful, if it isn't Smelly Melly."

"Bugger off, you daft sod, I'm tryin' to help you," I argued.

"Why can't you ever stay out of it?" John asked, "You're always under foot! Bugger off, will ya?"

"Don't talk to Mel like that," George said.

I frowned, "I wouldn't always get in the middle if you two gits would stop arguing for once in your bloody lives!"

"We wouldn't be arguing if John would stop being such an egotistical arse and listen to me for once!" Paul shouted.

John scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Maybe I'd listen if you weren't jabbering on all the bloody time, princess!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"What the bloody fuck do you think it means you git?!"

Ringo flung his arms up and shouted, "Will you two shut up already? I'm tired of your yelling!"

"Don't you start too," I spat, "I've got enough to deal with in these two."

"You've got to deal with us?!" Paul shouted.

"You're both a couple of children, someone has to!"

Paul rolled his eyes, "Who died and made you our mother?"

"James Paul McCartney, you take that back right now!"

"Will you all just shut your yaps for one bloody second?!" George shouted.

Paul and I both turned on him and shouted, simultaneously, "Shut up!"

All five of us started shouting at once. John, Paul, George, Ringo, and I were shouting endlessly about things none of us would remember once we stopped to take a breath. I vaguely remember John insulting Ringo's nose and George calling Paul a daft cow. Someone told me I was just a stupid kid while someone else said I was about as smart as I was tall. Insults and shouts flew through the room without any goal in particular, they were just meant to hurt.

Molly and Linda were forced to watch all of this go down. They stood in the doorway watching as we shouted at each other for no rhyme or reason. Eventually, Molly got fed up with it. She stomped over to us and placed herself in the middle of our tiny circle.

"Stuff it, the lot of you!" she screamed, "You're all soundin' like a bunch of bleeding children. Now shut up before I have to put you in a timeout!"

John scoffed, "I'm not gonna listen to some bloody bird."

"Ey, don't talk to her like that!" I shouted.

"I'm not gonna listen to you either, you wanker!"

"Piece of shit."

"Oh, that's low," John scoffed, "Motherfucker."

"John!"

"I mean it!"

"All of you, shut up!" Molly shouted before any of us could start screaming again, "You're all a bunch of daft sods, you know that? Do you even know what rubbish you're fighting about?"

"I do, you're all a bunch of gits," John spat.

He spun on his heel and stormed out. None of us knew where he was going, but nobody cared. We all turned on each other with fire in our eyes. George was the next to cross his arms and sneer, "Can't bloody believe this."

"Oh sod off," I spat.

"You first, arse."

"Git."

He shot me a burning glare before storming out of the room. Ringo didn't even say anything, he just left, giving us all a single glare. Paul fell on the couch and sneered, "This is my room, I'm not going anywhere."

"Christ, Paul, you're like a bloody baby," I muttered, "Why don't you try to act mature for once, yeah?"

Paul glared at me, "Sod off, Amelia."

"You first, Paul."

Without another word, I spun on my heel and left. Molly followed, but only as far as the hall. She slammed the door to our room, abandoning me in the hall. I grumbled to myself before storming into the stairwell. As soon as I flung open the door, I was met with a cloud of smoke and a very angry John Lennon.

"Fuck off!" he shouted, "Get your own stairwell."

I sneered, "Bloody arse."

"Look who's talking."

I shot him a glare before storming out once again. With very few places to go, we were all struggling to find somewhere. I eventually settled down on the fire escape outside of Ellen's empty room. She and Brian were off arranging the necessary security for our next show, leaving us without a peacekeeper. I sat on the cold metal and pulled out a cigarette.

We didn't fight often, and, when we did, it was tiny skirmishes we resolved in under an hour. Only during tours did we storm out on each other and get into arguments strong enough to keep us from talking for days on end. It was only while we were touring the world that we all saw our friendships as nothing more than a struggle.

Touring was stressful, that much was obvious. Being treated more like enslaved animals rather than people would put anyone on edge. We were pushed from place to place by nervous policemen and screamed at by rabid fans on a daily basis. All we saw were the walls of hotel rooms, the windows of cars and planes, and the interior of a studio. We were never allowed to be human all because we were scared of what would happen. The sheer pressure was enough to make even the sanest person crack, let alone everything we had to deal with. Of course we would snap, and we had to take out all our pent up anger on the nearest person. As it happens, the nearest people were always our best mates.

"Amelia?"

I glanced at the window to see Linda leaning on the windowsill. Heather was just behind her, gripping onto her Mum's pants leg and looking absolutely terrified. She had tiny tears running down her cheeks and her eyes were bright red. I took one look at her and everything came tumbling down.

"Did she see?" I muttered.

Linda glanced at Heather and nodded, "Yeah. She ran off closer to the end."

Heather refused to look at me. As Linda slid out onto the fire escape, Heather stayed behind. She stood in the middle of the room with her head down and her arms wrapped around her favorite doll. I looked at the sad child and sighed, crawling forward to where I was closer to her.

"Heather?" I called, "Junior, will you look at me?"

Slowly, she looked up. Her eyes met mine and I smiled sadly, "I'm sorry you saw that. It was a bad move on my part, I'm sorry, Junior."

"Are you gonna keep fighting?" she asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"Are you gonna keep fighting like Mama and Papa did?" she asked.

I glanced back at Linda. She shook her head sadly, and I could guess exactly what that meant. Almost every divorce begins with endless fighting. I turned back to Heather and tipped her chin up to look at me, "Course not, Junior. We'll make up sooner than you'd think."

"Promise?" Heather asked.

"Promise."

Heather smiled and lunged up to climb onto the fireplace. I pulled her into my lap and hugged her tightly. Linda smiled slightly.

We sat in silence for a moment, watching the traffic pass. It was boiling hot, but we didn't care. At the time, all I cared about was releasing a bit of steam.

"Is this always what touring is like?" Linda asked.

I shrugged, "It's get to you, you know? You get so stressed and so angry, you gotta take it out on someone."

"And you're all the closest person," Linda commented.

"Exactly. Don't get me wrong, I love those lads with every fiber of my being, but I'm bloody sick of em."

Heather giggled. Linda shook her head, "Can't live with them, can't live without them."

"Exactly, Linda, you put it into words!" I exclaimed, "I love them, I hate them, we fight, but, in the end, we're all still mates."

"I've never seen friends as close as all of you, that doesn't go away with one tiny fight," Linda said.

I nodded, "It doesn't go away with one thousand gigantic fights either. They're my brothers, you can't grow out of that."

When you love someone, that's it, you love them. Friends, lovers, family, that's the end of the story; you love them. You can fight to the point where you want to kill each other but, it all comes down to the final line in the story, you love them. No matter what you say or what you do, if you really and truly love them, and they love you, you'll always come back together in the end. 

"There's only one thing left to do," Linda said.

I glanced up at her and cocked an eyebrow, "Was this entire thing just a plot to get me to apologize?"

"Maybe," Linda smiled, "Someone has to. I've known John, Paul, George, and Ringo long enough to know it's not going to be any of them."

I gazed at her for a moment before smiling, "Ah, you're not wrong. Those lads wouldn't apologize if the world depended on it."

"Stubborn are they?" she asked.

"A tribe of stubborn arses," I grinned, "But, can't say much, I'm one of them."

Linda flung her head back and laughed. I gently pushed Heather off of my lap and slid through the window. Turning back, I winked at Linda, "Thanks, Lindy."

"Anytime," she smiled, "After all, I didn't want to have to fly home with all of you glaring at each other."

"Cheeky."

Linda and Heather followed me down the hall. I figured the best person to apologize to first was Molly. I knocked on our bedroom door only to find it wide open.

"Mols?" I called.

She glanced up from the bed, "Come to apologize?"

"Of course, love," I grinned, "Can't stay mad at you."

"Were you ever actually mad at me?" she asked innocently.

I rolled my eyes, "You're not as much as an angel as you think."

"You sure about that?" she smirked, "And here I thought you loved me, darling."

"You know I do, you cheeky wanker, come 'ere."

I pulled her up to kiss her cheek. She pulled me back and kissed me, holding the back of my head to keep me from escaping. Nothing would have made me want to pull away if it weren't for the throat clearing behind us. Both of us turned to see Linda cheekily grinning at us from the hall.

"Surprise," I muttered as Molly blushed.

Linda shook her head, "Cute."

"We were going to tell you," Molly muttered, "It's just-"

"You were scared. Don't worry about it, I guessed the moment I met you," Linda grinned.

I lifted an eyebrow, "And here I thought we were being discreet."

"No best friends are that touchy feely," Linda replied, "Come on, we've still got four angry boys on our hands."

"Brilliant," I rolled my eyes.

Molly smiled at Linda as we passed. Once again, I felt like things weren't so bad. Everyone we cared about had accepted us and our love exactly as we were made. Nobody had reported us, nobody had told us what we were doing was bad, everything seemed to be going so well.

We made our way down the hall to the next room. George and Ringo were the easiest to reconcile with. Ringo hardly ever got honestly angry; I had only ever seen him furious once before and that was not at his mates. He was a happy soul, nothing could dampen that.

George was a different story. While he was prone to temper 'tantrums', in his soul, he was calm. Above anything else, he was calm. He hardly ever let his emotions take control unless they were warranted. George would be the first person to see the pettiness in our arguments and to look past them.

Molly, Linda, Heather, and I found George and Ringo in their room. They were sitting hip-to-hip on their bed, both smiling and laughing together. When Ringo saw us, he grinned, "Apology train, yeah?"

"A what now?" Linda asked.

I laughed, "Ah, the daily Ringoism. Can't live without them."

"A what?" Linda asked.

Molly shook her head, gesturing that she would explain later. I stepped forward and smiled, "Ringo here is right, I came to apologize. I'm sorry I shouted and said what I did."

"To be honest, I don't remember what you said," George replied.

"Me neither, but I'm sure it wasn't good."

Ringo stood and pulled me into a hug, "We were never really mad, Mel."

"I'm used to you all actin' like gits," George replied.

I rolled my eyes and pulled him into the hug, "You're all a bunch of buggers, but I love you like mad."

"Love you too, Mel."

Molly joined the hug a few seconds later. We all hugged it out, feeling our tensions wash away with each other. When we pulled away, George sighed, "Now we've just got to get the other two sods to listen."

"Impossible," Ringo shook his head.

I shrugged, "I dunno, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

George glanced up at me and began laughing. I smirked. Back when we were in Hamburg, I would separate John and Paul by pulling their ears, just like a mother. It used to make George laugh like nobody was watching.

"Am I missing something here?" Molly asked.

I rolled my head and grinned at her, "Nothin', Mols, just old memories."

George placed his hands on his knees and was doubled over laughing. I chuckled as well. Ringo slapped George's back and lifted an eyebrow, "You alright, mate?"

"Gear," George replied, "Come ed, let's go get those wankers."

I laughed once more before we went off to make amends. In the hall, we paused. George turned to me and asked, "You handle Paulie and we'll handle Johnny?"

"Good plan. I'll give Paulie an earful," I grinned.

Ringo smirked, "We'll give John one of his own."

"Come ed, girls, let's go talk to that arse."

Molly and Linda exchanged glances before following me to the Lennon-McCartney room. Paul hadn't moved from his spot on the couch. When he saw us, he sneered, "Oh, what do you lot want?"

"To apologize," I replied, "I'm sorry for what I said, Paulie. I didn't mean it."

Paul blinked for a moment before smiling sheepishly, "To be honest, I don't remember what you said."

"Me neither. Friends?"

"Course."

He stood and I pulled him into a hug. He ruffled my hair and laughed when I pulled away, "Alright, you wanker."

"Tosser," I replied.

Paul laughed. Molly stepped forward and smirked at us, "You're both a couple of gits."

"Aw, love you too, Mols," Paul winked.

I rolled my eyes as Molly giggled. Just a few moments later, the door opened. John entered with George and Ringo just behind him. Ringo winked at me, telling me all I needed to know.

"Come to apologize, I presume?" Paul asked.

John crossed his arms, "Course not, I came for an apology."

"John, you absolute-"

"Paul," I interjected, "Both of you, man up and apologize."

John turned to me and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he saw three girls giving him the death glare. He turned away and refused to say anything. Luckily, Paul stepped up.

"I'm sorry, John, for everything," he smiled, "Mates again?"

John glanced up at him and smirked, "Aw, Macca, you sap."

"I'll take that as a yes."

All of us smiled at each other. I flung an arm around Molly and grinned, "All's well that ends well, laddies."

"Except that fact that you're all still a bunch of gits," John added.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Love you too, Johnny boy."


	142. The Call and The Substitute

I felt like there was a rope connecting my heart to my home. The further I went, the tighter it became, pulling at my heart and twisting me into homesickness. As I got closer, I slowly became more giddy. Home was just one step away as we stopped on tour in Ireland.

The tour was drawing to a close. After a few more nights in Ireland and a last hurrah for The Royal Family in London, we would be finished with the world tour. It was so close I could almost taste it. Almost.

Ireland was always fun. Contrary to popular belief, not everybody there was drunk and a ginger. In all the times that I had gone, I had never once seen a drunk wandering the streets. While you could get beer around every corner, people weren't drinking every five seconds.

From what I have been told, Ireland is a beautiful country, but I never saw any of it. During the touring years, we didn't see much of anything. The greatest sight we could see was Paul in the morning, and that only lasted from the bedroom to the bathroom. 

"You arse," I muttered.

John cheekily grinned at me, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

"Beautifully stupid."

John blinked innocently as the rest of the group laughed. We were barely two minutes into our game of cards and I was already forced to fold. I dropped my hand of cards on the table with a huff and a pout.

"Aw, come off it, Lia," Paul waved his hand, "You're just a sore loser, aren't ya?"

I pouted, "Bugger off, Paul. John's out to get me, I'm telling you."

"And why would I do that?" John asked innocently.

"Why wouldn't you? They don't call you Cheeky Lennon for nothin'," I replied.

George lifted an eyebrow, "Who calls him that?"

"Mel, apparently," Ringo replied.

Molly put down her cards and grinned brightly. All of the lads sighed, being forced to draw and move on. As Linda struggled with her turn, I gazed at the window.

Even from sixteen stories high, we could hear the ear-splitting screams of the fans lining the pavement. They had been there for days, some arriving a week before us and camping on the sidewalk. All they wanted was a small glimpse of their idols, perhaps even the privilege of touching them. I never have understood the mentality of a fan.

They were a hive-mind, that much I understood. As soon as one started screaming, the rest weren't a second behind. They didn't even have to know what they were screaming about, they would just scream. All of their screaming did nothing but push us further away, if that were even possible.

"Dammit," Linda muttered, folding.

I shook my head, "They're after us, I tell you!"

"Isn't that the point of the game?" Ringo asked.

"That's besides the point."

John placed down an ace, winning the game. All of us groaned loudly. John was known for hiding aces up his sleeves. He was so good at cheating, nobody could ever tell whether he was being truthful or not. Sometimes, I don't even think he could tell.

"You're all a bunch of swines," John smirked. 

"John W. Lennon," I muttered, "Where the W stands for wanker."

"Eleanor A. McCartney, where the A stands for Arse."

Both of us set to staring the other down. As usual, I was the one to look away first. There was a soft, almost timid, knock on the door. Paul flung his head back and shouted, "Come in!"

Prudence opened the door. Usually, she was a very confident, out-spoken sort of girl. Whenever she was in the presence of The Fab Four, that was quickly changed. She began to mimic Peter even when she didn't realize it. Her voice became softer, her muscles were rigid, and she blushed every time they so much as breathed in her direction.

"'Ello, Prudence," Paul gave her a big smile.

She blushed a ripe shade of crimson, "Um-hello, Mister McCartney."

"How come he's a mister?" I asked, "How come I'm not a missus?"

Prudence gazed at her shoes. John laughed, "You're too childish to deserve it."

"And you aren't?"

Everybody except Prudence laughed. Molly smiled warmly at her, "Did you need something?"

"Yes, your brother's on the phone," Prudence said.

In the blink of an eye, Molly became as pale as a sheet. I watched her as her eyes widened and she began to dread the worst. It seemed as if every phone call ended in disaster. Each time the phone rang in our flat, Molly and I would stop whatever we were doing and look at each other like the world was about to end once again. This time was no different. She connected eyes with me and I could feel her blood running cold just as mine was. 

Without a single word, she stood and followed Prudence out. I didn't hesitate in following. I could feel five sets of eyes burning holes into our backs as we made our way down the halls. They knew what a phone call meant when it came to The Mackenzie Family. 

Ellen was sitting in her room, holding the phone and waiting for us. She had a placid expression; one that couldn't give any hints as to what's going on. Molly took the phone from her and said, "Reggie?"

It was nearly impossible to hear Reginald over the phone. His voice was always the same, you couldn't hear when it spiked because it never did. He was always speaking in monotone, except when he was angry. When he became angry, nobody stuck around to hear the changes in his voice.

"What?! When?!" Molly nearly shouted.

I gripped her free hand and waited patiently. Linda had followed us and was leaning against the door frame. All of us waited in anticipation as Molly began to turn bright red.

"I'm on my way," Molly said, "Just- don't leave her, alright? Whatever you do, do not leave her, got it, Reggie? Alright, bye."

She hung up the phone and spun to me, "Regina went into labor an hour ago."

Ellen and Linda both gasped. I gripped Molly's hands and grinned, "You're about to be an Aunt."

"I'm gonna be a bloody Aunt!" Molly shouted, "I've got to get on a plane."

Ellen stood, "I can get you on the next plane to Liverpool."

"Elly, you're a saint."

Ellen nodded and hurried to make a phone call. Molly, Linda, and I all stepped out as she did. Molly hurried to our room and began throwing things in her suitcase. I helped by grabbing the stuff in the closet and handing it to her.

"I can't believe this," Molly breathed, "I'm gonna be an Aunt, Regina's gonna be a Mom!"

I grinned, "And a fine one you'll be. The greatest Aunt ever to exist."

"Aw, Melly, you flatter me."

"That's my job," I winked.

We shoved a few more articles of clothing into her suitcase before she began to zip it shut. As she did, I asked, "Want us to come with you?"

"Of course I do, but you girls have a tour to complete," Molly replied.

Linda furrowed her brow, "How are we supposed to do that without a guitarist?"

"Bloody hell, Lindy's right," I muttered, "We can't go on without a guitarist."

Molly jumped off the suitcase and grinned, "Simple, ask one of the lads."

"Brilliant!"

"Think they'll do it?" Linda asked.

I smirked, "I know they will."

Linda looked slightly concerned, but shook it off. Molly pulled her suitcase off of the bed and popped the handle out just as Ellen appeared in the doorway. She seemed as excited as the rest of us.

"The plane leaves in an hour, we've got to go," she gestured to Molly.

I leaned forward and pecked her cheek, "Good luck, Mols."

"I'm gonna be an Aunt," she whispered.

"And a bloody good one," I grinned, "Tell Gina and Reggie I said hi."

She winked, "Course."

With one last peck on the cheek and an exchange of goodbyes, Molly and Ellen were off. Linda and I watched them as they vanished in the lift. As soon as they were gone, I turned to Linda and grinned, "I bet a fiver she faints before she even gets into the hospital."

"That's a sucker bet," Linda shook her head, "Before she even gets on the plane."

"That's more like it."

I laughed as Linda grinned. She glanced at a clock on the wall and sighed, "I've got to get Heather up from her nap."

"I'll go tell the lads about our pickle," I replied.

She nodded and we both went off in different directions. There was a jump in my step that hadn't been there before. I was elated for Regina and Molly; the entire Mackenzie family, really. After so much loss, it was about time they gained something. They had so much death, now, it was time for a new life.

As happy as I was for Molly, I wished Regina had been delayed. Had she waited just a week, the tour would have been over and I could have gone with Molly. I wanted to see the look on her face when she first lays eyes on her new baby niece or nephew.

John, Paul, George, and Ringo had not moved since I left the room. They all still sat in a circle around the table, their hands filled with cards and their eyes filled with determination. I glanced at John to see the corner of a card peeking out from his sleeve.

"Did someone else die?" Paul asked as soon as I walked in.

I stopped, "What?"

"Every time Molly gets a call, someone dies," George answered, "It's a trend."

"Nobody's dead," I replied.

John lifted an eyebrow, "What's happening? You can't leave us hanging like that."

"Regina's having a baby."

Paul gasped so dramatically, his cards flung around the room. John laughed at him as George and Ringo stared at me in shock. None of them knew Regina was pregnant let alone going into labor. Molly and I had purposefully kept it a secret, mostly for the shock factor. 

"What the bloody hell?!" Paul shouted.

I grinned, "Molly's gone to Liverpool to help Gina. She's going to be an Aunt."

For a moment, nobody spoke. Everybody stared at me with confusion. Ringo was the first to get over the sudden shock.

"I thought those kids were-well-kids," Ringo said.

I shrugged, "Depends on how you look at it. They're nineteen."

"That's a kid," John replied, "What's the kid doin' running around and getting knocked up?"

"Didn't Aunt Mimi give you that talk?" I asked.

Paul snorted as John sneered, "Alright, you cheeky bastard."

I grinned. George got over his shock and asked, "How are you gonna play without a guitarist?"

"Molly's little sister is having a baby, and that's the first thought that comes to your mind?" John asked.

I shrugged, "It was my first thought too."

"See!" George exclaimed.

John shook his head is mock disappointment. Ringo continued to look vaguely worried while slightly excited. His face mirrored what I felt; both elated and terrified. The Mackenzie family curse was very real, we had seen it more than once. There was a chance, however small it may be, that this birth would not go as planned. 

"We were hoping one of you lads would step in," I replied, distancing myself from the negative thoughts.

Paul grinned, "We'd be happy too, you've done it enough for us."

"I'll do it," George replied, "Won't be much of a difference, being on lead."

"Ta, Georgie," I grinned.

John chuckled, "You could always have Ringo on guitar. He'd steal the whole bloody show."

We all laughed as Ringo smiled sheepishly. All of our problems seemed to be a distant memory. For the time being, everything seemed happy. We would have yet another member join our infinitely-expanding family. For that one fleeting moment, it seemed as if darkness didn't exist.

Just one moment.

***

The only time I had ever played music without Molly was in my days as a Beatle and the few times the lads needed me to step in. Otherwise, I had never gone on stage without Molly smiling right next to me. It seemed wrong for Linda and I to perform without her. Even if I felt just as comfortable with George as I would with anyone else, playing with him was different than playing with Molly.

"If I see a single flying shoe, I will retaliate," I stated.

Ellen sighed, "Amelia, you have to be the better person."

"Better person my arse."

"Amelia, please," Ellen glared at me, "They won't throw shoes this time, I promise."

Of course they wouldn't, they only fought back when one of The Beatles was being replaced. Seeing George on stage with Revolution only meant they would see one Beatle for an extended period of time. They would have cared if we had plucked some stranger off of the streets to play in Molly's place, but that was different for a Beatle. They loved The Beatles as a group and as individuals, tonight would be seen as a special treat for them.

"Nevertheless," I argued, "One shoe, and I'm out."

Linda shook her head. I shrugged as Ellen released what I swear was the millionth sigh just in the last hour, "Amelia, promise me you will be on your best behavior."

"I will if they are," I replied, "Takes one to make one, you know."

"I don't think that's how it goes," Linda muttered.

"Bugger off."

Linda chuckled under her breath as the door opened. George stepped in, his guitar slung across his back and a toothy smile across his lips. He had a gleam in his eye, but I couldn't tell if it was excitement or amusement. Perhaps a bit of both.

Ellen glared at me, silently telling me to be on my best behavior. I smirked, "Ey, Georgie, how does it feel to be a temporary rebel?"

"Doesn't feel any different," he shrugged, "I'm a rebel at heart."

"I always knew you were more of a bird."

Both of us laughed heartily. I was actually excited to play with George again, even if it was without Molly. It would be just like old times; with him on lead and me on drums, occasionally sharing goofy grins. All we needed was Paul and John gazing at each other and making funny faces at us and we would be all set. It'd be like 1960 all over again.

"Thank you for stepping in, George," Ellen smiled.

George winked at her, "My pleasure."

"Come on, then, it's time for the show," I said, "I'm itching for a drum."

"When are you not?"

"When I'm sleeping."

George cackled, "I've seen you drum in your sleep."

"Next time I'll use your head."

Both of us laughed loudly as we made our way to the stage. The thick purple curtains were still blocking our views of the screaming fans just behind them. The velvet was heaped on the floor like forgotten clothes in the corner of a closet. My drums were set up on a lifted platform on the very back of the stage. Linda's keyboard was just a few meters away on a platform half as tall. George began to plug in his guitar as Linda and I made our way to our instruments.

"Excited, Lindy?" I asked, "You are playin' with a Beatle after all."

Linda chuckled, "It's just George."

"Right on the nose!"

"I heard that," George replied, shooting a cheeky grin at us.

I rolled my eyes, "Your ego doesn't need any more feeding."

"That's Paul and John, I'm a perfectly humble chap."

"That you are, Georgie," I shook my head, "You're only a Beatle, after all."

George winked, causing me to chuckle. Linda rolled her eyes and went to her keyboard. I sat down on the drums and, spinning the sticks between my fingers, glanced at George, "Just like old times, yeah?"

"Except we're missing Paul and John," he replied.

I shrugged, "Ah, we'll get along just fine."

The curtain began to rise, slowly but surely. As it did, we began to play. I started us off with a heavy drumbeat and the lyrics to one of our newer songs. Linda followed with the keyboard and George with the guitar. Soon, we were playing just like we did any other show. The only difference was the person playing the guitar.

As I have learned, anybody can play the same song with the same notes and even the same vocal range, but it's never the exact same. They could hit every note with perfect precision but it would be a completely different song. What makes a song is the emotions the people put behind their playing. No two people can feel the exact same thing, so no two people can play the exact same way. Nobody could copy the enthusiasm of my drumming or the gracefulness of Linda's piano. Molly always put feelings of intense joy behind her playing. George could put his joy behind every chord he strummed, but it wasn't the same. The song had George's joy, not Molly's. It was different.

The fans didn't seem to notice. They screamed just as loud, perhaps even a bit louder, than they usually do. A few people screamed George's name, others screamed ours. Not a single person asked where Molly was. They were all elated to see their favorite female band playing with a Beatle.

"Now, this next one is not one we often do," I pulled the microphone closer, "It's- yes, hello, I see you- it's one of our first songs. We thought that, since Georgie here is playin' with us, it would be appropriate, seeing as how we wrote it together."

George shot me a big smile. Linda started us off with the piano, reading the chords off of a yellowing paper. George and I knew this song. Even after all these years, we still remembered every single chord.

"The birds are singing, maybe weeping," George and I harmonized.

That show was thrilling. It sent electric shivers down my spine I hadn't felt in a long time. For just a few moments, I forgot about the empty place where Molly should be. My mind was wrapped up in the thrill of playing with George again.

Once the curtain fell, Linda and I got off the stage. George stayed on, seeing as how he was playing next. We passed by John, Paul, and Ringo as Brian led them on stage.

"Break a leg, laddies," I winked.

Paul laughed, "We'll knock em dead."

"As usual," John added.

Linda and I watched as they ran out on stage. Once again, the screams were ear-piercing. Anyone who ever attended a Beatles concert knows exactly what to blame their bad hearing on.

"A bloody good show," I smiled.

Linda nodded, "As always."


	143. The Call and The Substitute

I felt like there was a rope connecting my heart to my home. The further I went, the tighter it became, pulling at my heart and twisting me into homesickness. As I got closer, I slowly became more giddy. Home was just one step away as we stopped on tour in Ireland.

The tour was drawing to a close. After a few more nights in Ireland and a last hurrah for The Royal Family in London, we would be finished with the world tour. It was so close I could almost taste it. Almost.

Ireland was always fun. Contrary to popular belief, not everybody there was drunk and a ginger. In all the times that I had gone, I had never once seen a drunk wandering the streets. While you could get beer around every corner, people weren't drinking every five seconds.

From what I have been told, Ireland is a beautiful country, but I never saw any of it. During the touring years, we didn't see much of anything. The greatest sight we could see was Paul in the morning, and that only lasted from the bedroom to the bathroom. 

"You arse," I muttered.

John cheekily grinned at me, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

"Beautifully stupid."

John blinked innocently as the rest of the group laughed. We were barely two minutes into our game of cards and I was already forced to fold. I dropped my hand of cards on the table with a huff and a pout.

"Aw, come off it, Lia," Paul waved his hand, "You're just a sore loser, aren't ya?"

I pouted, "Bugger off, Paul. John's out to get me, I'm telling you."

"And why would I do that?" John asked innocently.

"Why wouldn't you? They don't call you Cheeky Lennon for nothin'," I replied.

George lifted an eyebrow, "Who calls him that?"

"Mel, apparently," Ringo replied.

Molly put down her cards and grinned brightly. All of the lads sighed, being forced to draw and move on. As Linda struggled with her turn, I gazed at the window.

Even from sixteen stories high, we could hear the ear-splitting screams of the fans lining the pavement. They had been there for days, some arriving a week before us and camping on the sidewalk. All they wanted was a small glimpse of their idols, perhaps even the privilege of touching them. I never have understood the mentality of a fan.

They were a hive-mind, that much I understood. As soon as one started screaming, the rest weren't a second behind. They didn't even have to know what they were screaming about, they would just scream. All of their screaming did nothing but push us further away, if that were even possible.

"Dammit," Linda muttered, folding.

I shook my head, "They're after us, I tell you!"

"Isn't that the point of the game?" Ringo asked.

"That's besides the point."

John placed down an ace, winning the game. All of us groaned loudly. John was known for hiding aces up his sleeves. He was so good at cheating, nobody could ever tell whether he was being truthful or not. Sometimes, I don't even think he could tell.

"You're all a bunch of swines," John smirked. 

"John W. Lennon," I muttered, "Where the W stands for wanker."

"Eleanor A. McCartney, where the A stands for Arse."

Both of us set to staring the other down. As usual, I was the one to look away first. There was a soft, almost timid, knock on the door. Paul flung his head back and shouted, "Come in!"

Prudence opened the door. Usually, she was a very confident, out-spoken sort of girl. Whenever she was in the presence of The Fab Four, that was quickly changed. She began to mimic Peter even when she didn't realize it. Her voice became softer, her muscles were rigid, and she blushed every time they so much as breathed in her direction.

"'Ello, Prudence," Paul gave her a big smile.

She blushed a ripe shade of crimson, "Um-hello, Mister McCartney."

"How come he's a mister?" I asked, "How come I'm not a missus?"

Prudence gazed at her shoes. John laughed, "You're too childish to deserve it."

"And you aren't?"

Everybody except Prudence laughed. Molly smiled warmly at her, "Did you need something?"

"Yes, your brother's on the phone," Prudence said.

In the blink of an eye, Molly became as pale as a sheet. I watched her as her eyes widened and she began to dread the worst. It seemed as if every phone call ended in disaster. Each time the phone rang in our flat, Molly and I would stop whatever we were doing and look at each other like the world was about to end once again. This time was no different. She connected eyes with me and I could feel her blood running cold just as mine was. 

Without a single word, she stood and followed Prudence out. I didn't hesitate in following. I could feel five sets of eyes burning holes into our backs as we made our way down the halls. They knew what a phone call meant when it came to The Mackenzie Family. 

Ellen was sitting in her room, holding the phone and waiting for us. She had a placid expression; one that couldn't give any hints as to what's going on. Molly took the phone from her and said, "Reggie?"

It was nearly impossible to hear Reginald over the phone. His voice was always the same, you couldn't hear when it spiked because it never did. He was always speaking in monotone, except when he was angry. When he became angry, nobody stuck around to hear the changes in his voice.

"What?! When?!" Molly nearly shouted.

I gripped her free hand and waited patiently. Linda had followed us and was leaning against the door frame. All of us waited in anticipation as Molly began to turn bright red.

"I'm on my way," Molly said, "Just- don't leave her, alright? Whatever you do, do not leave her, got it, Reggie? Alright, bye."

She hung up the phone and spun to me, "Regina went into labor an hour ago."

Ellen and Linda both gasped. I gripped Molly's hands and grinned, "You're about to be an Aunt."

"I'm gonna be a bloody Aunt!" Molly shouted, "I've got to get on a plane."

Ellen stood, "I can get you on the next plane to Liverpool."

"Elly, you're a saint."

Ellen nodded and hurried to make a phone call. Molly, Linda, and I all stepped out as she did. Molly hurried to our room and began throwing things in her suitcase. I helped by grabbing the stuff in the closet and handing it to her.

"I can't believe this," Molly breathed, "I'm gonna be an Aunt, Regina's gonna be a Mom!"

I grinned, "And a fine one you'll be. The greatest Aunt ever to exist."

"Aw, Melly, you flatter me."

"That's my job," I winked.

We shoved a few more articles of clothing into her suitcase before she began to zip it shut. As she did, I asked, "Want us to come with you?"

"Of course I do, but you girls have a tour to complete," Molly replied.

Linda furrowed her brow, "How are we supposed to do that without a guitarist?"

"Bloody hell, Lindy's right," I muttered, "We can't go on without a guitarist."

Molly jumped off the suitcase and grinned, "Simple, ask one of the lads."

"Brilliant!"

"Think they'll do it?" Linda asked.

I smirked, "I know they will."

Linda looked slightly concerned, but shook it off. Molly pulled her suitcase off of the bed and popped the handle out just as Ellen appeared in the doorway. She seemed as excited as the rest of us.

"The plane leaves in an hour, we've got to go," she gestured to Molly.

I leaned forward and pecked her cheek, "Good luck, Mols."

"I'm gonna be an Aunt," she whispered.

"And a bloody good one," I grinned, "Tell Gina and Reggie I said hi."

She winked, "Course."

With one last peck on the cheek and an exchange of goodbyes, Molly and Ellen were off. Linda and I watched them as they vanished in the lift. As soon as they were gone, I turned to Linda and grinned, "I bet a fiver she faints before she even gets into the hospital."

"That's a sucker bet," Linda shook her head, "Before she even gets on the plane."

"That's more like it."

I laughed as Linda grinned. She glanced at a clock on the wall and sighed, "I've got to get Heather up from her nap."

"I'll go tell the lads about our pickle," I replied.

She nodded and we both went off in different directions. There was a jump in my step that hadn't been there before. I was elated for Regina and Molly; the entire Mackenzie family, really. After so much loss, it was about time they gained something. They had so much death, now, it was time for a new life.

As happy as I was for Molly, I wished Regina had been delayed. Had she waited just a week, the tour would have been over and I could have gone with Molly. I wanted to see the look on her face when she first lays eyes on her new baby niece or nephew.

John, Paul, George, and Ringo had not moved since I left the room. They all still sat in a circle around the table, their hands filled with cards and their eyes filled with determination. I glanced at John to see the corner of a card peeking out from his sleeve.

"Did someone else die?" Paul asked as soon as I walked in.

I stopped, "What?"

"Every time Molly gets a call, someone dies," George answered, "It's a trend."

"Nobody's dead," I replied.

John lifted an eyebrow, "What's happening? You can't leave us hanging like that."

"Regina's having a baby."

Paul gasped so dramatically, his cards flung around the room. John laughed at him as George and Ringo stared at me in shock. None of them knew Regina was pregnant let alone going into labor. Molly and I had purposefully kept it a secret, mostly for the shock factor. 

"What the bloody hell?!" Paul shouted.

I grinned, "Molly's gone to Liverpool to help Gina. She's going to be an Aunt."

For a moment, nobody spoke. Everybody stared at me with confusion. Ringo was the first to get over the sudden shock.

"I thought those kids were-well-kids," Ringo said.

I shrugged, "Depends on how you look at it. They're nineteen."

"That's a kid," John replied, "What's the kid doin' running around and getting knocked up?"

"Didn't Aunt Mimi give you that talk?" I asked.

Paul snorted as John sneered, "Alright, you cheeky bastard."

I grinned. George got over his shock and asked, "How are you gonna play without a guitarist?"

"Molly's little sister is having a baby, and that's the first thought that comes to your mind?" John asked.

I shrugged, "It was my first thought too."

"See!" George exclaimed.

John shook his head is mock disappointment. Ringo continued to look vaguely worried while slightly excited. His face mirrored what I felt; both elated and terrified. The Mackenzie family curse was very real, we had seen it more than once. There was a chance, however small it may be, that this birth would not go as planned. 

"We were hoping one of you lads would step in," I replied, distancing myself from the negative thoughts.

Paul grinned, "We'd be happy too, you've done it enough for us."

"I'll do it," George replied, "Won't be much of a difference, being on lead."

"Ta, Georgie," I grinned.

John chuckled, "You could always have Ringo on guitar. He'd steal the whole bloody show."

We all laughed as Ringo smiled sheepishly. All of our problems seemed to be a distant memory. For the time being, everything seemed happy. We would have yet another member join our infinitely-expanding family. For that one fleeting moment, it seemed as if darkness didn't exist.

Just one moment.

***

The only time I had ever played music without Molly was in my days as a Beatle and the few times the lads needed me to step in. Otherwise, I had never gone on stage without Molly smiling right next to me. It seemed wrong for Linda and I to perform without her. Even if I felt just as comfortable with George as I would with anyone else, playing with him was different than playing with Molly.

"If I see a single flying shoe, I will retaliate," I stated.

Ellen sighed, "Amelia, you have to be the better person."

"Better person my arse."

"Amelia, please," Ellen glared at me, "They won't throw shoes this time, I promise."

Of course they wouldn't, they only fought back when one of The Beatles was being replaced. Seeing George on stage with Revolution only meant they would see one Beatle for an extended period of time. They would have cared if we had plucked some stranger off of the streets to play in Molly's place, but that was different for a Beatle. They loved The Beatles as a group and as individuals, tonight would be seen as a special treat for them.

"Nevertheless," I argued, "One shoe, and I'm out."

Linda shook her head. I shrugged as Ellen released what I swear was the millionth sigh just in the last hour, "Amelia, promise me you will be on your best behavior."

"I will if they are," I replied, "Takes one to make one, you know."

"I don't think that's how it goes," Linda muttered.

"Bugger off."

Linda chuckled under her breath as the door opened. George stepped in, his guitar slung across his back and a toothy smile across his lips. He had a gleam in his eye, but I couldn't tell if it was excitement or amusement. Perhaps a bit of both.

Ellen glared at me, silently telling me to be on my best behavior. I smirked, "Ey, Georgie, how does it feel to be a temporary rebel?"

"Doesn't feel any different," he shrugged, "I'm a rebel at heart."

"I always knew you were more of a bird."

Both of us laughed heartily. I was actually excited to play with George again, even if it was without Molly. It would be just like old times; with him on lead and me on drums, occasionally sharing goofy grins. All we needed was Paul and John gazing at each other and making funny faces at us and we would be all set. It'd be like 1960 all over again.

"Thank you for stepping in, George," Ellen smiled.

George winked at her, "My pleasure."

"Come on, then, it's time for the show," I said, "I'm itching for a drum."

"When are you not?"

"When I'm sleeping."

George cackled, "I've seen you drum in your sleep."

"Next time I'll use your head."

Both of us laughed loudly as we made our way to the stage. The thick purple curtains were still blocking our views of the screaming fans just behind them. The velvet was heaped on the floor like forgotten clothes in the corner of a closet. My drums were set up on a lifted platform on the very back of the stage. Linda's keyboard was just a few meters away on a platform half as tall. George began to plug in his guitar as Linda and I made our way to our instruments.

"Excited, Lindy?" I asked, "You are playin' with a Beatle after all."

Linda chuckled, "It's just George."

"Right on the nose!"

"I heard that," George replied, shooting a cheeky grin at us.

I rolled my eyes, "Your ego doesn't need any more feeding."

"That's Paul and John, I'm a perfectly humble chap."

"That you are, Georgie," I shook my head, "You're only a Beatle, after all."

George winked, causing me to chuckle. Linda rolled her eyes and went to her keyboard. I sat down on the drums and, spinning the sticks between my fingers, glanced at George, "Just like old times, yeah?"

"Except we're missing Paul and John," he replied.

I shrugged, "Ah, we'll get along just fine."

The curtain began to rise, slowly but surely. As it did, we began to play. I started us off with a heavy drumbeat and the lyrics to one of our newer songs. Linda followed with the keyboard and George with the guitar. Soon, we were playing just like we did any other show. The only difference was the person playing the guitar.

As I have learned, anybody can play the same song with the same notes and even the same vocal range, but it's never the exact same. They could hit every note with perfect precision but it would be a completely different song. What makes a song is the emotions the people put behind their playing. No two people can feel the exact same thing, so no two people can play the exact same way. Nobody could copy the enthusiasm of my drumming or the gracefulness of Linda's piano. Molly always put feelings of intense joy behind her playing. George could put his joy behind every chord he strummed, but it wasn't the same. The song had George's joy, not Molly's. It was different.

The fans didn't seem to notice. They screamed just as loud, perhaps even a bit louder, than they usually do. A few people screamed George's name, others screamed ours. Not a single person asked where Molly was. They were all elated to see their favorite female band playing with a Beatle.

"Now, this next one is not one we often do," I pulled the microphone closer, "It's- yes, hello, I see you- it's one of our first songs. We thought that, since Georgie here is playin' with us, it would be appropriate, seeing as how we wrote it together."

George shot me a big smile. Linda started us off with the piano, reading the chords off of a yellowing paper. George and I knew this song. Even after all these years, we still remembered every single chord.

"The birds are singing, maybe weeping," George and I harmonized.

That show was thrilling. It sent electric shivers down my spine I hadn't felt in a long time. For just a few moments, I forgot about the empty place where Molly should be. My mind was wrapped up in the thrill of playing with George again.

Once the curtain fell, Linda and I got off the stage. George stayed on, seeing as how he was playing next. We passed by John, Paul, and Ringo as Brian led them on stage.

"Break a leg, laddies," I winked.

Paul laughed, "We'll knock em dead."

"As usual," John added.

Linda and I watched as they ran out on stage. Once again, the screams were ear-piercing. Anyone who ever attended a Beatles concert knows exactly what to blame their bad hearing on.

"A bloody good show," I smiled.

Linda nodded, "As always."


	144. The Second Love

Not one call. Not a call, not a letter, not even an inkling of contact. For two days, Molly was completely radio silent. I tried to call the hospital but the line was busy every time. I even tried to call The Mackenzie household, but nobody was home. It was completely silent.

After our show in London, we were completely free. John, Ringo, and George all went home to their families. They had girls, and two had children, waiting for them. Even Linda had gone off on her own, her father and brother flew in for a visit. Everybody was completely relaxed.

I was a bundle of nerves. The Mackenzie Family Curse was still just as dangerous as it was when Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie were alive. With Molly not answering, I was left to assume the worst. Anything could have happened; to her, to the twins, or even to the baby. They all had tainted blood from a curse laid centuries ago.

"Lia, will you please stop pacing?" Paul asked.

I paused at the door and glanced at him. He twiddled his thumbs together, leaning on the edge of his seat and watching me anxiously. My nerves were rubbing off on him making whatever he felt ten times worse.

"I can't!" I exclaimed, "Why isn't she answering?"

I fell into the seat next to him and buried my face in my hands. Paul gently rubbed my back, doing his best to comfort me even though he was just as anxious. Both of us were absolutely terrified of what would happen.

"I don't know, but we're about to find out," Paul muttered.

Some people say that no news is good news. Most of the time, this is true, but not when it came to Molly. Molly was the sort of girl who can't resist shouting good news the second she hears it. She wants the entire world to know why she is so happy, but she never wants anyone to know why she's sad. For her to go completely cold turkey, something had to be wrong.

My gut was twisting. Something deep inside, buried beneath my soul, was warning me. The last time I had felt like this, Dad told us Mum had died. It made my blood run cold as I hurried to Molly.

"It's going to be alright," Paul told me, "Whatever happens, Lia, it's going to be alright."

I rubbed my hands together and nodded, "I know, but- I don't know, something's wrong."

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it together."

"Thanks, Paulie."

He pulled me into a side hug just as the train pulled into the station. To both of our surprise, there was almost nobody on the platform. The entire station seemed abandoned. For the first time in what seemed like forever, we were able to walk through the Liverpool train station uninterrupted.

"S'pose they didn't get the word," Paul stated.

I shrugged, "Whatever the reason, I'm glad. It's kinda nice."

"Feels a bit weird."

We had gotten so used to having to run from fans every five seconds, it seemed unnatural, almost empty without it. Something was missing, we could both feel it even though we were beyond grateful. As much as I hated being screamed and clawed at, I hated feeling empty even more.

I was on autopilot. My feet knew their way to the hospital without me even having to think it through. After years of going back and forth and watching Mum ride her bike down the streets, I knew the way. I may have known the path to the hospital better than I knew the path to my own home.

"Thanks for coming with me, Paulie," I smiled at my older brother.

He clapped my shoulder, "Course. Can't let my baby sister deal with this alone."

"You're too kind."

There was a lot of places I spent my time in. My favorites were my own home and the homes of my friends. From studios to theaters and even stadiums, there's not a building on Earth I haven't been in. A lot of my time, more time than I would have cared, was spent in hospitals and graveyards. I knew the smell of cleaning supplies better than I knew the candles lit in my house. I navigated newly dug graves better than my brother's house.

I didn't hate them. With as much pain as I felt every time I stepped into a graveyard, I still went. Despite growing to fear the blank walls of hospitals, I walked through them. Those two places have caused me more pain than anywhere else, and yet, I didn't hate them. I still walked through them with my chin held high; higher even than my pain.

"It's been awhile since we've been here," Paul commented whenever the hospital came into view.

I grinned, "Brings back memories, yeah?"

"I'd rather forget," Paul wrinkled his nose, "Was so boring then."

"It's boring now."

"Can't say I disagree."

The hospital itself was nothing spectacular. It was the generic brown brick building with curtained windows and neatly trimmed bushes. The doors were crystal clean glass and the walls were so white, they almost faded from existence. Each tile was like a mirror and the entire building reeked of cleaning supplies. This hospital didn't try to cover the bleach with lemon spray.

"Can I help you?" the nurse behind the desk asked.

Everything about him was fake. From his shiny hair to his slightly too big smile. Even his scrubs seemed fake. His eyes shone like glass eyes, and his hands moved in a robotic manner. He had no facial features other than his eyes, nose, mouth, and eyebrows. Otherwise, he was nothing more than a glass doll.

"I'm here to visit my friend," I said, "Molly Mackenzie, she's here with her sister."

The man shuffled through a few papers before clicking his tongue, "Ah, the Mackenzie's. Quite a pity, isn't it?"

He said it so casually, and yet, my blood ran cold. For a moment, I simply stared at him. I lost all means at communication as my mind ran away with me. All I could think was that something happened to Molly.

"Can you tell us where they are?" Paul asked, grabbing a hold of my elbow.

The man nodded, "Just down that hall to your left. Take the first right and you'll find them."

I was gone before Paul even registered me moving. He hurried to catch up with me as I pushed through the double doors. If something was wrong with Molly, nothing was going to keep me away from her. I had to know she was alright.

"Lia, breath," Paul said, "It won't do Molly any good if you fall over too."

"That's why you're here," I replied.

Paul frowned, "I can't hold you up if you're unconscious."

"I won't be."

He didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press any further. We turned the first right and came face to face with a dark hall. Only one door had light shining from it. It was wide open, being propped against the wall with a cleaning cart. Inside, a few chairs were dotting the room with a hospital bed in the middle. The room was empty except for the blonde woman sitting on the bed cradling a pink pillow.

"Molly!" I exclaimed.

She glanced up at me. As soon as our eyes connected, I knew something was wrong. She was broken, even more so than the day her Mum died. Everything about her was lost. It was as if her soul was damned to wander through an endless void for all eternity. No map could help her find her way.

"Molly?" I asked, "Molly, what's wrong?"

Paul and I moved to stand on either side of the bed. I didn't hesitate in gripping her hand. She squeezed back, her eyes glassy as they stared into mine. For a moment, she was completely silent. Even the bundle in her arms remained as still as a statue. She was turned off. Every feature had fallen while her mind was completely blank. As she stared at me, she looked asleep even though her eyes were wide open and blinking.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

Paul glanced up at me with confusion. I gripped Molly's hand and shook my head, "Molly, no, of course you didn't."

"Am I being punished?" she continued, "It's my fault, I know it is."

"Molly, no, listen to me, what happened is not your fault. You're not being punished because you did nothing wrong," I gently cupped her cheek.

Tears began to form in her eyes, "Then, why do I lose everyone I love?"

Slowly, Paul began to realize what had happened. I knew from the moment we walked into the room. The way Molly moved, and the way she looked so alone despite the person who loved her most sitting across from her told me. Just by looking in her eyes, I knew, another tragedy had occurred in a long string of many. Paul gently laid a hand on Molly's shoulder in an effort to comfort her.

"Molly-" I began, but she interrupted.

"First, Papa dies," she muttered, "Then, I lost Mum. Now I lost Regina, and even Reggie's gone. If this isn't punishment, then I don't know what is."

Tears began to pour down her cheeks. She shook slightly, almost as if she were cold. I sat next to her and wrapped my arms around her, "Not everyone. You still have me."

"And me," Paul said.

"Exactly," I replied, "You've got the lads, you've got Linda, Janice, Ellen. We're not going anywhere, Mols."

Molly blinked, "You can't promise that."

"But I can."

She glanced at me and began to sob. I pulled her to my chest, hugging her tightly and doing my best to avoid the bundle in her arms. Only Paul noticed when the blanket fell away to reveal a tiny nose and two puffy cheeks.

Molly calmed down just a few minutes later. She sniffled, pulling away but never losing contact. My arm was still around her shoulders as she pressed into my side. She wiped her eyes and said, "Gina- she wasn't ready. She was too young, too young to have a baby. That's what they tell me, at least. They say she fought as long as she could."

"Of course she did, she's Regina," I replied, "That girl wouldn't know what to do if she wasn't fighting something."

Molly laughed slightly, "She gave the end a run for it's money, but, even she couldn't win. She- Christ, she was only nineteen!"

She shook her head rapidly. I tightened my grip on her shoulders. Paul watched us with an expression that mirrored how I felt inside; completely gutted.

"Regina is dead," Molly muttered, "She died before the baby was even born."

I've experienced death more than the average person. It seems as if everyone I love dies, save for the very few. To anyone who asks, I tell them I consider death an old friend of mine. Every so often, he stops for tea and leaves with a full belly and another soul in his bag. As often as he comes to visit, he has yet to take me with him.

Death has taken many people from me, but never someone so young. Regina was nineteen. She was supposed to be going to university and having fun with all of her friends, not dying. She had an entire life laid out in front of her all taken in the blink of an eye. Never would Regina be able to experience the burn of her first drink, or the thrill of her first drive. She would never walk down the aisle or see her child grow up. Regina had the whole world at her feet, and now, she was underneath it all.

"Molly, I'm so sorry," Paul rubbed her shoulder.

Molly wiped her eyes, "Sorry won't bring her back, but, it sounds nice. Thank you."

He smiled at her. The bundle in her arms wiggled, drawing my attention. I watched as baby blue irises saw the world for the first time. The second I looked into those eyes, I knew I had just met the second love of my life. It felt like looking into the pearly gates of Heaven and knowing, one day, I was going to find my way there. Looking at that baby was liking looking at hope for a new future and a new life. 

"Regina died creating a life," Molly muttered, "This is Vera."

The baby yawned, her mouth stretching almost to the back of her head. Tiny blonde hairs poked from her otherwise bald scalp and her tiny hands tugged at the edge of the blanket. She gazed up at Molly, Paul, and me with eyes that couldn't quite see us yet.

That day, the world had lost a beautiful soul but gained an extraordinary girl. Vera Mackenzie was born on September 12, 1965. She came into this world as her mother left it, but she was never alone.

I was never one for babies. While I adored my friends' children and I loved babysitting them, I never wanted one for my own. I still considered myself a child, I couldn't imagine raising one. Until I met Vera. When I first saw her, she was so small, so vulnerable, I knew someone had to protect her. She looked up at me with eyes filled with love even when she didn't know what love was just yet. I fell in love the first time she reached out towards me, wiggling her fingers for some sort of touch. In that moment, I vowed, Vera wouldn't follow in the footsteps of her mother and her grandparents. She would be the happiest, healthiest, and safest Mackenzie yet. I would make sure of it. 

"She's beautiful," I whispered.

Molly smiled, "She looks just like Mum."

"She looks just like you," Paul replied, "Right down to the hairs on her head."

That day, I swore, no harm would ever come to Vera. So long as I was living and breathing, nothing would ever hurt her. I would do everything in my power to make sure she was safe and happy.

"She's got no one else," Molly said, "I'm all she has left."

I rubbed Vera's head and smiled, "Ah, but there's where you're wrong."

"What-?" she began.

"I'm not going anywhere," I answered, "You and I- we'll make bloody good Aunts."

Molly's smile widened. I returned the gesture. Our small family was far from traditional. With a baby born to a dead mother and two girls whose love affair had to be kept hidden from the world, our family was as far from traditional as one could possibly get, but that's what made it work. We stayed together not out of responsibility or social pride, but because of love. The love we had for each other was enough to power through anything that got in our way.

"And she'll have four brilliant Uncles, you know," Paul winked.

I giggled, "She's got the whole package."

"She does, doesn't she?" Molly asked, "Little Vera, you'll be the happiest girl in the world."

I squeezed Molly's shoulders, "By golly, Miss Molly, just you wait."


	145. Art of Dying

Everything is an art form. There's an art to life; with every breath you take and every smile you make, you are creating art. Life itself is art, and so is death. The art of dying is simple, all you have to do is leave. Death is more than traveling to the great beyond. The art of dying could end in a casket or never seeing a loved one again.

Regina and Reginald Mackenzie died on the same day. The twins, born just two minutes apart died within two hours of each other. Reginald was still breathing, and would keep breathing for the next seventy years. Yet, he died with his sister.

As soon as she took her last breath, Reginald retreated into himself. He became a hollow shell of what he once was. All of us expected him to have a complete mental breakdown; going on a rampage and hurting himself and those around him, but he simply fell silent. Since that day in 1965, I have only ever heard Reginald Mackenzie say one word: goodbye.

Regina was his only stability. She meant more to him than any of us could ever believe, and her death broke him in ways nobody could understand. He had always been on the edge; threatening to fall over into the abyss of insanity. Back then, mental illness was taboo. It was seen as a danger and the people who suffered it were treated as such. Now, we know differently. Unfortunately, in the time Reginald broke, there was only one thing to do for him.

Reginald wasn't buried, he was admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Blackpool. From what I've seen, they treat their patients well. It is just like a little community where the people who live there can live in peace. Of all the hospitals in the world, that was probably the best. Most hospitals were torture for their patients, but that place, that was a safe haven. Molly made sure that her brother was well taken care of. If anyone had even the inkling of a thought to hurt him, she would be on top of them like a hyena on a carcass. 

Molly had to go and sign the papers, seeing as how she was his closest living kin. I had offered to go with her, but she wanted to do it alone. Perhaps she wanted closure, or, perhaps, she wanted to prove to herself that she could do it.

She hadn't been herself since Regina's passing. Nobody could expect her to bounce back so quickly, or ever again. After losing so much in such a little amount of time, there was no way she could be the same Molly I met on the stairs at school all those years ago. She would change, she had changed, but I still loved her all the same. 

That left me at home with Vera. There was no question, Molly had adopted her the second Regina took her last breath. As Vera's godmother, it was Molly's duty to take care of the child. As Molly's partner, it was both my duty and my pleasure to be with her every step of the way.

"Sleep pretty darling, do not cry," I sang, "And I will sing a lullaby."

Vera was slowly drifting to sleep in my arms. She was a rough sleeper, a trait which we both shared. It took ages to finally get her to sleep and you had to walk on eggshells to make sure she stayed that way. I paced up and down the hall, gently rocking the baby as she drifted into a deep sleep.

Molly and I had quickly arranged a nursery in Janice's old bedroom. We had a hastily built crib and a small changing table. Overtime, it would grow into the model nursery. We had barely an hour to assemble that. Luckily, Cynthia had kept Julian's old crib and was kind enough to loan it to us until we could get our own. Maureen and Ringo had brought a singing teddy bear and Paul had given us a set of baby clothes. Even George and Pattie had brought over a gift, a set of bottles which we desperately needed. Just from the kindness of our mates, we had everything we needed for the time being.

I laid Vera in her crib and smiled slightly. She looked so peaceful when she slept. Overall, she was a happy baby, she only cried when she was hungry or tired. She was inquisitive too, always looking around and searching for something new to explore. Whenever she learned to crawl, Molly and I would have our work cut out for us.

She was so much like Regina. Vera was only three days old, and she was already showing the fighting spirit of her Mum. Regina was the sort who would fight anything and then ask every question imaginable. She wanted to know everything there was to know and fight every war there was to fight. Most of all, she wanted the people around her to be happy. Many times I had seen her go out of her way just to make someone she loved smile.

Just as I shut the door to the nursery, the doorbell rang. I bolted down the hall before the visitor could ring it again. Just as I flung open the door, their finger was hovering over the doorbell.

"Jane, I thought you were in Paris," I breathed as soon as I saw who it was.

Jane smiled at me, "Flew in last night. Paul told me what happened, thought I'd pay a visit."

"Aw, my future sister-in-law is always welcome at my humble abode."

Jane threw her head back and laughed. Every time she laughed, her entire body seemed to raise. Her arms flew out as she raised up on her tip-toes. Her joy was so pure- her laugh so strong- she simply couldn't contain it. The sheer light of it all lifted her off of the ground.

I stepped aside to let her in. She walked in, smiling at the photographs on the wall. I had always fancied myself a photographer. Most of the photographs I took ended up in a photo album hidden beneath my bed. Some hung on the wall, like the ones I took with the lads or with the girls. I thought I was a photographer, but I was nothing compared to Linda.

Linda never went anywhere without a camera. She would take pictures of the smallest flower to the tallest building. Her favorite muses were the people around her. I can't tell you how many photos she's snapped of Molly and me, some we didn't even know about. In the early nineties, Linda showed me a photo album full of pictures she took in the sixties that I had never seen. When she met Vera the night we brought her home, the very first thing she did was take a picture of Heather holding the baby. Some of the photos hanging on our walls were mine, but the newer ones were all Linda's.

"Is she asleep?" Jane asked.

I nodded, "Just put her down before you got here."

"I was hoping to meet her," Jane sighed, "Paul said she looks exactly like Molly."

"Give her a bit, she'll wake up. She's about a good a sleeper as I am."

Jane laughed. I have spent many nights at Paul and Jane's place, she knew exactly how I slept. More often than not, one of them came out for a cup of water only to find me wide awake and writing down lyrics.

Jane sat down on the couch with me close behind her. We were just one cushion apart. It occurred to me that I have never been alone with Jane before then. Paul was always there, or Molly, it was never just the two of us. Oddly, it was nice. Even in the moments when we were silent, it was a nice silent. The sort that didn't need to be filled, it only needed to be enjoyed.

"I heard you on the radio yesterday, you're bloody amazing," Jane smiled.

I returned the gesture, "Aw, Janie, you flatter me."

"Janie?"

"I'm all about nicknames, Janie, love."

I winked at her flirtatiously. She snorted, doing her best to cover the rapturous giggles escaping from her throat. She ended up giggling so hard, tears began to pour down her red cheeks. Both of us brushed over the fact that she was blushing heavily.

"Paulie calls me Schnookems," Jane snorted, "Or honey pie."

My laughter echoed throughout the house, "Paul never was one for nicknames."

"I dunno, he has a pretty good one for you."

"Only because I wouldn't let him call me Amy," I replied, "He got a punch to the cheek the first time he called me Amy."

Jane giggled once again. My laughter had bounced through the house, landing in the ears of a baby. Vera became to cry in the next room. I gazed at the hall and sighed, "And so, the baby rises."

"I'm sorry, I was a bit loud," Jane apologized.

I waved her off, "Aw, it had nothing to do with you. I've got a laugh louder than a steam engine."

"I'm inclined to agree."

I tried to act offended, but I dissolved into laughter. As I made my way down the hall, I was still laughing. Even into the barren nursery, I was laughing.

"Oh, it's lovely," Jane said as she walked into the nursery.

I shook my head, "Far from it. It's all we could manage on such short notice."

I bent over the crib and lifted the screaming Vera into my arms. As soon as I hugged her close to my chest, she began to calm down. Her wails quickly turned to whines which vanished all together. Once she was in my arms, she was the happy baby she was born to be.

"She's beautiful," Jane whispered, "The perfect little baby."

I smiled, "Want to hold her?"

"Oh, can I?"

"Course you can."

I shifted Vera into Jane's outstretched arms. She held the child with as much tenderness as a mother. I watched as she rocked Vera, her red locks brushing against Vera's almost bald head. Vera smiled up at her.

"Hello, Vera," Jane cooed, "It's lovely to meet you."

Vera sputtered, cooing indefinitely. I chuckled as I watched the two interact. Jane had completely forgotten I was there, her entire focus went into the baby cradled in her arms. Her eyes sparkled whenever Vera cooed. Just in her eyes, I could see she was already in love with Vera just like I was.

"She likes you," I said, "Very good taste, she has."

Jane giggled, stroking Vera's head. She gently handed the baby back to me. I took Vera, feeling her weight transfer into my arms. It felt as natural to hold Vera as it did to hold my drumsticks. I felt as if I was born to hold her, or she was born to be held. Everything was exactly as it should be whenever she and I were together. All we were missing was Molly.

"I almost forgot!" Jane exclaimed, "I brought something."

She hurried back into the living room. I watched her go, my eyebrows climbing up my forehead. Glancing down at Vera, I shrugged, "Confusing, isn't she?"

Vera cooed and a bit of drool trickled from her mouth. I giggled, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Jane came back with a framed picture in her hands. She smiled and held it up, "I forgot it was in my bag."

"That thing has Narnia in it somewhere, I swear," I chuckled.

Jane always carried around a large bag whenever she visited places. Everything and anything could be found in it's creases; from lip balm to photographs, she had it all. She even had a framed photograph of an animal band. The lion played the guitar, the elephant played the keyboard, the monkey played the drums, and the giraffe played the bass. There was even a sloth on the triangle hanging from the ceiling. Jane held the picture up triumphantly and waited for my response.

"It's lovely," I grinned, "I've always fancied myself a monkey at heart."

Jane cackled, "It used to hang in my nursery when I was a wee tike. Thought it would look nice in here."

"Well, let's hang it up, then."

I laid Vera in her bouncer and hurried to the front hall closet. Returning with a hammer and a nail, we set to looking for the perfect place for the picture. Ultimately, it was Jane who found the perfect spot.

"How about here, right above her crib?" Jane asked.

I grinned, "Perfect."

I slammed the hammer onto the nail until it pierced the white walls. Jane watched as I hung the photo. Both of us stood in front of it, admiring our work.

"I think it's positively brilliant," I grinned.

Jane nodded, "The perfect first decoration."

"Thank you, Janie."

She winked at me, "You're welcome, Amy."

"Don't you bloody do it."

"What's wrong, Amy?" she innocently asked.

I waggled my finger at her, "Jane, you wanker."

"Come off it, Amy."

"That's it!"

I playfully pushed her shoulder. She spun around, turning to push me as well. Both of us were laughing. My heel caught on the edge of the crib and I went tumbling. Jane was close to follow, her fingers still wrapped around my shirt. I landed with a hard thud. Jane landed on top of me, nearly knocking the wind out of me. For a moment, both of us simply stared at each other.

"Oh, Jane, love, it's a bit early in the relationship for this, don't you think?" I winked.

Jane flushed a bright red. She stuttered for a reply, rolling off of me. I watched as she struggled to find the words. I smirked, "Always happy to make the birds speechless."

"Amelia, bloody hell!" Jane exclaimed.

I gasped, "Jane, language! Not in front of the child!"

"You're just like Paul," Jane muttered, "A sarcastic flirt."

I cackled, "Family trait, I s'pose."

"What have I gotten myself into?"

She shook her head and sighed as I laughed. Even Vera was giggling, though it came out as weird coughs. Jane began to blush harder as I stood and offered her my hand, "Come on, Jane, how about some tea?"


	146. Mostly British Eggheads

I watched as Molly bounced Vera on her knee. At a month old, Vera looked to be ready to go to university. She had grown almost a full head of bleach blonde hair and she was able to hold herself up. She was a large baby, the doctors said she was two pounds over the average weight. Vera was as healthy and as happy as any baby could ever dream of being.

"I don't know who's cuter," I said, "The baby or you."

Molly glanced at me and smiled slightly, "Melly, you flatter me."

Molly hardly ever smiled anymore and, when she did, it was a tiny smile that could be mistaken for a smirk. It was the smile of someone who was broken and battered inside, someone who had lost everything. She had scars that would never go away. 

"That's my job, love."

I winked at her, causing her to giggle. The giggle was forced, I could tell it was. She was trying to act like her normal self in an effort to be normal, but that would never work. She would have to heal on her own time, nobody, not even Molly herself, could force it. Vera began to fuss for her bottle. I shook my head and chuckled, "You eat so much, you'll blow up like a balloon, kid."

"A cute balloon," Molly wrinkled her nose at the baby.

Vera giggled. I rolled my eyes, "Gah, Mols, you're such a Mum."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

I chuckled under my breath as I made my way into the kitchen. Vera's bottles were lined up in the cabinet beneath the coffee mugs. She had pink, blue, purple, green, and even yellow bottles. They had decorations of animals, flowers, and music notes on them. Cynthia had even found a bottle decorated in beetles. When she gave it to us, I nearly died laughing.

As I heated up the bottle, there was a knock on the door. I opened my mouth to say I'd get it, but I wasn't given enough time. The lock clicked and the door swung open.

"Guess what the bloody fuck just happened to us!" John shouted.

Molly gasped, "John, don't swear in front of the baby!"

"Come off it, Molly, Mel's all grown up now."

John came around the corner and winked at me. I sneered and nearly shot him the bird. Molly's glare told me exactly what would happen if I did. I settled for waiting for her to look away.

"I think she meant the little one, Johnny," Paul commented.

He stepped forward and reached for Vera. Molly willingly handed her over. Paul took Vera into his arm and grinned at her, "Lovely to see you again."

"I hope you didn't bust into our house and piss Molly off for no reason, mates," I said.

Molly shot me a glare, one that quickly dissolved into a grin. George opened his mouth, "We've got news."

"When do you not?"

"Touche."

Ringo smiled, "But this news is newsworthy."

"I'd hope so," I smirked.

Ringo looked confused as George snorted. Paul beamed and said, "We're gonna get MBE's."

"Wait, what?" I asked, "MBE? Like, the MBE?"

Molly lifted her eyebrows, "The MBE Award?"

"The very same," John replied, "The Queen herself is gonna give it to us."

George chuckled, "Gives us a chance to tell her about Paulie's crush on her."

"George, you wanker!" Paul exclaimed.

The MBE award was the highest honor chaps like us could receive. By getting this award, The Beatles would become Members of the Most Honorable Order of the British Empire. They would be one step down from becoming knights. It was an honor usually reserved for army officials or parliament members, not four rock-and-roll musicians.

"You're all pullin' my leg," I accused.

John shook his head, "Never been more truthful in my life."

"We swear it, Mel," George grinned, "Eppy got the call this morning."

"We're gonna be knights!" Paul exclaimed.

I was speechless. There was many awards I expected them to receive, all of which were music related. The MBE had nothing to do with music and everything to do with people who did something outstanding for Britain. What the lads had done was outstanding, but it was not the usual MBE worthy achievements. They weren't war heroes and they weren't a part of the government at all.

"I can't bloody believe it," Molly muttered.

John grinned, "I'm a bit speechless myself."

"We are outstanding, aren't we?" Paul winked, "I think we deserve it."

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "You alright, Mel? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the shock from my system. While I had learned to expect the unexpected, there were something's you could never expect. Never did I expect the four boys I had known since they were nothing get The MBE.

"I'm proud of you lads," I grinned, "That's bloody brilliant!"

John flung his arm around my shoulders and grinned, "You're in the presence of greatness, Mel."

"I dunno, MBE or not, you still look like a bunch of gits to me."

Paul cackled, "There it is."

They all laughed. I smiled at them, soaking in what had just happened. There had been many times where I felt a swell of pride for my mates, and that was one of the proudest moments I ever had.

***

"I never thought I'd see you in a dress," Linda commented.

I crossed my arms and huffed. Molly sighed, "Ellen's the only one who can get her to wear one."

"And I still bloody hate it."

From across the car, Ellen shook her head, "It's only for a few hours, Amelia."

"A few hellish hours."

"Aw, come off it, Melly," Molly bumped my shoulder, "I think you look beautiful."

"Thank you, but I still hate it."

She shrugged, "I tried."

All of us sat in the same car Ellen always used to drive us to events. It was a shorter version of a limousine where the two back seats faced each other. There was even a divider between us and the driver.

The MBE ceremony was a prestigious event where only the fanciest people could attend. Members of parliament, The Royal Family, army heroes, and the richest people in London were the top guests. The only reason we were invited was because The Beatles were the recipients.

Ellen had insisted we all get new dresses for this event. She talked me into a black dress that fell just above my knees. Molly wore a similar dress, except hers was purple. Linda wore a red evening gown as well. We were all looking our best, even when I constantly complained about my attire.

We pulled up to Buckingham Palace to see thousands of Beatles fans crowding around the gates. When they saw our car, they began to scream at the top of their lungs. Palace guards and London police did their best to keep the fans back. Their faces were strained as they put all of their strength into keeping the fans back. Part of me expected the guards to faint before any of the fans.

I spun around to kneel on the seat and watch as we slowly pushed through the crowd. The car inched along, ready to stop in the chance any fan got loose. They screamed, cried, and waved even though they had no idea who was in the car. I waved back until Ellen gently pulled me back to sit down.

"Please, Amelia, you'll wrinkle your dress," Ellen chided.

I sighed, "Sorry, Elly."

She shook her head. Once we made it past the gates, the crowd was left behind. The gates shut and the car drove through the nearly deserted courtyard. We were taken to the very front where a fancy looking man waited to open our doors.

"Good evening madams," he said, "The Royal Family welcomes you to Buckingham Palace."

He helped Ellen out first. As Linda took his hand, I crawled out the opposite side on my own. Molly elegantly climbed out of the other side and waited for me to round the car.

"This place is larger up close," I muttered.

Molly nodded, "I wonder what it's like inside."

"I s'pose we're about to find out."

The man, whom I presumed was a butler, began to lead us up the large staircase. Molly, Linda, and I all stood close together, marveling at the palace as we entered. The closer we came to the doors, the smaller I felt. By the time we stepped through the threshold, I felt like no more than a mouse in a house of lions. Molly, Linda, and I subconsciously moved closer together, with Molly grabbing one of my arms and me grabbing Linda's sleeve. 

The palace was just as grand inside as it was outside. Marble tiles glistened beneath us, giving us a perfect reflection of ourselves. Portraits of kings and queens from the past decorated the hall. Everything in that palace was older than I was. I felt as out of place as water in a candle factory. We were as far from dignified as a person could possibly get, we didn't belong in Buckingham Palace, even for a visit. I felt like our mere presence would cause the entire palace to crumble around us. 

We were lead into a grand ballroom where the party was to be held. People dressed in the grandest gowns and most luxurious tuxedos dotted the room. They talked among themselves, chattering like birds on a wire higher than anyone else. I frowned when I saw all of those people with upturned noses and rolled lips.

"What a bunch of-" I began.

Molly interrupted by jabbing her elbow into my side, "Melly, shush."

"Remember, girls, be respectable," Ellen said.

I fake saluted, "Aye Aye, Captain Ellen, ma'am."

"We'll be modeled citizens, Elly," Molly grabbed my wrists and pulled my arms down, "Promise."

Ellen sighed, "It's not you I'm worried about, Molly."

"I am both offended and chuffed," I grinned, "Don't worry, Elly, I'll behave accordingly."

Ellen crossed her arms and shook her head. I grinned brightly. Molly grabbed my elbow and dragged me toward the refreshment table. Butlers stood behind it, all standing with the same arm in their coats and the same upturned noses. Molly grabbed two cups of a golden brown liquid before retreating to a solitary table in the back corner.

"Everybody here is so snooty," Molly commented.

I chuckled, "They all sat on rods a few years ago and we haven't seen them since."

Molly nearly spat out her drink. I cackled, earning a few glares from several party attendees. They watched as I innocently sipped my drink and my partner turned bright red.

"What got Molly red as a tomato?" Linda asked.

I smirked, "Oh, you know, the usual stuff."

"Amelia!"

I cackled as Linda looked confused. Molly became even redder, if that was possible, and laid her forehead on the table. I rubbed her back, "Come off it, Mols, you know I love you all the same."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I dunno, sounded good, anyways."

Before I could reply, the big double doors at the top of a Cinderella staircase opened. The entire hall fell silent as a guardsman appeared. He stood at attention and announced in a booming voice louder than jet planes and steam engines; "I present to you, Charles, Prince of Wales."

The eldest Prince was five years younger than me. It was odd, seeing such a young man in such a powerful position. He walked in with the grace usually associated with adults twice his age. Even I didn't know how to walk with enough poise to outdo an entire ballet. He knew he was important, it was evident in the way he walked. In his eyes, I could see, that boy never had a real childhood. He had the childhood of a prince, and that doesn't mean running around in the mud with his friends or getting caught in the rain on the way to school. No, his childhood consisted of learning how to be an adult before he even made it to double digits.

"Anne, Princess Royal."

A fifteen-year-old girl came out to stand next to her elder brother. She looked miserable in her dress, but she wore it like a crown. Every sadness she carried went on her head as another pearl adorning her hair. She smiled like a porcelain doll; no real emotions behind it, strictly business. In her heart, soul, and mind, she was a princess.

"Poor kids," I whispered.

Molly made no notion that she heard me. We all stood, bowing to the prince and princess as they stood at the top of the stairs. They waved politely, though there was nothing real behind it.

"And now, I present to you," the announcer boomed, "Her Majesty; Queen Elizabeth The Second."

The entire room bowed as The Queen herself walked onto the staircase. I had seen The Queen many times in my life, but only twice in person. Each time, I was struck with her majesty. She walked with power, every step was a statement and every smile had a motive. She knew what she was doing every second of every day, and she wouldn't mind telling you. Only some people have the mindset to run an entire country, and Queen Elizabeth had that and so much more. She truly was the purest definition of a queen.

The royals quickly joined the party atmosphere. They made a point to say hello to every person of stature in that room. I was far from a person of stature, I was a rock-and-roll girl who had no right to even be in the same room as The Queen. I was guitars, she was crowns. I was singing, she was ruling. I felt out of place even when she couldn't see me.

"Wonder where the lads are," Molly said.

Her voice trembled slightly. I could tell she was just as intimidated as I was. We had been to many fancy parties where we had to make an impression, but none as important as this. That day, we weren't standing in front of music producers or reporters, we were in front of The Queen herself. It seemed like something out of a dream.

"I dunno, but they better get here soon," I replied, "I didn't get in a dress for nothin'."

Linda sighed, "They are the guests of honor."

"I'm pretty sure that's The Queen, Lindy," I replied.

"She can't be a guest if it's her own house."

I blinked, "Caught me on a technicality, you did."

Linda laughed. Whenever she regained her breath, her eyes went past me and widened. She quickly stood, straightening her dress and bowing. Molly and I spun around to see Princess Anne standing there. We quickly jumped up.

"Your highness," Molly bowed, "A pleasure."

Princess Anne bowed her head, "The pleasure is mine. Mother didn't tell me Revolution was coming."

"You know us?" I asked.

"Of course," Princess Anne replied, "I saw you play a few years ago. I must say, I am a fan."

I bowed, "We're honored, genuinely."

Molly and Linda bowed as well. Princess Anne giggled, her eyes sparkling with a childlike innocence I doubted she often felt. Had she been any normal child, she would have bounced off in a thousand questions and asked for our autographs. She was a Princess and she had to uphold her title. She remained as poised as a statue with a kind, but not too big, smile across her lips.

"Thank you for coming," Princess Anne nodded.

Linda bowed her head, "Our pleasure."

"I must be off now. Enjoy the party."

"To you as well, Your Highness."

Princess Anne vanished with two bodyguards close behind. We watched her go, all of us in awe of what had just happened. I remembered when she was born, her name was plastered over every newspaper in the country. Never did I expect to meet her in person.

"Can't believe we just met The Princess," I muttered.

Molly shook her head, "Bloody hell."

A few people began to cheer. I glanced over Molly's head and towards the doors. People were crowding around, blocking my view of the newcomers. All I could see were three heads of mop-top hair. That hair was unmistakable.

"The lads are here," I mumbled.

Molly groaned, "Finally, let's go give them hell, yeah?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

Molly smiled. I took her arm with one of mine and Linda's with the other. We began to push through the crowd, mumbling excuses and greetings. When we finally made it to the lads, they were surrounded by English dignitaries and respectable citizens.

"You're late," I accused.

Paul spun around, "No, I'm Paul."

"I'm John," he glanced over Paul's shoulder.

George lifted an eyebrow, "Are we introducing ourselves?"

"Yeah, as gits one, two, three, and four," I replied, "We've been here for thirty bloody minutes without you."

John rolled his eyes, "Aw, come off it, Mel, we're not that late."

"We got stuck in traffic," Paul replied.

"Yes, traffic at noon on a Thursday," I replied, "I can believe that."

Paul rolled his eyes at my sarcasm. They all posed for a photo while Molly, Linda, and I waited patiently. I began to tap my foot impatiently.

"It's a rare occasion to see Mel in a dress," John grinned, "Someone call the papers!"

Linda smirked, "All of the papers are here."

"Oh, bugger off, John. Ellen made me wear it," I replied.

Paul laughed, "Even Mum couldn't get you into a dress."

"Ellen has special powers, I tell you."

Paul shook his head. Brian pushed through the crowd, ending up between George and me. He was always a dashing fellow, and he amped up the charm for that occasion alone. The lads all smiled up at him as he said, "Come along, boys, it's time to meet The Queen."

"Don't embarrass yourselves," I warned, "And, Paul, don't faint."

"I don't bloody faint," Paul replied.

"You have before."

"Have not!"

"Paul, please, come on," Brian grabbed Paul's elbow and began to drag him through the crowd.

I waved goodbye as they vanished into the sea of evening gowns and tuxedos. Turning around, I saw Molly and Linda had vanished. I raised my eyebrows and tried to push through the crowd to find them, but luck wasn't with me. The sea of gentleman and ladies pushed me around against my will. I ended up in a corner by a statue of some King from centuries ago.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, straightening out my dress, "And I thought press conferences were bad."

The people had thickened, there were at least three times more people now then there were when we had arrived. It seemed impossible to move around, let alone talk to anyone. I found myself trapped in that corner until Ellen arrived to save the day.

"Amelia, there you are, I've been looking everywhere," Ellen skated around a man, "The ceremony is about to begin."

I sighed deeply, "I can't get anywhere through these finely dressed pricks."

"Amelia, these are nobles, you must be respectful," Ellen lectured.

"I would if I could bloody breath!"

Ellen shook her head. She gently grabbed my arm and began to lead me through the crowd of people. I felt safer whenever Ellen was around, not because these people were necessarily scary, rather what they stood for. They were nobles, and I was meant to impress them. One slip of the tongue and Revolution would be toast. I wasn't scared of them so much as I was scared of what I would do while around them. Ellen managed to make all my worries vanish whenever she was at my side.

I let her lead me into a room catty corner to the ballroom. Instantly, I knew I was standing in the throne room. A large crimson velvet chair sat in the very front. It had golden trimmings fit only for a throne. People stood behind velvet ropes, all waiting for The Queen to arrive. Molly and Linda were at the very front. Ellen gently nudged me inside to where I was standing between her and Molly.

"They're bound to arrive any minute," Molly whispered.

I raised my eyebrows, "Who? The lads or The Queen?"

"Both, I s'pose."

Ellen quickly shushed us. Two men appeared out of a side door, both carrying flags. They held them up as The Queen herself walked through those doors. Everybody bowed their heads as she made her way to the throne. Only when she was sitting were we allowed to look up. She smiled brightly while the announcer made another appearance.

"I would now like to present this year's MBE recipients," the announcer began.

He rattled off each name in alphabetical order. All totaled, there were one hundred and eighty nine people receiving the same award as the lads. Six of those people were being knighted. All of us were made to sit patiently while the names we didn't know were announced.

"George Harrison," the announcer boomed.

George walked out from the crowd. He walked down the aisle, taking a certain number of steps and making sure never to turn his back to The Queen. Whenever he passed us, I shot him a thumbs up, though he couldn't turn his head to see. I saw him cut his eyes towards us and smile ever so slightly.

Several more names and then, "John Lennon."

John walked out of the crowd as confident as he was any other day of the year. He had a pep in his step and a cheeky grin across his lips. His eyes were a bit red, redder than they usually were. It seemed a bit suspicious to me, but I brushed it off. He had his eyes on The Queen the entire time, and he didn't see whenever I gave him the same gesture I gave George.

Two more names were rattled off and then, "Paul McCartney."

Paul walked up with a suave confidence. Having known him since I was born, I could see straight through his grin. He was dead nervous. When he passed us, he glanced at us. I winked in an effort to give him a confidence boost. He went to stand next to John and George.

After what seemed like one thousand names later, we finally got to, "Ringo Starr."

The announcer almost snorted. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure after reading such an abnormal name. Ringo appeared from the crowd and went up to the other three. He nearly tripped twice, and I caught his sleeve before he fell over when he was next to us. He shot me a grateful grin before going to stand next to John, Paul, and George. They stood at the very end of a long line of award recipients. It seemed as if half the crowd had gone up to receive the award.

As it happened, the ceremony was quiet. The announcer would say the person's name once again and congratulate them once The Queen had given them their award. She would speak to them, just a few words that would last a lifetime for the lucky fellow that heard them.

Molly glanced at me and lifted an eyebrow. I shrugged. I didn't expect the ceremony to be so dull. All we did was stand there and smile as a bunch of people were given shiny medals. We didn't even get to hear what The Queen told them, all we saw was the exchanged of a box from glove hands to bare ones and that was it.

As the lads received their award, I found myself leaning forward. I wanted to hear what they were being told. I wanted to remember every single detail of that historic day; from the perfume of The Queen lingering in each room to the words exchanged between her majesty and The Beatles. Unfortunately, all I could see were the placid smiles across the lads' lips as they tenderly took the box from The Queen's hands.

"I congratulate all of you," the Queen announced.

Everybody bowed. Molly, Linda, and I went so low, all we could see was each other. We exchanged glances and giggled. When we came back up, we were still giggling. Ellen sent us stern looks, silently telling us to be quiet.

The winners moved back to the crowd as The Queen left the room. We all bowed, waiting until the door was shut to leave. Everybody left row by row. We moved through the crowd to meet the lads back in the ballroom. They were taking photos in the corner while Brian waited patiently.

"What a lucky bunch of lads," Molly commented.

I shook my head, "Lucky bastards."

"They deserved it," Brian said as soon as he could hear us, "For all the work they've done for Britain."

"Yes, I s'pose," I replied.

Linda smiled, "I think they look rather swell with those shiny medals."

"They still look like arses to me."

"I heard that!" Paul exclaimed.

"Good!"

They all laughed. The reporter snapped a picture, getting a photograph of their genuine laughs. It wasn't often a reporter could snap such a pure moment. Most of their genuine smiles and laughs were on photographs taken by friends. I had plenty of my own.

"Can we go home now?" George asked as soon as they were done.

Brian shook his head, "No, boys, you have a press conference to get to."

"But, Eppy," they whined.

"No buts, come along."

Brian began to lead the parade of lads towards the front doors. I chuckled under my breath, "Poor chaps, glad we don't have to do that."

"On the contrary," Ellen wiggled her finger, "You have your own interview scheduled."

"But, Elly!"


	147. Love of The Loved

I prefer to remember the happy moments rather than the sad ones. I've had plenty of both; ups and downs, rights and lefts, joy and misery, I've felt it all. Some left scars on my body that will never quite heal, others left feathers to lift me higher than my woes. With enough happiness, eventually, those scars can be worn like jewels on a crown.

I focus on the happy, not the sad. Whenever I think of Janice, I don't think of the meek girl I met that day on the Liverpudlian coast. I don't think of the broken heart she wore on her sleeve after her hearing had gone silent. Whenever I think of my friend Janice Hallieford, I think of the radiant queen I saw walk down the aisle. With her sparkling gown and face as bright as the sun itself, she looked like the Valkyries of Norse mythology. She was a hero with a past, and there was no better person to save the world.

"Vera, please, stop fussing," I practically begged.

Molly glanced up from the baby bag and frowned, "I can't find her bottle."

"Didn't you put it in there?"

"I thought you did."

"Bloody hell," I muttered, "Check the side pouch?"

"I'm looking in the side pouch and it isn't there."

I cringed. Vera was always fussy when she didn't have her bottle, eventually she would start wailing. When Vera didn't eat, she made everyone around her think the world was ending. Her cries were the last thing we needed to interrupt Janice and Peter's wedding.

"Is Ringo coming?" Molly asked.

I nodded, "Should be, all the lads were invited."

"Maybe Mo'll have a bottle. We've got her formula."

"We've got the formula but not the bottle. My, what a brilliant pair of Mums we make," I grinned.

Molly chuckled, "Ah, she's alive, isn't she?"

"But for how long?"

Molly rolled her eyes. The cabbie rolled up to a street lined with cars of varying different sizes, shapes, and colors. It was like a parade of mix matched vehicles with the occasional hippie van thrown in. Just by looking at the cars, it was easy to tell which carried Janice's family and which carried Peter's.

Janice had chosen to have her wedding in one of the smallest churches I had ever seen. It was a tiny shack built on a hill and long forgotten by most of the population. The paint was peeling, half of the shingles had fallen off, and the steeple had a large gap in it from a recent storm. Yet, the gardens around it were beautiful, covered in snow and glistening like the perfect winter landscape. Even the interior of the church was just as beautiful. Janice didn't care about the looks, she cared about the history there. As she had told us, her parents had gotten married there.

Molly bundled Vera in her coat as I gathered the baby bag. We stepped out together into the harsh wind. A snowstorm was coming, I could feel it in the change of the breeze. The very smell of the air smelled like freshly fallen snow. Molly and I stood close together, with my arm around her shoulders, and braved the wind together. She kept a tight grip around Vera, leaving me to protect her.

We made it into the church with rosy cheeks and bright smiles. People were already filling the pews; one side had Janice's family and the other had Peter's. One side was filled with hippie's and nomads while the other held businessmen and housewives. The two sides were so completely opposite that they went together better than peanut butter and jelly.

"Wonder if we could get back to Jan," I said.

Molly shrugged, "I s'pose we could try. Only the groom isn't allowed to see the bride in her wedding dress."

"Ah, but that doesn't stop Peter."

"Please," Molly snorted, "It's gonna take them hours just to say I do."

"You're not wrong there, Mols."

We both laughed. Hanging our coats on the rack, we made our way deeper into the church. I knew few people there. Only had I met Janice's Mum and Aunt before. They came to all of our local concerts and loved every second of it. They waved to us as we walked through. When we came upon the pew in the very back of the church, I grinned.

"Aye, for once in his life, Lennon's on time," I cheekily commented.

John snorted, "Bugger off, Mel, I'm only late when it's important."

"When is it ever important to be late?"

"When it's fashionable."

Molly laughed as I rolled my eyes, "Always a cheeky git, aren't ya?"

"Of course."

John winked, causing me to giggle as well. Cynthia shook her head in mock disappointment. John flung an arm around her shoulders and smiled innocently.

"Auntie Melly!"

I spun around to see Julian running out of a nearby pew. One of Peter's Aunts waved, as if she had been talking to him. I quickly crouched down to meet the toddler's running hug.

"Hiya Jules," I smiled, "You get bigger every time I see you."

Julian bounced on his heels, "Mummy says I've grown a whole meter!"

"A whole meter?"

He nodded excitedly. I picked him up, moving him to sit on my shoulders. He giggled the entire time before burying his fingers in my hair.

"Aw, Jules, it took me forever to braid that," Molly sighed.

Cynthia lifted an eyebrow, "It took you that long to do a braid?"

"Only because Melly wouldn't let me."

Molly looked at me like a disappointed mother, but her smile gave her away. Vera began to fuss once again, reaching out and tugging at the ends of Molly's hair. She looked over the baby and sighed, "We forgot her bottle."

"What kind of Mum are ya, to forget the little one's bottle?" John asked.

I wiggled my finger at him, "Sod off, we're still new at this."

"You nearly dropped Julian," Cynthia commented.

"Nearly," John replied, "At least I didn't forget his bloody bottle."

"You forgot his diaper."

I threw my head back and laughed, "Just quit while you're ahead, Johnny Boy."

John simply shook his head. Vera began to fuss louder, the wails were just seconds away. I set Julian on the ground and took Vera from Molly so she could search the diaper bag one more time. Vera pulled at my shirt as tears began to pour from her eyes.

"Aw, don't cry," I smiled at the baby, "It's gonna be alright."

"Still nothin'," Molly sighed.

Cynthia frowned, "Julian doesn't drink bottles anymore or else I might have had one."

"Maybe Ritchie will," John suggested.

"We're hopin' so."

Just as I began to walk Vera up and down the aisles, whispering comforting words in her ear, the church doors opened. Ringo and George walked in along with Maureen and Pattie. Pattie was carrying little Zak while Maureen shouldered a diaper bag.

"Mo, thank God," I hurried to them, "Do you have a bottle we could borrow? We left ours at home and Vera's about to have a fit."

Maureen looked at the baby before nodding, "I always carry a spare."

"Maureen, you're a saint."

"What kind of Mum doesn't bring a bottle?" George asked.

I glared at him, "I'm still new."

"Still forgetful too," Ringo added.

"Aye, bugger off, I'm learning."

Molly came up behind me and gratefully took the bottle from Maureen. George took Vera from me, entertaining her with his swishing hair. Ringo clapped my shoulder, "Ah, don't worry, Mel. You'll get the hang of it soon enough."

"Maybe if I got some sleep," I sighed, "That kid never bloody sleeps!"

George snorted, "Neither do you."

"You're not wrong, but I got more before she arrived."

When Molly had the bottle ready, she took Vera from George and went to sit by Cynthia to feed her. The two of us had a routine worked out. Vera only did certain things for certain people. Molly could coax her to eat while I could coax her to sleep. Both of us had a special skill set with the little girl we had only just taken in. We fell into place like puzzle pieces.

The nine of us all lined the back pew. There was still room for three more, as Paul, Jane, and Ellen were supposed to be coming. To attract less attention, we had taken the back pew, though there was no attention to attract. Everyone in that room knew who Janice was and they knew who she would be inviting to her wedding. Not a single person bothered us except for friendly conversation.

Ellen was the next to arrive. She daintily sat down on the other side of Molly, at the end of the pew. As she pushed her hair out of her face, she sighed, "I'm sorry I'm late."

"You're five minutes early," Molly replied.

I grinned, "You're late to being early."

"Still, I had hoped to arrive early to help set up," Ellen sighed, "But, I got a call from work."

"Everything alright?"

Ellen nodded, "Yes, just the usual photo shoot arrangement."

"Aw, another one?" I whined.

"Yes. With this job comes a lot of exposure, which means as many photos as you can pose for," Ellen replied.

I sighed. Molly chuckled, shaking her head slightly and tilting Vera back further. She had almost sucked down the entire bottle in record time. I whistled, "By golly, Miss Molly, you've got some sort of magic."

"The motherly magic," she mumbled.

I grinned, "But it's more than that."

She glanced at me and went bright red. John, who was sitting right next to me, snorted. I glared at him, only making him laugh harder. We were all interrupted when Paul and Jane flopped down at the opposite end of the pew.

"Are we late?" Paul asked.

John shrugged, "Late for being early."

"Oh, then we're right on time," Jane smiled, "I told you leaving early was a good idea."

"Who would have thought there'd be traffic at two-o'clock on a Saturday," Paul wondered.

I grinned, "Anyone but you, apparently."

"Bugger off, Lia."

I laughed. Molly, having finished feeding Vera, handed the bottle to me. I passed it down to Maureen with a quiet, "Thank you."

Vera began to yawn. Whenever she yawned, her mouth seemed to stretch to the back of her head. Her eyes fluttered as she stretched out her fingers.

"Nap time," Molly muttered.

I smirked, "My time to shine."

Wrapping her in one of her blankets, I held her close to my chest. Only her face was visible and even that was somewhat blocked by the blanket. I did my best to keep the lights and the noise blocked. Within seconds, she was asleep.

"And you say I'm the magical one," Molly muttered.

I smiled, "Takes an insomniac to know an insomniac, I s'pose."

"My two insomniacs," Molly shook her head.

My smile brightened. The church band standing on the back of the stage began to play the traditional wedding march. It started off slowly, but quickly gained more momentum. All of us watched as Peter slowly made his way down the aisle.

I've seen Peter in every state. I've seen him fight off fans and I've seen him flustered whenever he tried to hold Janice's hand. I've seen him blush and beam, but never have I seen him smile as brightly as he did on his wedding day. His rosy cheeks matched the flower in his buttonhole. Every step he took made him bounce on his heel, his giddiness showing through like a child. Whenever he made it to the front, he stopped in front of the pastor and hid his hands behind his back.

This wasn't your conventional wedding. There was only a maid of honor, a best man, a flower girl, and a flower boy. Peter's little brother was the flower boy while Janice's little cousin was the flower girl. They walked down the aisle. The little girl looked excited while the little boy looked bored. Behind them came Janice's older cousin holding the arm of Peter's older sister. They both looked so proud of the bride and groom.

While the wedding party was beautiful in their own right, nobody outshone Janice. When she walked into the room, everyone drew in a collective breath. She came out three beats early, but none of that mattered. All of the lights in the room seemed to dim in comparison to Janice. She practically glowed with complete bliss. Just by looking at her, you could tell she was living the best day of her life.

She didn't wear the traditional wedding dress, as Janice was far from traditional. She had grown up in communes and on the road, only settling in Liverpool a year before she met us. Her hippie lifestyle reflected in everything she wore, including her wedding dress. It was long, trailing behind her like a train. Each inch of covered in laced flowers. Her sleeves were billowing like dresses themselves. She had weaved her own flower crown out of pink daisies and she wore it just like glittering jewels.

As she came closer to the altar, holding the arm of her favorite Uncle, she began to brighten. She outshone the sun, moon, and all of the stars. Whenever she approached Peter, their brightness combined to form a heavenly light.

"Dearly beloved," the pastor said, "We are gathered to celebrate the unity between Peter Marvelle and Janice Hallieford."

Molly wiped a finger under her eye. I gently grasped her hand, smiling gently, "Don't go soft on me now, Mols."

"I can't help it," she replied, "She looks so happy."

"She's Janice, she's always happy."

Molly shook her head, "Despite everything, she's still happy."

"We could all learn a thing or two from Jan."

Molly nodded, leaning her head on my shoulder and clutching my arm to her chest. A few people glanced at us, but none raised eyebrows. I glanced over Molly's head to see Ellen watching the ceremony with a steady stream of tears trailing down her cheeks.

"Looks like you're not the only one," I whispered.

Molly glanced at Ellen, "Aw, Elly."

"I'm so happy for her," Ellen said under her breath, "She deserves this and so much more."

Molly moved to hug Ellen as I smiled. Janice had gone through so much, she had done so much for us and for the world. She deserved to live a happy life with someone who loved her. She may not be able to hear, or talk, but that wouldn't stop her. It didn't take speaking to be happy, or hearing to live life. Janice was in a place where all she would ever know was joy.

I couldn't be happier for her.

"I do," Peter smiled.

The pastor turned to Janice, "Do you, Janice Hallieford, take Peter Marvelle to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Peter signed all of this to Janice. Janice watched intently, her smile growing wider with every second. All of us watched and waited for her to sign 'I do'. She looked Peter dead in the eyes, smiled wider than I had ever seen her smile, and said:

"I do."

The look on Peter's face was unparalleled. Without waiting for the pastor, he pulled Janice to him and smashed his lips against hers. She dropped her bouquet and wrapped her arms around his neck. The majority of the crowd clapped kindly, but the back row of Janice's side went into an uproar. All of us soared to our feet and screamed out all of our excitement. We clapped until we couldn't feel our hands, and shouted until the rest of the crowd became background noise. Only when Janice looked at us did we calm down. The pastor said, "I now present Mr. and Mrs. Marvelle."

Our entire row went back to shouting and clapping. I whooped, covering Vera's ears with one of my hands and cradling her with the other. Despite the church filling with noises, she didn't wake up. All of us cheered as Peter and Janice ran down the aisle.

"I don't think I've ever seen her smile so brightly," John commented.

I smiled, "A wedding does that to you, I s'pose."

The reception was in a building at the bottom of the hill. It had been lined with tables covered in pristine white cloths with flower vases in the middle. Food was on a table in the corner while the cake stood tall nearby. Everybody filed in to find their seats, but Molly and I moved to find the bride.

"Oh, Jan!" Molly shouted.

She rushed forward and wrapped our friend in a hug. Janice looked shocked at first, but quickly returned the hug. Molly was still crying and she squeezed Janice.

"She got a bit emotional," I giggled, "You should've seen the tears."

Peter laughed, "That's not surprising."

Once Molly released Janice, I moved to hug her as well. She smiled brightly at me. Had she been able to speak, I'm sure she would have said how odd I looked with a baby cuddled in my arm. Whenever we pulled apart, she gestured to Vera and offered me a hopeful look. I chuckled.

"Course you can hold her, she's gotta meet her Aunt Jan," I grinned.

Molly and Peter both laughed as I passed Vera to Janice. Vera had only just woken up, and was still a little loopy. She glanced up at Janice with a confused look. Janice gazed down at the baby with a tender smile and shining eyes.

"Well, Mr. Marvelle," I smirked, "What're you and Mrs. Marvelle planning next?"

Peter shrugged, "We thought about moving from our flat. Maybe to the countryside."

"Which countryside?" Molly asked.

"Wales," Peter replied, "Both of us were particularly fond of the Wales countryside every time we drove through during the tours."

I grinned, "That sounds lovely."

Peter nodded. Janice handed Vera back to me and the two fluttered off to greet the other guests. Never once did they stop touching each other. Whether it be holding hands, holding arms, or even just pressing their shoulders against each other, they were always touching.

"They're cute together, don't you think?" Molly asked.

I rolled my eyes, "Simply adorable."

"Cheeky," Molly chuckled, "Well I think they're cute."

"Ah, but not as cute as us."

Molly glanced at me before bursting into a giggle fit. I laughed as well. Eventually, even Vera picked up on it. She began to giggle lightly.

"What's so funny?" Paul asked.

He and Jane came up behind us. Paul had his arm around Jane's waist while Jane had her arm around his shoulders. The two were so close, and yet, it didn't seem right. In relationships, the people molded together like puzzle pieces. Paul and Jane fit well together, but, something was off. There was an edge in there that threw the whole thing off. The two were right together, but not quite perfect.

"You," I replied.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Ha ha, very funny, you wanker."

"Tosser."

"Please, you're both gits," Molly laughed.

Jane giggled, "I agree with Molly."

"I feel betrayed," Paul held his heart with mock dramatics, "You wound me, Jane, love."

I chuckled, "How do you deal with this?"

"It's difficult," Jane replied, "But I manage."

She kissed Paul's cheek, causing him to laugh. I wrinkled my nose as Molly shook her head. George and Pattie appeared behind Paul and Jane.

"Are we interrupting somethin'?" George asked.

Paul shook his head, "A very welcome interruption, Georgie."

"Paul's just bein' a cheeky bastard," I said.

"As usual," George replied, "It runs in the family."

"Ouch."

Everybody laughed. People had begun to eat, and soon, it would be time to cut the cake. Paul, George, Jane, and Pattie all decided to join John and Ringo in the line for food. Maureen and Cynthia occupied two seats of a table in the corner. There were so many chairs, we could all fit with room for more. Molly and I began to make our way over.

When it was time to cut the cake, everybody surrounded the table. Janice and Peter held the knife as they cut the first slice of cake together. Once they had it on a plate, Janice took it from Peter and promptly flung it on his face. The entire crowd gasped as Peter broke into hysterical laughter.

The dancing began soon after. Janice and Peter stepped out first and began to dance furiously, both with cake on their faces. Soon enough, every couple joined them, except for Molly and me. The two of us hung back in a darkened corner at our table that had been left practically abandoned. We watched as all of the couples danced.

"It was a lovely wedding," Molly said.

I smiled, "It was. I'm happy for them, truly."

"Me too," Molly's smile became wistful, "They deserved it."

Her eyes held something in them, something I could identify but never truly felt. It was a longing. A longing for something we could never have. I loved Molly, I knew she loved me, and we wanted it to be forever. I could see it, in the way she watched the bride and groom dance without any care in the world, she felt it deep down inside. I didn't think we needed a pastor to say our love was forever. It was forever if we said it was, we didn't need an elaborate ceremony. Whenever I saw Molly dreamily watching the spinning couples, I was suddenly hit with the want to marry. I didn't just want to marry anybody, no, I wanted to marry Molly.

At that moment, in the darkened corner at the end of Janice's wedding, I realized how desperately I wanted to marry Molly. Not for the satisfaction or the papers tying us together, rather, to show how much I loved her. All I wanted was to look her dead in the eye and tell her, in front of everyone we knew, that I would love her to my dying day and into the great beyond. As much as I wanted to marry Molly, I knew it was impossible. She and I weren't allowed to love, let alone marry. I was sure no amount of fighting would win our right to marry.

That didn't stop me. Married or not, I knew it was forever. I didn't need papers or pastors, dresses or tuxes, cakes or rice. All I needed to do was look at Molly and feel the tug at my heart. The love I had for her was one-in-a-million, and that kind of love never goes away.

"By golly, Miss Molly," I leaned forward to where my lips were almost touching her cheek, "You'll never know how much I love you."

She turned to look me in the eye, "Melly dear, I think I have a pretty good idea."

Under the veil of darkness, in the middle of a wedding party, Molly kissed me. Behind that kiss came everything I felt and everything I would ever feel. I couldn't tell Molly how much I loved her, but I could show it. With every kiss, every hug, and every smile, I showed Molly every bit of love I had tucked away deep in my heart.


	148. We're All Nutters Here

One of the most uncomfortable states I could be in was silence. I was used to laughing friends, screaming fans, or music played every hour of every day. There was hardly a moment where I was awash in complete silence. Those few I did experience were like torture. I had a constant ringing in my ears that threatened to make me go insane.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, dropping my notebook on the coffee table.

Molly and Vera had decided to take a nap. Vera hadn't slept well the night before, keeping both Molly and me awake for most of the night. I was used to it, Molly was not. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she leapt for a nap, leaving me all alone in the quiet flat.

The ringing was getting worse. Groaning in frustration, I stood and shuffled to the door. My intentions were to go anywhere that wasn't there. I wrote a note to Molly telling her I was going to run to the store, even though I didn't have any intentions of buying anything. All I wanted was an excuse to leave the house. Zipping up my coat, I stepped into the hall.

The hallways of our building were just as cold as outside. White snow fell from the sky, blanketing the world in frigid white. Had it not been for the walls and roof over my head, I would have thought I was outside. The same shivers ran down my spine through the halls as it would outside.

I hit the button for the lift with my gloved finger. The lift had proven to be a very eventful place for me. I had met friends, seen a woman in labor, and even been hounded by fans in the lift. If anything important were to happen to me, I could expect it to happen in the lift.

"Mel, what a surprise," Ringo said as soon as the doors opened.

I smirked, "We seem to keep meeting like this."

"You do live in the same building," George muttered.

"You're not wrong, Georgie."

I stepped in the lift and stood opposite of George and Ringo. They both smiled at me, standing closer than usual. I suspected they were closer for warmth. The lift was the coldest place in the building.

"What're you two lads doing on this snowy day in paradise?" I asked.

Ringo chuckled, "Just going to get some lunch. Care to join us?"

"Love to."

The lift dinged and we all stepped out. Ringo led us to his car, the very same car I sat in the back with Maureen whenever she was bringing Zak into the world. As I opened the back door, I could swear I still heard her screaming.

"Where we going?" I asked, leaning on the seat between George and Ringo.

George turned to face me, "We were thinking that sandwich place on Penny Street."

"I'm always game for a good sandwich."

"When did the witches get sanded?" Ringo asked.

George lifted an eyebrow, "What do you mean, mate?"

"It's not sandy or a witch, why is it called a sandwich?" Ringo asked, "It makes no sense."

"I dunno, why are you named Richard? Or George named George? Or me named Amelia? Names don't make sense, mate," I answered.

George nodded in agreement. Ringo didn't seem satisfied, but he didn't press on. We arrived at the sandwich place just a few minutes later. The timing was impeccable, as the snow began to thicken as we walked into the restaurant.

"Good timing," I muttered.

Ringo stepped up to the hostess, "Table for three?"

"Yes sir, right this way."

She grabbed three menus and led us to a table by the window. It was a quaint establishment, the decor was like a fifties diner. We sat at a table with a red and white checkered cloth and chairs of red leather. Pictures of Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Brigitte Bardot, James Dean, and other famous fifties performers decorated the walls. Each song that played was one I was intricately familiar with, having grown up during the birth of rock-and-roll.

"How many sandwiches can there be?" I asked, looking at the four page menu.

George shrugged, "Four pages worth."

"Thank you, George, I had no idea."

He chuckled. I browsed the menu, my eyes gliding over each name and the description. The names were odd, like Chicken Crusin' or Salami Maserati. I felt myself drawn to a particular chicken salad sandwich.

"I feel like I'm a kid again," Ringo stated, "What with the music and decorations and such."

He poked the napkin dispenser which looked oddly like a car from the thirties. It didn't go well with the fifties atmosphere, but I didn't question it.

"Reminds me of when I visited Louise in America," George admitted.

I lifted an eyebrow, "When did you do that?"

"Before I met you."

He shrugged it off. The waitress came around to take our orders. Once she was gone, George reached his hands behind his head and stretched. Ringo yawned slightly, patting his open mouth with his palm.

"You took look knackered," I commented.

Ringo nodded, "Late night at the studio last night."

"We didn't get out until three in the bloody morning," George sighed, "Rubbish."

"What had you there so long?"

George snorted, "Mister Perfectionist."

"Paulie."

The two lads nodded. Paul was particular about everything, especially his music. Not one note could be off or else he would have a fit. Any song could take a few hours to record, but Paul would prolong that with his need for perfection.

"We're off today, at least," Ringo commented.

George sighed, "I wouldn't go back even if it were a work day."

"It's not all bad," I said, "You chaps are almost finished, yeah?"

"Just a few more sessions," George smiled in relief.

Ringo nodded. Our food arrived on warm plates with pickles on the side. The waitress smiled as she gave us each our plates. Mine was cut in half with chips lining the side. As soon as she was gone, we all dove in. With the first bite of my sandwich, I fell in love. It tasted just as wonderful as my favorite sandwich shop back in Liverpool.

"This new album's wonky, I tell you," Ringo said.

I lifted an eyebrow, "It is?"

"The songs are different, the music is different," Ringo shrugged, "George even plays a sitar."

I nearly spat out my food, "You played a bloody sitar?!"

"Somethin' different," George shrugged.

"But a sitar? Why a sitar?"

"You used bleedin' panpipes," George argued.

I furrowed my brow, "Touche."

Ringo sighed deeply and took a large bite of his sandwich. As I chewed, the room began to feel warmer. Despite the snow falling outside and the chill of the chairs, I began to feel hot. Sweat started to gather on my forehead as I found it difficult to breath. As the room got hotter, I got dizzier. Ringo and George started to blur as the room felt like it was spinning. I dropped my sandwich on the plate and pressed my fingers into my temples.

"Mel, you alright?" Ringo asked, "You look a state."

I shivered, "It's just-bloody hell, has it always been this hot in here?"

"What're you talking about? It's cold," George argued.

Both lads looked at me with worried expressions. I started to hear a loud thumping. It quickly got louder and faster until all I could heard was the rapid thumping. I quickly realized that was my heart.

"Mel?" George dropped his sandwich and hurried to my side of the table.

I began to cough furiously. It felt like my throat was filling with cotton balls. My body was drenched in sweat, my hearing was overtaken by the sound of my own heartbeat, and it was slowly becoming difficult to breath. Everything was swelling and I felt like I was going to die. I had felt that only once before, when I was six years old and my Mum was there to rescue me. She knew a peanut allergy when she saw one, and she knew exactly what to do. Now, the only people there to save me were two lads who had no idea what was happening.

"Mel!" Ringo exclaimed, "What's happening?!"

My throat was almost completely closed at that point, there was no way I could answer him. Even my eyes had begun to swell shut. Ringo grabbed my shoulders in a panic. Neither lad had ever seen me have a reaction before, but they both knew about my allergy. George was the only one with the mind to check.

He opened my sandwich and began to tear it apart. Inside of the chicken salad was tiny slivers of peanuts that hadn't been listed on the menu. George found the slivers and cursed.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, "There's peanuts in the sandwich."

Ringo gasped, "We've got to call the hospital."

"You! Call nine-nine-nine!" George shouted.

I could hear someone scurry away. At that point, I couldn't see anything. My hearing was foggy and everything felt like it was dissolving away. I could barely feel it whenever Ringo lifted me off of the chair and gently set me on the ground. Someone tilted my head back in an effort to clear my airways, but to no avail.

Every part of my body was swollen. I felt like I was made of pain. My lungs were on fire, aching for a large gulp of air. The world was beginning to fade away, and I was sure I was going to die. My only hope was the ambulance and they were still far away.

"It's going to be alright," George muttered, "The paramedics are on their way. Hang in there, Amelia."

Death doesn't take orders from man. They couldn't promise whether I would live or die. I felt like I was already dead and had fallen into Hell. My body was in flames, burning through all of my sins. This was my punishment; to feel like I was dying without ever seeing the light.

The world faded away. I couldn't feel anything, see anything, or be anything. All I knew was the pain flying through my body and the fear prevalent in my heart. This could be it. I had so many things left to do, so much to experience. I wasn't ready to die, especially not on the dirty floor of some restaurant in the middle of London. There were people I had to live for, fights that still needed to be fought, loved that still needed to be felt. I wasn't ready for death.

The last thing I heard before blacking out was Ringo whispering, "You're not dying on us yet."

I know what it's like to be dead. Death is simply an absence of life. It is nothing, everything, and anything in between. There is no light, but there isn't darkness either. I was raised on tales of Heaven and Hell, but I didn't experience either.

All I remember is an endless expanse of nothingness. I drifted, wondering if this is what they meant when they spoke of The Void. It was a nothing that surrounded everything. It was so loud, it was silent. So bright, it was dark. I couldn't speak, though I tried to scream. All of my senses had been deadened until I was a nothing as well.

Then, I heard the beeping.

It was an annoying beeping, the sort that grated on your skull and drove you crazier the longer you listened to it. Of all the sounds I longed to hear, that was not one of them. The beeping gradually became louder. There was a pattern within the beeps, almost like a heartbeat.

Not just a heartbeat, my heartbeat.

Light began to penetrate the darkness. I could feel the coarse blanket laying over me and the tubes crossing my face. There was a fan nearby, I could feel it's light breeze blowing me every so often. I wore a thin gown and I could feel the draft from where it was open in the back. Most of all, I could feel the pain coating every inch of my body.

It took longer for the rest of my senses to wake up. Soon, I could smell bleach and strawberries. I could hear the beeping along with several sets of breathing. Heels clicked, somebody spoke in soft whispers on the other side of a door, and someone was crying.

"She'll be alright," a voice whispered.

I knew that voice better than I knew my own name, that was Molly. Suddenly, I was hit with a rush of energy. Every ounce of feeling I had left went into opening my eyes.

"Molly?" I groaned.

The world was blurry. All I could see was lights and color blotches. All of the blotches moved to surround me like lions surrounding their recent kill.

"Melly! Thank God!" Molly exclaimed.

Something large and warm slammed into my side. I blinked rapidly, scared at first but I slowly began to realize. As the world came into focus, I realized it was Molly burying her face into my shoulder.

"Mornin' Mols," I muttered.

My voice was almost unrecognizable. It was hoarse and crackling, like I hadn't spoken in days. I sounded like I was crumpling paper in my throat.

"How do you feel?"

I registered that voice as Paul's. Part of me was still asleep, I could barely tell which way was up. I blinked rapidly and gazed in the direction Paul's voice had come.

"Shitty," I replied, "What happened?"

Slowly, I began to focus more. All of those color blotches standing around me began to make the form of people. Paul, John, George, Ringo, Ellen, Linda, Heather, and even Brian all stood around my bed. Paul was holding the sleeping Vera. She was blissfully unaware of everything that had happened.

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "You don't remember?"

"No?" I shook my head, wincing whenever it began to pound.

"You scared the hell out of all of us," John replied, "That's what happened."

Molly glanced up, "Sod off, John, it's not her fault."

"Can someone please tell me why you're all actin' like I died?"

George frowned, "There were peanuts in the sandwich. We didn't know and you ate it."

His voice was quiet, but it send waves of pain through my cranium. I ignored the pain, instead focusing on the people around me. Paul moved to sit on my other side and place a hand on my shoulder, "You've been unconscious for three days."

"I-what?!" I exclaimed.

My vision nearly went black whenever I shouted. I winced, covering my eyes with my hands and moaning. Every sound hurt, but I welcomed them with open arms. Anything was better than the penetrating silence I had just moments before. Molly gently pulled me close to where I could rest my head on her chest. She wrapped her arms protectively around my shoulders as I burrowed closer to her.

"You had us all right scared," John said, "Macca here almost killed us drivin' here."

I smiled slightly, "Aw, Paulie, I'm flattered."

"Don't scare me like that again, Lia!" Paul exclaimed.

I winced, recoiling at his loud voice. Molly shot him a glare, "Paul."

"Sorry," he winced, "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry, it's not like I ate those peanuts on purpose," I retorted.

Paul sighed, "I know, just- I can't lose you too."

I smiled slightly. Molly squeezed me, not enough to hurt but just enough to make me feel how relieved she was. It only just occurred to me that they didn't know if I would live or die. I thought I was already dead, but they were left without a sure answer.

"We were all scared," Ellen said, "And we're glad you woke up."

Everybody nodded in agreement. Brian clapped his hands together, shooting me an apologetic look whenever I winced, and said, "I'll go alert the doctor."

"I'll come with you," Ellen added.

The two managers left the room, leaving me with the lads, Linda, and Molly. Molly gently ran her hand through my hair. It hurt, but the comfort outweighed the hurt. I felt safe in her arms. With Molly holding me tightly and my mates surrounding me, I was safe. No peanut could get past them.

"Bloody peanuts," I muttered, "Rubbish, they are."

Paul laughed, "There's the Lia I know."

"So long as she's a cheeky bastard, she'll be alright," John laughed.

The entire room laughed with them. My head began to pound like a thousand blacksmiths were working inside of my skull. Heather pushed away from Linda and hurried to the bedside. She struggled to climb up, only succeeding when Ringo gave her a little push. She crawled to my side and looked me dead in the eye, "Melly, are you dead?"

Molly snorted as I smiled, "No, kiddo, not this time."

"Goody," Heather grinned, "We can't eat ice cream if you're dead."

Molly burst into a giggle fit at that point. The rest of the room was chuckling as well, doing their best to keep it quiet for my sake. Linda came forward to retrieve her daughter as Ellen and Brian arrived with the doctor. He began to usher everyone outside so he could look me over in private. Molly was the last to go.

"Thanks for coming back to me," she whispered, risking a peck to my forehead.

I smiled, "You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

"And I wouldn't want it any other way."


	149. Language Barrier

After three days in the hospital and a week of bed rest, I was finally allowed to be myself again. I could move around on my own, I could eat more than smoothies, and, best of all, I could play the drums again. As soon as we walked into the studio for the first time since my accident, I practically threw myself onto the drums.

"Oh, how I've missed you," I muttered, stroking the bass drum.

Molly chuckled, "Sometimes I wonder who you love more, me or the drums."

"It's a toss up."

Linda laughed loudly. I could feel Molly roll her eyes even if I couldn't see her. My drumsticks were ready and waiting for me on the stool. They were screaming at me to pick them up and have a bit of a drum. I grabbed them, spun them through my fingers like a baton, and sighed in content.

"How are you feeling?" Mitch asked.

I didn't even hear her come in. Spinning around, I grinned brightly, "Like my old self, Mitch."

"Wonderful," Mitch smiled, "Let's get to work, shall we? We have shelves across the world just waiting to be filled with a new Revolution single."

"Jolly good, Mitch."

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "I thought you were still on bedrest."

"She's supposed to be for another five days," Molly answered, "But our Melly's a stubborn git."

"Right you are, Molly," I winked.

Molly rolled her eyes doing her best to hold back a chuckle. I sat on my stool and spun the sticks on my fingers, all the while smiling brighter than ever. No amount of medicine or bedrest could heal me as well as playing the drums would. Drumming revitalized my soul, it gave me a new energy nothing else could. Drums healed me when the world left me for dead.

Molly sat just out of arm's reach of me. She curled her legs underneath her on the large chair, her guitar resting in her lap. There wasn't a moment where I didn't think she was beautiful, but she was exceptionally gorgeous whenever she held her guitar. She seemed so natural strumming the notes or singing a tune. Every time I saw her play, I was reminded why I fell in love with her in the first place.

"Do I have somethin' on my face?" Molly asked.

I didn't realize I was staring. Smiling, I replied, "By golly, Miss Molly, you're absolutely beautiful."

"Melly, you sap," Molly shook her head, her cheeks turning rosy.

"If you two lovebirds are done," Linda called, "We've got a song to record."

Molly began to blush even harder as I laughed, "Right oh, Lindy. I'll leave the sappiness for later."

"Sure you will."

Her sarcasm came hand in hand with a knowing look. I chuckled as Molly turned her attention to the guitar. Nearby, Heather was whispering to Vera. The baby listened intently as if she could understand every word Heather said.

Molly strummed the first few chords just as the door opened. Ellen walked in, surprisingly not followed by Prudence. It wasn't often we saw Ellen without an assistant trailing behind her. Usually, she was only alone on social occasions.

"Sorry, girls, I need to borrow Amelia," Ellen nodded towards me.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "What'd she do now?"

"I didn't do nothin'," I replied, "I'm innocent, Elly."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Amelia."

Linda laughed, "I find that hard to believe."

"Don't you start," I wiggled my finger at her, "You're s'posed to be the good one in this relationship."

"We all have our dark sides."

Ellen sighed, "Girls, please."

"Right, sorry, Elly, what'd you need me for?" I crossed my legs and tried to look innocent.

"Word of your recent hospital stay has reached every newspaper, magazine, and tabloid on both sides of The Atlantic," Ellen explained, "I've scheduled an interview with The Daily Mail so you can show the public you are fine."

I groaned, "I bloody hate interviews."

"This is necessary."

"Is it?" I replied, "We could always put on a show and the-"

"Amelia, please," Ellen interrupted.

I looked at her for a moment before sighing, "Alright, then."

Ellen nodded in content. I abandoned my drumsticks on the stool once again. It felt like they cried out to me, begging for a drum. Ellen smiled at Molly and Linda, "We won't be long."

"Take your time," Molly replied, "It's Vera's lunchtime anyhow."

I giggled, "Good luck, Mum Number One."

"Thank you, Mum Number Two."

Linda giggled as I flashed Molly a winning smile. She rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. Ellen led me out of the studio and to one of the offices that populated the building. Most were empty, only one was ever used and that was Mitch's office. Some were storage rooms while two were ready and waiting to be a functioning office.

A man was waiting in one of the large chairs at the desk. He had a tape recorder, a camera, and a pen and paper. His scruffy beard covered most of his mouth, but his large cowboy hat was what caught my eye first. That and his bowtie compiled with the flannel and denim jeans threw me off for a moment. He looked like the stereotypical cowboy, not a reporter for The Daily Mail.

"Amelia McCartney, pleasure to meet you," he extended his callused hand, "The name's Jim."

I tentatively shook it, "The pleasure is all mine."

"Thank you for agreeing to this interview."

His voice was heavily accented. It didn't take much to know he was from the American South, possibly Texas or Tennessee. I had been to both states many times and never once have I seen a cowboy. The last place I would have expected to find one was in one of the offices at Aubergine Studios in London, England.

"Of course, that's my job, you know," I winked as I sat in the chair opposite of him.

He laughed, "I heard you were a rascal."

"Er-yeah, I s'pose I am."

It was a bit difficult to understand him through his thick accent. Even Ellen, who was sitting in a chair in the corner, seemed confused.

"Let's dive right in," Jim smiled, "Heard you were in the hospital not too long ago?"

"Yeah, just got out a week ago," I answered.

He hesitated in writing that down. I found that odd, usually reporters wrote while their questions were answered. He seemed to go over everything I said in his mind like some intricate puzzle.

"What happened?" he asked.

I thought for a moment before answering, "Ate somethin' bad. I'm allergic to peanuts and I ate a sandwich. Turns out there was bloody peanuts in it, a real cock-up on my part."

Jim stared at me for a moment. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, ending up without an answer. He cleared his throat before asking, "Could you repeat that?"

"I ate a sandwich that had bloody peanuts in it. In my defense, the thing didn't look dodgy at all," I shrugged, "Guess I learned my lesson, yeah?"

Once again, he was completely blank. I lifted an eyebrow, "You alright, chap?"

"Your Liverpool accent is too thick, I can't understand you," he replied, "Would you mind speaking clearer?"

Ellen stared holes in me. She was ready to jump in the second I lost my temper. Instead of shouting or storming out like she expected, I simply scoffed, "Well, I can't understand your bloody cowboy accent- or whatever it is. I won't speak slower if you're too daft to keep up."

"Now, lookie here, young lady," he replied, "That's just a pot calling the kettle black, ain't it?"

"I have no idea what that means, but sod off."

Jim sneered, "I don't have to put up with this horse shit."

"Please, everyone, just take a deep breath," Ellen held up her hands, "Amelia, sit down."

I glanced up at her. Her eyes bored into me. Reluctantly, I returned to my seat, keeping my eyes on Ellen instead of the reporter in front of me. Jim sat down as well, cautiously, keeping his eyes on me and waiting for another outburst.

"Let's continue this like modeled citizens," Ellen suggested.

When she looked at me, I knew it wasn't a suggestion. I clasped my hands together over the desk and glanced at the reporter, "I will if he does."

"Sure," he replied, "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

"We shall."

***

"How did it go?" Linda asked as soon as Ellen and I returned to the studio.

I frowned, "Bloody ridiculous. I hate interviews."

"At least they're not as bad as press conferences," Molly argued, "You only had to put up with one reporter."

"And a wanker of one at that!"

Molly rolled her head to look at Ellen, "What happened?"

"There was a bit of a-er-language barrier," Ellen sighed, "The reporter was American."

"And working for The Daily Mail?" Linda asked.

Ellen nodded. I threw my arms up, "He was a bloody cowboy!"

"Amelia, not everybody from the South is a cowboy," Molly argued.

"This one was."

Ellen sighed, "He was. He had a very thick accent that was difficult to understand."

"Thank you."

Molly shook her head, "It's all over now. Come on, let's just get to recording."

"You don't have to ask me twice."


	150. Wonderful Christmastime

"Good ole Liddypool," I sighed, "You never know how much you love something until you leave it."

Paul laughed, "You surprise me, Lia."

"What?"

"You're a poet at heart as you are on paper," he winked.

I chuckled, "And this surprises you?"

"Course it does, I'm used to your cheekiness."

"Something I can never let go."

Paul threw his head back and laughed. A few people turned to stare at us but none stopped us. For the first time in forever, we were able to walk down the streets in peace.

Christmas in Liverpool meant family, chestnuts, wine, fruitcake, and, above all, snow. There wasn't a single centimeter not covered with snow. Even the snow was covered with snow, like a hat sitting on top of another hat. There was so much snow, all you could see was white.

Paul and I had been drafted by Angela to walk down to the nearest market and purchase needed items for Christmas dinner. Dad swore up and down by Angela's turkey, though I was skeptical. We had never had a turkey for Christmas before then, always sticking to ham. It would be interesting to see if she truly did make melt-in-your-mouth-turkey like Dad said she did.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Paul asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "It's bloody freezing if you ask me."

"Not the snow, you git," Paul teased, "I mean being back home. Being a family again."

I smiled. This was the first Christmas we had back with Dad. It was the first holiday we had with him where we were on good terms. We even had Angela and Ruth, even Mikey had come home for Christmas. Molly and Jane were easily coaxed into coming with us, so we could have everyone we loved in one room. All we were missing was the rest of our music family, but they had their own families to visit. 

"The greatest Christmas gift anyone could ask for," I replied.

Paul nodded, "That it is, Lia, that it is."

We rounded the corner and our childhood house came into view. For the first time since Mum died, it was warm. Light shone out of every window making the frigid airs of Liverpool feel warmer. Even from outside, I could hear the hearty laughter of the people inside. Paul opened the door and we were met with the aroma of pipe smoke mixed with cranberries.

"Ho ho ho!" Paul exclaimed, "We come bearing delectable food!"

Jane laughed, "I thought you went out for a smoke?"

"That as well."

"Bring the food in here and take your boots off!" Angela ordered, "I don't want you tracking snow all over the house."

I chuckled, "Whatever you say, Angie."

Paul took the bags into the kitchen where Angela was cooking the dinner. I went into the living room, smiling at the sight. Dad was sitting on his armchair just like he always did when we were children, puffing his pipe and reading a magazine. Michael was on the couch with Ruth in his lap talking about some book she had recently read. Jane and Molly both sat on the floor with Vera, who was sitting up and sucking on a teething toy.

"'Ello, ladies," I grinned, sitting next to Molly.

Molly grinned, "Get lost, did you?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"You were gone for two hours," she replied, "The market is five minutes away."

I chuckled, "Took the scenic route, we did."

Molly laughed. Vera glanced up, dropping her toy and reaching out to me. I smiled as I pulled her into my lap.

"Didja miss me, junior?" I asked.

Vera cooed in response. I felt two small hands on my shoulder. Ruth had gotten off of Michael's lap and come to marvel at the baby. She reached out to gently grab Vera's hand, smiling the whole time.

"I think she likes her Auntie Ruth," I grinned.

Molly chuckled. Michael came up behind me and smiled, "It's a wonder the kid's still alive, what with Lia taking care of her."

"Aye, bugger off, Mikey," I replied, "I took care of you plenty of times, and you're not dead."

"That's only because Paul was there."

Molly laughed, "Vera's only alive because I'm there."

"You're both a couple of sods," I said.

Molly and Michael both laughed heartily. Paul called Michael from the kitchen. Michael vanished with Ruth close at his heels.

I held Vera in my arm and smiled. Molly leaned on my shoulder, her smile brighter than both of us combined. A warm feeling developed in my stomach, one I hadn't truly known for a long time. 

Christmas was a time for family, and I had spent several Christmas' without mine. For the first time, I truly felt the warmth of the holiday season. Just having so many people I loved packed into the same house together filled me with a joy I couldn't quite described. Even the harshest winter wind did nothing to the warmth of having my family near me. I felt like a child again.

"Amelia!" Angela called, "Amelia, your brothers need you!"

I sighed deeply, "What did those gits do now?"

"You better go make sure they didn't kill themselves," Dad said, "I'll hold Vera."

His eyes sparkled as I handed the baby to him. He held Vera with the tenderness I never saw. I felt a slight ache in my chest. Part of me wished he would have held me like that when I was a baby. That was in the past, and the past was where it would stay. For the present, I focused on the bright smile shining in my father's eyes as he held the little girl I liked to call my daughter.

"What did those gits do?" I asked Angela as I stepped into the kitchen.

Angela shook her head, "They're out back getting firewood. I suppose there's more than they can carry."

"Course there is."

Sighing, I shuffled towards the back door. I slipped on Dad's rubber boots, my feet shifting around with every step I took. The winter wind cut through my jumper as I opened the door. I could smell the freshly fallen snow and feel the next batch blowing in. Shivering, I stepped off of the porch and into the yard.

The pile of firewood was tucked into the back corner. I could see it from where I stood and there were no boys around it. Paul and Michael had seemingly vanished into thin air.

"Paul?" I called, "Michael?"

"Now!"

Three different snowballs slammed into me. I went tumbling, rolling head over foot until I landed on my bum. Shaking off the snow, I glanced up to see Paul, Michael, and Ruth all come out of the trees laughing heartily.

"You bloody arses!" I shouted, "You're gonna pay for that!"

"Come and get us, then!" Paul exclaimed.

I quickly made a snowball. As I threw one, so did Paul and Michael. We flung snowball after snowball, doing our best to knock the other ones over. Ruth flitted from side to side, sometimes hitting me and sometimes hitting my brothers.

Once I was covered in snow and so cold I couldn't feel anything, I realized snowballs weren't doing anything. It was two against one, and the only way to win that war was to take one of the soldiers out. I threw my last snowball and grinned mischievously. Dodging one of Paul's snowballs, I sprinted towards where Michael was making another snowball. He stood up just in time to see me barrel into him. Both of us went tumbling into the snow.

"Oi! That's cheating!" Michael exclaimed.

I sat on top of him and dropped an arm's full of snow onto his face, "All if fair in love and war, dear brother."

"Hey Lia!"

I glanced up just in time to see Paul pulling back one of the thinner trees. He wasn't able to pull it back very far, just enough to where releasing it would cause all of the snow to fling forward. He released it and all of the snow that had gathered in its branches came tumbling onto Michael and I.

"Paul, you wanker!" I shouted, pushing my head through the snow.

Michael popped his head out on the other side, "I thought we were on the same side!"

"There are no sides, Mikey," Paul winked, "Only winners and losers."

"Those are sides," I argued.

"What are you three doing?"

Molly and Jane both stepped out of the house. They were smart enough to grab their coats. I had stepped out in nothing but my jumper and rubber boots four sizes too large for me. Molly and Jane kept close to the door. As soon as it shut, Paul, Michael, and I exchanged glances. We had a momentary truce and a plan spoken through facial expressions alone.

"What're you-?"

Jane couldn't finish her sentence before three snowballs hit the two girls. Molly shouted a few obscenities as Jane tried to get all of the snow out of her hair. Michael and I laughed so hard we turned red while Paul simply smiled innocently.

"Paul, what the bloody hell?!" Jane shouted.

Paul winked, "It's not a McCartney Christmas without a snowball fight."

"You could have given us some warning," Molly sighed, "I've got snow in places snow should never be."

I laughed, "Where's the fun in that?"

"I'll show you fun."

She jumped off the porch and made a snowball quicker than any of us had expected. That snowball hit me square in the face. I shook it off and laughed, "Where'd you get such perfect aim?"

"You forget, I grew up with two younger siblings."

Soon, Jane joined the fight as well. Michael and I jumped out of the snow and started to pelt everyone else with snowballs. None of us noticed when Ruth went inside and Dad and Angela came out to watch. We were all too wrapped up in our game to notice anything happening outside of us.

"I can't feel my face," I muttered, "Or my limbs."

Molly giggled, "That's why you wear a coat, Melly."

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect to get pelted with snowballs."

"You should have," Paul chuckled, "Didja really think we were getting firewood?"

"I smelled somethin' dodgy."

"All of you, come inside before you catch cold," Angela beckoned us in, "I'll make hot cocoa."

All of us hurried inside. We dusted off the snow covering our clothes. When we arrived inside, Angela already had the hot cocoa made. She gave each of us a cup before taking another cup into Dad.

Everybody has the picture of the perfect Christmas. Some dream of drinking eggnog on the beach in The Bahamas, others dream of singing Christmas Carols while skiing down the slopes of The Alps. My perfect Christmas was sitting right there in the living room. The fire was crackling, the radio was playing soft carols, and I was surrounded by people I love. Molly, Paul, Michael, Dad, Jane, Angela, Ruth, and Vera all made my Christmas perfect just by being there. We all sat around talking about nothing in particular and drinking watery hot cocoa. To me, it was perfect.

The smiles were something I would never forget. There wasn't a single frown in that room, everyone was smiling and laughing. Love filled the air and warmth filled our systems. It was the first perfect Christmas, and the last.

At least, for a while.

***

Mum used to tell me stories of Christmas wishes. On the holiest night of the year, wishes were granted when wished upon the brightest star in the sky. Any wish would be granted so long as the wisher had a heart filled with love.

There were countless things I could wish for. I could wish for world peace, a cure for cancer, equality, or even for another number one hit. There were so many choices, and yet, there was only one thing I could wish for.

Molly, she's my wish. I want to love her forever without fear. With all of my heart, I wished we could walk down the streets and shout our love at the top of our lungs without fear of repercussions. I wanted to love her until the world ended.

"I wish," I muttered, "I wish the world would understand."

The star was the brightest in the sky. It was the one that led The Wise Men to the baby that changed the world. That star had done so much, it was a miracle in itself. Now, I prayed for a miracle of my own.

"Melly? What're you doing out here?"

Molly stepped out of the dark house and onto the darker porch. It was nearly midnight, the time when, mythologically, Santa would arrive at the houses. All of Liverpool was quiet. Nothing was stirring except for one insomniac drummer and her sleepy girlfriend. 

"Couldn't sleep, thought I'd come and look at the stars," I replied.

Molly pulled her jumper closer around her and moved to stand next to me. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smiled. She lifted an eyebrow, "Who were you talking to?"

"The star," I nodded towards the star in question, "Mum used to tell me it would grant any Christmas wish."

Molly smiled, "What did you wish for?"

She glanced up at me. The stars reflected in her eyes, giving her a twinkle she didn't have otherwise. Tiny snowflakes had caught in her hair making it seem like she wore ice as a crown. I smiled wistfully.

"What any old sap like me would wish for," I replied, "That I could love you until the end of time."

"You're such a sap," she shook her head and kissed my cheek.

I smiled, pulling her closer. As we gazed at the stars, I remembered that dark corner at the wedding reception. The way Molly watched Janice and Peter spin around the dance floor as newlyweds was burned into my mind. Most of all, I remembered the ache in my heart whenever I realized that could never be.

Still, there was hope. It might not be in my lifetime, or my children's, or even my children's children. It could be hundreds of years from now, but there was hope. One day, people like us could come out of the closet. We could marry and love to our heart's content. I couldn't say when that day will come, but I knew it would.

"Molly?" I asked, glancing down at her.

She lifted an eyebrow, "Melly?"

"The world is filled with a bunch of twats," I said, "One day, maybe, they'll get off their high horse and realize the shit they've caused. I don't know when they will, but I know they will, and when they do- well, I was wondering- maybe-"

"Melly, spit it out," Molly interrupted.

I met her eyes and grinned, "If society ever gets the stick out of their arse, would you marry me?"

For a moment, she simply stared at me. Her eyes searched mine for any sign of treachery. They slowly widened as a smile brighter than any star in the galaxy crossed her lips.

"That's one hell of a proposal," she said.

"Memorable though, yeah?"

She nodded, "And persuasive."

"Is that a yes?"

"Did you have any doubts?" she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around her neck, "Melly dear, I love you more than you could ever know."

I held her close, "By golly, Miss Molly, I think I've got a pretty good idea."


	151. Martha My Dear

"Since when did you want a dog?" I asked.

Paul shrugged, "The flat gets lonely when Jane isn't there, thought a dog might fix that."

In Paul's life, he only had one dog before Martha. It was a tiny corgi Mum had found on the side of the road. She took it in and that was our family dog for six years before she died. That was the only dog either of us had ever had, and I never wanted another. Paul didn't either until one day he suddenly changed his mind.

"Ivan said his Grandfather's English sheepdog just had a litter," Paul explained.

"On a farm?" I asked, "In the middle of the English countryside?"

"Right on the nose."

I rolled my eyes. We had already been driving for an hour. Paul insisted we were almost there, but all I saw were trees and fields. We seemed to be in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of somewhere.

Vera was fast asleep in the backseat. As soon as Paul had started the car, she was out and had yet to wake up. She was sleeping more soundly than she ever did at home. I suspected the vibrations of the car had lulled her into the deepest sleep I'd ever seen her in. I mentally noted that for the next time she had a sleepless night. 

The radio was on, acting as a background noise to us. Paul was just like me, he couldn't stand silence. The music stood to fill in the blanks of our conversation. That day, neither of us had much to talk about. 

I was still tired from him waking me up at six in the morning to go get a dog. Why he felt like I needed to come with him, I don't know. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Molly was off visiting Reginald and Jane was off at a play. Both of us were lonely, and what better remedy for loneliness than going to pick up a dog? The song switched from The Rolling Stones to an all too familiar hit.

"Ey, that's you birds, isn't it?" Paul gestured to the radio.

I turned the volume up. My own voice flowed out from the radio. I grinned, "Right you are, Paulie."

"One of my favorite songs," Paul grinned, "Reminds me of Long Tall Sally."

Long Tall Sally had been a favorite of ours. I had that in mind whenever I wrote Liverpool Bop. That and a few other influences helped craft the song that had become such a hit. To this day, Liverpool Bop is my favorite song we have ever written, and it's my favorite to perform. 

To nobody's surprise, Revolution was closely followed by a Beatles song. John's voice filled the car as Nowhere Man found his way through the radio.

"And this is one of my favorites," I commented.

Paul feigned hurt, "Lia, you wound me. I thought I was your favorite Beatle."

"Sorry, Paulie, that's Ringo."

Paul pouted as I laughed. He fell into laughter as well. A wooden sign marked with red paint came into view, pointing us in the direction of the farm.

The farm itself was nothing spectacular. Several fields surrounded the rickety red building, and trees lined the dirt road. Paul pulled in front of the barn, the gravel crackling underneath the tires. Nearby, a pig pen sent putrid odors our way. The cows were not too terribly far away and a horse was tied to the side of the barn. It was exactly what you would expect a farm to look like.

"Here we are," Paul muttered, turning off the car.

I smiled, "It's a miracle we didn't get lost."

"Bugger off, that's John, you know."

"You're not much better."

Paul rolled his eyes as I grinned cheekily. He stepped out of the car and approached the nearby farmhouse. It was slightly hidden by the massive barn, only one corner was visible. As Paul went to talk to the farmer, I woke up Vera.

"Good morning, junior," I grinned, "Rise and shine."

Vera yawned, reaching out her tiny hands to bop my nose. She cooed lightly as I brought her to my chest. We left the car just in time to see Paul rounding the corner with an old man.

As farmers go, this man was the picture perfect version. He had the standard dirt-covered overalls over a thin flannel shirt. He even had the straw hat and piece of grass resting between his teeth. His eyes were in a permanent squint and he always seemed to be sneering. Yet, he was kind.

"Mister Bloodvessel, this is my sister Amelia and her daughter Vera," Paul introduced, "Amelia, this is Ivan's grandfather, Mister Bloodvessel."

I shook his leathery hand. Years of hard work under the sun had turned his skin coarse and tan. His smile hadn't dampened though, "You're a friend of my grandson as well?"

"Oh, yes," I answered, "I've known Ivan for years."

"He's a good lad."

"Very."

Paul snorted, but held his composure. Ivan had always been a troublemaker. He'd been kicked out of class more than once. He was a good man now but, back then, he was more a troublemaker than John could ever hope to be.

"Let's see the pups then, yeah?" Paul asked.

Mister Bloodvessel nodded, "Of course, right this way."

He led us into the barn. Pulling open the doors, we were met with the stench of animals. Pigs, chickens, horses, and cows populated the stalls. Each had their own unique smell which combined to form an aroma that burned all of my nose hairs. Paul wrinkled his nose but quickly covered it with a smile. Both of us did our best to smile through the stink filling our nostrils.

"Ole Bertha had these pups a while," Mister Bloodvessel explained, "They're all healthy, happy, and cute as a button."

I lifted an eyebrow, "You named your dog Bertha?"

"After my old woman."

"It's a lovely name."

Paul chuckled, but smiled innocently whenever Mister Bloodvessel looked at him. He went to the nearest stall and pushed open the gate. There, a furry English sheepdog was lying with ten puppies surrounding her. The puppies were practically bald, only tiny puffs of hair dotted their body. A few were sleeping while others tried to crawl over their Mum, only to fall in the dirt again.

"They're so cute," I squatted next to the nearest pup and patted his head.

He barked slightly, shifting around to look up at me. Vera reached down to the puppy and cooed lightly. I set her in the hay and let her reach forward to rub the puppy's back.

Paul squatted on the other side of the pen. He looked at every single one of the dogs, his eyes passing each by until he landed on one. The quietest puppy of them all was the one that caught Paul's eyes. He grinned slightly and reached out to take the little one into his arms.

"The oldest of the ten," Mister Bloodvessel explained, "She's the biggest too."

"She's beautiful," Paul smiled.

I smirked, "I think Paulie's found his puppy."

Vera reached towards Paul. He brought the puppy closer, allowing Vera to pet her head. The puppy sniffed her and barked slightly, making Vera jump. I laughed as Paul stood up.

"I'll take her," he smiled, "How much?"

"Fifty pounds even."

Paul dug in his pocket for his wallet. He had come prepared, ready to pay any price for the dog of his dreams. I stood as he transferred the cash into Mister Bloodvessel's outstretched hand. Mister Bloodvessel tipped his hat, "Pleasure doing business with you. Take care of her now."

"Of course," Paul smiled, "Thank you, Mister Bloodvessel."

I waved as we went to the door of the barn, "Tell Ivan we said hello."

"Will do!"

We left the farm with one more life form than we had arrived. After buckling in Vera, I moved to the passenger seat and shut the door. Paul was sitting behind the wheel but he made no move to drive off. He was too fascinated with the puppy in his hands.

"What're you going to name her?" I asked.

Paul glanced at me and smiled, "Martha."

"Martha?" I lifted an eyebrow, "Why Martha?"

"It's a beautiful name for a beautiful dog."

I chuckled, "I'll give you that one, Paulie. Welcome to the family, Martha."

***

Paul flat did seem emptier than usual. The entire building was quiet, which only added to the empty feeling. The only occupants in that flat were two siblings, a baby, and a new puppy who was out exploring everything.

"If she pees, I will laugh," I commented.

Paul rolled his eyes, "She won't pee, Lia, she's a good dog."

"Are you sure?"

Just as we were talking, Martha found a nice looking patch of carpet and squatted to urinate. Paul lunged to grab her as I busted out in laughter. He cursed under his breath and went to the kitchen for towels and carpet cleaner.

"She'll learn soon enough," Paul said, crouching to clean the mess.

I shifted Vera in my lap and smiled, "Eventually, if you can teach her."

"I will."

Paul grumbled under his breath as he cleaned. I chuckled, earning a glare from him. Martha sat in a nearby corner looking dejected. I crawled over to her and smiled, "'Ello there, Martha my dear, won't you come sit with me?"

The puppy whined and gazed up at me with wide brown eyes. I smiled and scooped her into my arm. Despite being barely a month old, she was already fluffy. She seemed bald just by looking at her but, as you touched her, you could feel the layer her hair had already grown.

Martha snuggled into my lap and shut her eyes to sleep. Vera, who was laying on a nearby blanket, seemed to get jealous of this. She moved around in an effort to crawl over to me but remained rooted to the spot. Her muscles hadn't quite developed enough for her to crawl around on her own. Soon enough, though, she would be running all over the place singing at the top of her lungs.

Paul was still cleaning up the dog urine whenever the door rang. He sighed deeply, "Lia?"

"I got it," I replied, "Keep an eye on Vera, will ya?"

"Course."

I left the two in the living room and headed into the front hall with Martha tucked under my arm. She looked around with inquisitive eyes and a wagging tail. She barked as I swung the door open.

"You got a dog?" George asked as soon as the door was open.

"No, Paul did," I replied, "I've already got a baby."

"Babies aren't like dogs."

I chuckled, "Aren't they though? They drool, they pee, they chew on things, and they need constant attention."

"You're not wrong."

Both of us laughed. I stepped to the side and allowed him to waltz past. He walked into the living room where Paul was still on his hands and knees scrubbing the carpet.

"'Ello, Cinderella," George commented.

Paul flung his head up and sneered, "Sod off, George."

He shrugged as I laughed. I watched as George moved to lift Vera into his arms. The baby giggled with all of the joy she could muster. It made George crack a smile.

"I see, he's only here for the baby," I tutted, "We're the dirt here, yeah?"

I gestured to Paul and I. George laughed and shook his head, "You know I love you so."

"Queer," Paul muttered.

I chuckled, "He's not wrong."

All of us laughed heartily. Paul finally finished cleaning up the pee and threw away all of the towels. When he returned, he took Martha from me.

"So, Georgie, what brings you around?" Paul asked.

George grinned, "I'm gettin' married."

Had I been drinking, I would have spit all over Paul. Of all of the lads, I expected George to get married last. He didn't seem like the marriage type, more like that sort who would date for years without ever making a real commitment. It's not because he didn't love Pattie, I could see in his eyes that he did, rather because he wanted to experience things. He wanted to see all the world had to offer before settling down for good. Never did I expect him to waltz in during the early days of January 1966 and announce his engagement.

"Blimey, that's brilliant!" Paul exclaimed, "I'm so happy for you, George!"

He pulled George into a side hug. Both lads were smiling endlessly, their lips nearly wrapping all around their heads. My smile was slowly growing, "Georgie, you surprise me."

"I do?" he asked.

"You're not the committing sort."

He shrugged, "Things change when you find the right girl. There's something about Pattie, I dunno, but I love her dearly."

"When's the ceremony?" Paul asked.

"The twenty-first," George replied, "I'd like you to be the best man, Paulie."

Paul slapped his hand over his heart, "Georgie, I'm honored."

The two lads hugged. When they separated I ruffled George's hair and grinned, "Our little Georgie's all grown up."

George rolled his eyes, "I'm older than you, Lia."

"They grow up so quickly," Paul wiped a fake tear.

"Nine months, Paul," George frowned, "Bugger off."

"You'll always be my baby brother, Georgie," Paul flung his arm around George's shoulders and grinned cheekily.

George shook his head, "You're both gits."

"And what does that make you?"

George laughed. As Paul asked about the proposal, it dawned on me, he was the last 'bachelor' Beatle. He had a steady girlfriend, yes, but he had yet to tie the knot. Had you asked me five years ago which of my friends I expected to get married first, it would have been Paul. He was the sort who wanted a woman who would love him forever and be with him everywhere. I expected him to marry as soon as he was able to, and here he stood as the only bachelor of his friends.

Everybody I knew was married, except for a few. The people I had known as children were all grown up and married, most with children of their own. Only then did it truly hit me that we were no longer children. I was about to turn twenty-three, which was only two years less than a quarter of a century. John and Ringo were past that with Paul not too far behind. We were all getting older and, subsequently, closer to the end.

In the oddest moments, it hits you how temporary life truly is.


	152. Come Back, Revolution

Revolution didn't make many promotional videos during our career. Most of what we considered promo videos was concert footage. The few promotional videos we did do were scarce and not very well planned.

Ellen got a new director for each promotional video. In mid-January 1966, we filmed our first promotional video for our new album. It was for a new single we released, a song Molly had originally written about her Dad but it shifted to mean all of her family. In a way, it wasn't much different than Hold Me Again. It was a love ballad to a lost love where the singer was begging them to come back, or, in our case, to lost parents. 

The director Ellen had gotten was ill prepared and had no idea how to handle three musicians. Originally, he had wanted us to do an outside shoot, but that was cancelled when it began to snow furiously. All three of us refused to go out in that flurry.

"It's bloody freezing in here," I complained.

Molly sighed deeply, "Is the furnace broke or somethin'?"

"I can hear it rattling," Linda replied, "It must not be strong enough to heat the whole building."

I groaned. All three of us were already in sour moods due to the unpreparedness surrounding this video. I enjoyed filming promotional videos. We could do anything we wanted without having to pretend to be someone we weren't. The stars were Molly Mackenzie, Linda Eastman, and Amelia McCartney, not the characters they portrayed. It was purely Revolution and our imaginations. That set, however, was like a school room just before the teacher walks in. Nobody was where they were supposed to be, all of the supplies were missing, and the leader was nowhere to be seen. 

The three of us were on set. Our instruments had been set up, though we weren't supposed to actually play them. Miming was not my favorite thing in the world, but it was easy to do. All I had to do was tap the drums without making any real noise. It sounded easy, in theory. Mimicking was simple until you felt the itch to play. By really playing, we would mess up the audio and have to re-shoot the whole video. 

The set itself made no sense to me. It seemed as if we were in a library. Walls of books surrounded us. Molly sat on an armchair while I was set up on the fireplace. Linda sat cross-legged on the desk with her keyboard in her lap. The fire was fake, of course, or else it may have been somewhat warm in there.

"Alright, we're ready," the director, Jefferson, announced as he walked in.

Following him was a male and female. They looked to be a couple, as they were holding hands and standing a little bit too close to each other. Jefferson gestured to the middle of the library where a pile of books waited. The two sat around the books and prepared to pretend to read.

"It's about bloody time," I sighed, "We haven't got all day, you know."

"Amelia, please, be respectful," Ellen chided.

She stood just behind the camera. Jefferson shook his head, "No, it's my fault. I should have made sure the actors were here before you arrived."

"Gotta learn somehow, yeah?" Molly asked sympathetically.

"I suppose. Let's carry on then, shall we?"

When the camera began rolling, Molly began singing. She was the only one not miming, except when it came to her guitar. Her singing was the only sound filling the building.

I could listen to her sing all day. She had a voice the sounded like hot chocolate feels. It was kind, filling me with a warmth that would never fade away, even when she was gone. She made me feel at home in the strangest of places and safe in the most dangerous situations. Her voice had a magic to it like none I had ever seen.

Miming the drums was more difficult than expected. I had to pull back just in time to make it seem like I had hit the top without ever truly hitting it. Even one sound could throw off the whole video. I put all of my focus into keeping the sticks from ever truly hitting the drums.

The couple sitting in the middle of the room kept grabbing my attention. At first, they started by reading books and laughing together. They seemed so happy, like the picturesque romance that would never end. Slowly, the tension began to show until the woman finally stormed out. The man reached out for her just as Molly sang the last line.

"Please, come back to me."

We finished the song and the man fell into a heap, fake sobbing the entire time. Jefferson held up his hand, telling us to stay still. Molly, Linda, and I watched the man in mock sympathy until Jefferson shouted, "Cut! Brilliant, girls, truly."

"Was there any doubt?" I inquired.

Ellen shook her head, "Of course there wasn't."

All of us smiled at her. I flung an arm each around Molly and Linda, "Well, ladies, another successful video."

"It's not over yet," Molly replied.

Linda nodded, "We've still got a photo shoot."

"Bloody hell, I forgot."

A photographer was waiting for us in the next room. Photo shoots were not the worst thing we ever had to do, and I will admit, I did enjoy them sometimes. Occasionally, we would get a good photographer who would let us pick our poses. We could do anything from absurdity to elegance, from ballerinas to clowns.

That photographer was demanding, rude, and scathing. He ordered us around like dogs and never let us do what we wanted. Every order was barking and every second grating.

"In a line, hurry up," he demanded, "Mackenzie, your hair is untidy, fix it. Eastman, your eyes are not open enough. And McCartney, for God's sake, sit like a lady."

I glared at him and spread my legs further. He looked about ready to explode. Ellen, standing behind him, gave me a stern glare. Only for her did I cross my legs, not for the jerk of a photographer. He accepted it no matter what and snapped our photos.

That photo session was less than special, but it stood out among all the rest. Even though it left us tense and frustrated, I remember it fondly. The smiles we produced and moments still frozen in time are some of the many photos I clung to for months after that. That shoot marked a historic moment. It marked the beginning of the end of the revolution. 

"I bloody hate photo shoots," Molly muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.

The three of us were walking to Ellen's car with intentions of going to tea before going home. The babysitter's were still on for another hour, so we decided to take the peace while we could. As we slid in, I sighed, "They're not all bad."

"Amelia, is that you?" Linda asked, "I thought I heard you say it wasn't bad."

I wrinkled my nose at her. Molly laughed, "Oh, how the tables have turned."

"Miracles do happen, you know," I replied.

"That they do."

Molly rested her head on my shoulder and sighed. Both of us had been up late the night before with Vera. Even I couldn't get her to sleep, and usually, I could do it faster than anyone else. She seemed to have been more anxious than usual, as if something unseen was bothering her. No matter what we did, she just couldn't escape. 

"The roles have reversed more than we thought," I said, "Usually I'm the pessimistic, exhausted one."

Molly chuckled, "Lack of sleep changes a person, Melly."

"You can't change the basic rugged concept of your personality, Mols."

"I'm still me, just tireder," Molly yawned, "Now shut yer yap so I can get a bit of a kip."

I rolled my eyes, "Whatever you say, your majesty."

Linda chuckled under her breath as Molly shut her eyes. Within seconds, she was fast asleep. Her body pressed against mine comfortably, feeling like a familiar warm blanket.

This was home to me. Home is where the heart is, it's where you felt the happiest. I was always blissful when I was with Molly. She was home to me, she was my everything and I loved her more than I could ever express. I had mates I loved with all of my heart, family that meant the world to me, and even a baby whom I loved more than life itself, but no one compared to Molly. She was my infinity compressed into every moment of every day.

"By golly, Miss Molly, I love you with all my heart," I whispered.

Linda snorted, "You big sap."

"Right you are, Lindy dear."


	153. Wedding Bells For Georgie

As of January 21, 1966, Paul was the last bachelor Beatle. George and Pattie got hitched in a simple ceremony at the law office. The reception was tiny, only both sets of parents, siblings, Brian, Paul, and I were there. That was it, nobody else. Technically, I was the only guest. George and Pattie's siblings were all Bridesmaids and Groomsmen. The parents were guests, but they also had a spot as parents of the bride and groom. I was the only one who was simply there as a friend.

The reception was held at Pattie's parents home in London. The tables were all decorated in purple lace and white tablecloths. There was so much food, you would think more than fourteen people were coming. I stood near one of the tables, looking at a plate of finger sandwiches with mystery filling.

"Hey, Bri," I called the attention of my friend, "Any idea what's in these things?"

I gestured to the tiny sandwiches. Brian looked over them, "I haven't the faintest idea."

I sighed. The episode with the peanut had me paranoid. I refused to go out unless the menus had every ingredient clearly labeled. Most barely even had the names right, let alone every ingredient. I usually ended up ordering chicken soup or anything else that obviously didn't require peanuts.

"I believe it's tuna salad," Jenny Boyd said, "Mum made them yesterday."

Jenny was a famous model just like her sister. They both had the same childlike beauty and flawless attitude. It seemed as if The Boyd sisters were born to be models. Occasionally, I would find myself confusing the two sisters. From the gap in their teeth to how they stood with their right leg extended a little further than their left, they were perfectly alike. Had I not know better, I would have said they were twins. 

"So long as it doesn't have peanuts in it, I'll eat it," I grinned, placing one of the sandwiches on the plate.

Brian smiled, "It's good to see you're being cautious."

"I'm never cautious," I replied, "Then, I nearly get killed by a bloody nut. I don't want my gravestone to say 'killed by a peanut'."

Jenny laughed, "I think that'd be in your obituary."

"Either way, it's embarrassing."

Both of my companions laughed. Once I had my plate made, I found a nice place near the fireplace. It was a cozy spot on the fuzzy rug in the corner of the busy living room. Everyone was in there, except for Paul and George. The two of them had vanished a little while ago and nobody had seen them since.

Paul and George vanishing together was suspicious. Last time the two of them had disappeared, I found them in the back room of The Liverpool institute blackout drunk and nearly getting into a fist fight with a mop. It took me, Molly, and Ivan Vaughan three hours and a whole lot of cursing to safely get them back home. 

"Amelia, good, I thought you had run off as well."

Pattie sighed deeply and sat on the fireplace near me. She was far from the traditional bride, she didn't even wear a wedding dress. Instead, she wore a mini skirt just like the rest of fashionable London. A thick fur coat hung off her shoulders and she carried her bouquet everywhere. She looked exhausted and elated all at the same time.

"Nowhere to run off to," I replied.

Pattie huffed, "George seems to have found somewhere."

"Paul too," I frowned, "I smell somethin' fishy."

"Is it the tuna salad?"

"No- that's not what I meant," I glanced at her, "Those two playing disappear is dodgy. Somethin's not right."

Pattie knitted her eyebrows in worry. Before she could say anything, the front door flung open. George stormed in with his fists clenched and a resigned look in his face. He surveyed the room, looking at every face until he landed on mine. As soon as we connected eyes, I knew something was wrong.

"Mel, I need your help," he said.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What's wrong, Georgie?"

"It's your git of a brother," he replied, "He's drunk off his arse and stumbling around outside."

Pattie gasped daintily as I stood, "Who let him get a hold of the booze?"

"Not me," George replied.

"Doesn't matter," I sighed, "Don't worry about him, Georgie, I'll handle it."

"Ta, Mel."

I winked at him, "Anything for you, mate."

"You're too kind."

Pattie stood and whispered to him as I began to walk away. A few people looked at me strangely, I happened to catch Brian's look of worry. Waving them all off, I stepped outside.

It was cold, just as it always was in January. Snow crunched under my feet as I crossed the yard. Paul was in the driveway near George's car. He was stumbling around, singing to himself a tune that made no sense whatsoever.

"Paul!" I exclaimed.

The man turned around to reveal what was in his hands. He had a bow and arrow, just one arrow, and it was notched in position. His fingers shakily drew back the string before releasing it, still holding the arrow in place.

"Where the bloody fuck did you get a bow and arrow?!" I demanded.

Paul waved me off, "From the-the-basement. Yeah, the basement. Doesn't matter, no."

He shook his head and slowly turned back towards the car. He wasn't in control, he could barely even draw the bow back. I rushed forward to catch him, but he released it before I could grab him.

The arrow went straight through George's car window. It lodged in the leather seating with the end still sticking through the hole in the glass. I pulled my hand down my face and groaned loudly, "George is gonna kill you!"

"Georgie wouldn't-he wouldn't do tha," Paul replied, "He's my-brother-he's my brother."

"Paul, you bloody git."

I grabbed one of his arms and slung it around my shoulders. He was hopelessly drunk. His feet kept threatening to fold over like origami and send him falling to the ground. His eyes went in two different directions, his eyelids hung low, and he wobbled with every step he took. I was the only thing keeping him from crumbling in a heap.

Photos still needed to be taken. George had hired a professional photographer for the wedding, and everybody was expected to pose for several photos in just a few moments. Paul, being one of the best men, was in almost all of them. He couldn't properly pose for a photo if he was unconscious.

"Lia," Paul called, "Lia."

I ignored him. We slowly made our way up the drive, with him leaning on me all the way. All I had to do was keep him upright long enough for photos, then I could let him black out in the car.

"Lia."

"Lia."

"Lia!"

"What?!" I demanded.

Paul grinned wonkily, "I-I love you, baby sis."

"I love you too, you big git," I rolled my eyes, "Now, shut up before you say somethin' stupid."

"I don't say stupid st-stuff."

"Only every word out of your mouth."

He pouted like a little puppy. I practically dragged him in the house. His entire weight was on me, nearly sending both of us to the ground. By the time we made it to the living room, I was huffing and puffing while Paul only smiled like a fool.

"You'll handle it, hm?" George asked, coming up to us.

Pattie was just behind him looking worried. I frowned, "He's not dead, is he?"

"What did he break?"

"How did you know he broke something?"

"He always does," George replied, "Plus, I saw the bow."

I sighed, "He shot an arrow through your car window."

"What?! How the bloody fuck did he do that?!"

"I don't know, he's drunk!"

Pattie held her hands up, "Please, keep it down. We don't need to scare anyone."

"Anyone who looks at this wanker will know he's taken the piss," I replied, "Doesn't matter, Paulie's a harmless drunk. He'll fall asleep soon enough."

"But the pictures."

"I'll keep him awake for the pictures."

Pattie seemed to be in disbelief. Jenny called her away, leaving George and I with the drunk Paul. George glanced him up and down before sighing, "Some best man."

"He was good until he got the booze," I replied.

"I s'pose," George shook his head, "I'm gonna give him an earful when he's sober."

I grinned, "You and me both, Georgie."

George went to check on the photographer. Paul leaned on me more, if that was possible. I nearly collapsed under his weight.

"Christ, Paulie," I grumbled, "Lay off the biscuits, will ya?"

"Not fat. M'not fat."

"You're just husky."

He didn't seem to comprehend what I just said. Any second, and he would be fast asleep. I found myself counting my blessings that Ringo wasn't in his place. That man had one sip of alcohol and he was suddenly out like a light.

Paul began to play with my hair, mumbling to himself and twirling it between his fingers. I rolled my eyes and let him do it. It kept him distracted as the photographer readied his camera.

The first photo was easy enough. Paul and I stood right next to each other against the wall. George sat up front with his parents and sister while his brother stood in the back with us. Brian was on the opposite side of Paul. He took one look at the groggy lad and sighed, "He's drunk."

"Is it obvious?" I sarcastically replied, "He put an arrow through George's car window."

"What?!"

"I dunno, but he did."

Brian sighed deeply and shook his head. He and Ellen seemed to do an awful lot of sighing. The bridges of their noses had become thinner from them pinching it so much, it was a sign of stress. Nothing in the world was more stressful than managing a band of rowdy rock-and-rollers. Except, perhaps, managing two. 

Paul managed to stay upright for the first five photos. Only when it was a solitary photo of George and both of his best men did the problems arise. George stood in the middle, between the smiling Brian and loopy Paul. He kept side-eyeing Paul as if expecting the man to crumple over at any second. I was nearby, ready and waiting to grab Paul before he fell down.

As soon as the camera snapped the photo, Paul fell forward. His knees didn't buckle, his legs didn't crumple, he simply fell forward like a plank. When he hit the ground, he was completely unconscious and his nose was bleeding. George and I stood over him in disappointment as Brian began to panic.

"Bloody git," I mumbled, "I'm sorry, Georgie."

George smirked, "Turns out I didn't have to hire entertainment."

"What?"

"Drunk Paul's all the entertainment we need."

I threw back my head and laughed. Pattie came running up behind George and asked, "Is he alright?"

"No," George replied, "But he will be, don't worry, love."

"I'll get the poor sap home," I shook my head.

Brian returned with paper towels a few moments later. He rolled Paul over and began to tend to his nose. I crouched on the other side of my brother just as he regained consciousness.

"Lia," he called.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Right here, Paul."

"You're not-you're not Lia," Paul gazed at me with unfocused eyes, "Lia-she's short, a tiny little bird. You're big."

He raised he hand up to pat my hair but I pulled away. Frowning, I said, "If you weren't drunk, I'd have a thing or two to say."

"He's not wrong," George commented. 

"Sod off, Georgie."

Once Brian had Paul's nose cleaned, he helped me pull him up. Paul leaned on the two of us as we dragged him out the door and to his car. I shoved Paul in the back, not caring if he was uncomfortable or not. Come morning, he would get an earful from me and then one from George. As soon as we told John, Paul would have no hope of ever escaping the fact that he got drunk at George's first wedding. 

"Amelia, I thought you didn't have a license," Brian said as I slid into the driver's seat.

"You thought right," I winked, "Doesn't mean I can't drive."

"Yes, it does. It's very dangerous to drive without a license."

I waved him off, "Oh, come off it, Bri. I've seen Ellen drive a thousand times, I've got this."

Brian watched as I pulled out of the driveway. I felt confident in myself as I gently tugged the wheel. Unfortunately, I forgot to look behind me. My first driving experience ended with me hitting a tree.

"That's it, move over, I'm driving you both home," Brian opened the door and gestured for me to move over.

I huffed and did as I was told. He safely drove us down the street, all the while ignoring Paul's incoherent mumbles. Whenever we pulled up to Paul's building, Brian asked, "Is Jane home?"

"I dunno," I replied, "Probably should have thought of that."

Brian parked the car and the two of us helped Paul into the building. He was practically asleep as we dragged him. I was in constant fear that he would throw up all over us and the lift. Luckily, we made it to the flat without him so much as drooling.

"Jane!" I called, knocking on the door.

There was no response. Paul was too out of it to ask questions. I knocked once more before groaning and saying, "Hold him up, will ya? I'll get the key."

"You know where the spare key is?" Brian asked.

"Of course I do. Got to have some way to surprise them."

Brian chuckled. I dug in the dirt of a nearby potted plant to retrieve the key. After a quick dusting off, it was easily slid into the lock and the door swung open. We were met with a dark flat.

The two of us took Paul to his bedroom. As soon as he was safely on his bed, I placed my fists on my hips and shook my head, "The bloody git."

"Jane isn't home," Brian observed, "Perhaps I should stay with him."

"Nonsense, Bri, I'll do it. Wouldn't be the first time I've stayed over for a drunk Paulie."

Brian smiled, "I don't mind it."

"Brian, you of all people know arguing with me is fruitless. Go, I've got this."

He thanked me before leaving. Paul was snoring loudly, it wasn't blocked out even when I shut the door. The entire flat was filled with his snores. I did my best to ignore the sound as I went to the phone in the kitchen. When I picked it up, I dialed the familiar number and waited for her to answer.

"Hello?"

"Molly, how I've got a story for you."


	154. All A Misunderstanding, Right?

Just as the lads were getting a new album out, one that would change the face of music, John has to go and muck it all up. We had all learned a long time ago to meticulously plan what you're going to say during an interview. Reporters could, and would, take anything and everything out of context. It was all a publicity stunt.

Ellen and Brian had grilled us several times on how to handle reporters. We knew what was right and wrong to say, how to say it, and when it was appropriate. While they couldn't keep us from being cheeky bastards, they could keep us from ruining our careers.

In John's case, it was nearly impossible.

Molly insisted we walk to the studio. She claimed the weather was so nice, even though there was still ice on the ground, we might as well enjoy it. Spring was fast approaching and the world was beginning to look it. Snow had stopped falling, trees were beginning to get their leaves, and it was not quite as cold as it once was. The three of us were shivering as we made our way down the streets, but we weren't covered in ice.

"It's bloody cold," I complained.

Molly rolled her eyes, "It's not that bad, Melly."

"I can't wait for Spring," I muttered, "I've almost forgotten what warmth is."

"Quit being so melodramatic."

"I can't, it's who I am."

I grinned, causing Molly to laugh. Vera giggled in her stroller, thrashing her legs about and dropping her bear. Molly handed the baby back the bear she had come to adore. Ringo got her that bear and she had yet to let it go. When Molly and I couldn't sooth her, that bear could. It had a tiny apple in it's mouth, earning it the name Applebaum. 

"Didja get the papers?" Molly asked.

I shuffled in the backpack on Vera's stroller and nodded, "Yeah, all six."

"We'll get a new album out in no time."

"I dunno, Mols," I shrugged, "We've got some complicated stuff here."

"An entire orchestra is not complicated."

I simply stared at her until she furrowed her brow, "Okay, maybe it's a bit complicated, but we can do it. Mitch knows people."

I shook my head and chuckled. Molly was muttering something under her breath about violins, cellos, and a piano. Piano and violins would be easy, we all knew how to play the piano and I knew the violin. Cello would be more difficult. If we wanted a full orchestra, we would need several people playing several different instruments. Flutes, trumpets, tubas, and more all went into making the perfect orchestra.

"Wonder if we could get Georgie to play the sitar for us," Molly wondered out loud.

"You want a bloody sitar?" I asked, "The lads barely pulled it off, how could we?"

Molly shrugged, "Feminine charm?"

"You and I both know you're the only one with that."

"Ah, but that's why you fell for me in the first place," she whispered, blinking up at me with a smile.

"You're not wrong."

She laughed, bumping her shoulder into mine. I had to resist the urge to kiss her right then and there. We were out in the open, anyone could see us and we would be toast. Instead, I resorted to biting my lip and mentally warning myself not to do it. 

Whenever we rounded the corner and the studio came into sight, Molly and I both froze. The front door was being hounded by reporters from every newspaper, magazine, tabloid, and radio station in the hemisphere. They were banging on the door and shouting various names, asking for photos and comments.

"Bloody hell," I whispered, "They've gone mad."

"What's got them all in a tizzy?" Molly asked.

I shrugged, "I dunno, but I'd rather not find out."

Molly nodded. She turned Vera's stroller around just in time for one reporter to see us. The petite woman pointed and shouted, "Miss McCartney! Miss Mackenzie! A word!"

The two of us watched in terror as the mob of reporters rushed to us. A few cars slammed on their brakes and honked, but that didn't stop the reporters. They ran across the street and surrounded us, pinning us against a wall.

I quickly shoved Molly behind me. She whisked Vera out of her stroller and kept the baby close to her chest. Reporters were like mad dogs, they would do anything to get a piece of you. Any sort of gossip would have them singing to the moon. In a way, reporters and fans were exactly alike.

"Miss McCartney! What are your thoughts on John Lennon's recent comment?" one male reporter asked.

I blinked rapidly. It was difficult to see through all of the flashing cameras, pointing tape recorders, and eager faces. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic just standing there. As Molly looked over my shoulder, hiding Vera in her coat, I put on a suave smile.

"You'll have to be more specific," I coolly replied, "John makes a lot of comments, you know."

The best way to deal with a bear was to play dead. Reporters were a lot like a bear, they would only attack a terrified target. If I put on a suave grin and spoke to them just like I would speak to Ellen, they were less likely to attack. An exterior of cool warded them off because they knew they couldn't get any gossip out of me. After all these years, I had gotten used to it, until those buggers go and pull the wool over my eyes. 

"In a recent magazine, John Lennon has been reported to have said The Beatles are bigger than Jesus Christ," the reporter explained, "What are your thoughts on this? Do you agree?"

For a moment, I was too confused to reply. I had not heard of John saying such a thing, though it didn't surprise me that it did. John never had a filter, and he never would. It was a concept he didn't understand. He would always speak his mind and be proud of whatever he would say. To make matters worse, John had never had much of a reverence for religion. He didn't understand why people would get defensive of something like religion, thus he was never careful not to offend them. 

"I don't have an opinion, ma'am," I finally answered, "John says things he doesn't mean, sometimes, you know? I'm sure he didn't mean it literally."

"Then, why did he say it?" another asked.

I shrugged, "Cause he's John. I dunno, I'm not in his head."

"Miss Mackenzie, what do you think about it?"

"John Lennon doesn't have a filter," Molly replied, "He doesn't know what a verbal filter even is, the poor bloke. He's smart, though, I'm sure he didn't mean what you think he meant."

"It seemed pretty clear."

I tried desperately to find a way out. Vera was beginning to wail, the stress of the situation becoming overwhelming for her. Molly looked like she was about to faint and I was ready to kick my way out. We had to get out of there and get into the studio where it was safe.

Our escape route came whenever I saw a small break in the reporters. I vaguely remembered Mal pushing through them with a cart whenever he was trying to get us through. All we had to do was push through.

"Stay close to me," I whispered.

Molly nodded. I grabbed the stroller and put it in front of us. As Molly kept a tight grip on my jacket, keeping Vera hidden between the two of us, I pushed through the crowd. The reporters parted for the stroller like The Red Sea parting for Moses. They continued to flock with us, following our every move.

"What do you think he meant if it is not clear to us?" one reporter asked.

I shrugged, "Probably meant it jokingly, I dunno. Like I said, I'm not in his head."

"Do you agree with him?"

"We can't agree or disagree if we don't know what he meant," Molly replied, "He could be saying anything, we can't agree if we don't know what we're agreeing to."

"Are you going to talk to him?"

"Course, but you won't know it," I answered.

We made it to the steps of the studio. Molly darted in while I carried the stroller. The reporters were desperately trying to get in, even going so far as to grab the stroller or me. I pushed them off and rushed into the studio. As soon as I was inside, I slammed the door shut and locked it, twice.

"Bloody hell," Molly muttered, "They're just like animals."

"Heathens if you ask me. Are you alright?"

She nodded. Vera was still tucked away in her coat. She wiggled her head out, showing her cherry red face and cheeks streaked with tears. I stepped forward to lay one hand on Molly's arm and the other on Vera's head. Molly kept a grip on Vera with one arm and me with the other. For a moment, we refused to move. All I wanted to do was stand there until I was sure Molly and Vera were alright.

"Molly, Amelia, thank God."

Mitch came running down the halls, sighing whenever she realized it was us. Ellen was right behind her. The two women looked at us and sighed in relief. Ellen rushed forward to wrap us both in a hug.

"We tried to call, but you didn't pick up," Ellen said.

I frowned, "We had already left. Bloody hell, Elly, have they been here all day?"

"Since this morning," Mitch answered.

Ellen checked us over, "Are you alright? No broken bones, no gaping wounds? No blood?"

"We're fine, Elly, just a little shaken," Molly replied.

I refused to remove my arm from her shoulders. She kept a grip on my coat with one of her hands with Vera still protected in the other. Ellen nodded, "Good. Come, let's go to the studio, Linda's already here."

We followed Ellen and Mitch to the studio. Linda and Heather were both there, sitting in a beanbag and flipping through a magazine. John's face was on the front. That wouldn't be considered odd if it weren't for what had just happened.

"You two alright?" Linda asked.

I nodded, "We will be once we know what the bloody fuck is going on."

"Amelia, language," Ellen replied, "There are children present."

"Right, sorry. I'll be better once I know what the blazes is going on."

Ellen shook her head. Linda handed me the magazine, "It's John."

"That's what the reporters said," Molly replied, "Something about a Jesus comment?"

"It's much worse than that. I'm going to try and get in touch with Brian again, don't leave the studio and do not look out the windows, understood?" Ellen asked.

We all vaguely nodded. I opened the magazine to the page where John was posing. Molly peered over my shoulder, scanning the words with her eyes and mumbling under her breath.

The photo they had chosen made John look high. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he actually was. His eyes were half shut, his mop top was in disarray, and he looked like he was permanently about to sneeze. Of all the wonderful photos of John, that one was, perhaps, the worst they could have chosen.

"'Christianity will go, it will vanish and shrink. I needn't argue about that; I'm right and I will be proven right'," I read out loud, "'We're more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first- rock-and-roll or Christianity.' John, you bloody git!"

I rolled the magazine up and threw it at a nearby wall. Molly sighed at my outburst, "Melly, calm down. It's just John being a git."

"He's more than that, Molly, he's an idiot! A daft sod! A stupid piece of-" I began.

"Amelia," Linda interrupted, "Keep it innocent, please."

She gestured to Heather who was intently listening. I took a deep breath, smoothed out my shirt and said, "Sorry, Lindy, lost my head there."

"That's not unusual," Molly replied, "Just take a deep breath. This will all blow over soon enough."

"More than likely, he's going to be made to apologize," Linda said.

I laughed, "John Lennon? Apologize? Not likely."

"Ah, but Brian'll make him," Molly retorted, "He's the only one that can."

I sighed but nodded. Deep down, I knew, this was bigger than any of us could believe. It would haunt all of us for years to come, possibly even decades.

There are many things John, Paul, George, or even Ringo could have done to get themselves nearly killed, offending an entire religion was the worst. Christianity is one of, if not the most, widespread religion in the world. By saying one measly comment, John effectively angered most of the world population. Almost everybody in Britain and America was a Christian or a Catholic. They all believed in the same God, and they were all pissed off. Just by saying one thing he probably didn't think much of, John had started a war bigger than all of us combined.

"Don't worry, girls, Brian is taking care of it," Ellen said as soon as she returned, "He is arranging a public apology."

"John's agreed to this?" I asked.

"Well- not exactly."

"Knew it," I scoffed, "John Lennon doesn't know what a bloody apology is."

Ellen shook her head, "He will after this, Brian will make sure of it. For now, we will treat this as a normal day in the studio. Continue recording while I handle the reporters outside, alright?"

"Alright, Elly," Molly replied.

Ellen left once again. Linda, Molly, and I were left alone with a baby and a toddler in the echoing studio. I could still hear the shouts of the reporters outside. It made for a less than peaceful recording session. All of us were done up in knots, stressed and terrified about what was lingering above our heads.

"Next time I see him," I muttered, "He's gettin' an earful."

Molly chuckled, "I'm sure he's gotten several from Brian and Paul."

"And Cyn," I grinned, "She gave him the worst one of all."


	155. We All Shine On

Everybody has their Heaven on Earth. It's the place where they feel the happiest, where they can finally achieve blissful tranquility. Sometimes, it's the only place they can feel safe. For some people, their Heaven on Earth is on the warm sands of a beach, or the white capped mountains. Some find tranquility by a rushing river or by a warm campfire. I find mine in my own living room.

The fire was crackling, spreading a warmth through all of us. It made the entire room warm against the snow falling outside. Perhaps it wasn't the fire that provided the warmth at all, rather, it was Molly.

She was curled up against my side. The two of us were on the floor, leaning against the couch and watching Vera play with her toys. She kept rolling from her stomach to her back and back again. Every time she rolled, she giggled and began to sing in her baby babble.

"She'll make a great singer yet," I said.

Molly chuckled, "Takes after her mums, yeah?"

"She takes after you, love."

Truth be told, Vera looked exactly like Molly. She was barely over half a year old, but she was already showing her looks. Blonde hair stood in curly wisps on her head and baby blue irises looked at the world in curiosity. Even the way she sang mirrored that of Molly, and Vera couldn't even speak English yet. 

Molly wrapped her arms around my stomach and sighed in content. Never could I be happier than with Molly. With our arms wrapped around each other, under a blanket and watching the little girl we called daughter, I was in pure bliss. Nothing could go wrong when we were like that.

"What do you think she's going to become?" Molly asked.

I hummed in thought, "Perhaps she'll follow our footsteps, maybe taking over Revolution when we're old and hoarse."

"Speak for yourself," Molly laughed, "I plan to be young and spritely for my entire life."

"When you figure out how, let me know."

Molly giggled. I grinned, running my fingers through her hair, "I dunno. She's very curious, maybe she'll be an explorer."

"There's not many places left to explore."

"There's space," I replied, "She could be the first woman on the moon."

Molly laughed, "That's impossible, nobody's ever gonna walk the moon."

"I dunno, Mols, I've heard America and Russia are fighting to get there first."

Molly shook her head. Vera blabbered loudly. She seemed to be speaking to her bear. The bear was twice the size of her, she could use it as a mattress if she liked. It was as fluffy as they come. That bear, which we affectionately called Applebaum after Ringo tired to say he had an apple in his palm, followed Vera everywhere. If she was ever without it, she was bound to have a temper tantrum. 

"What about a dancer?" I asked, "She moves enough already."

"She'd be a lovely dancer. Regina wanted to be a dancer, maybe she'll do it for her Mum," Molly smiled sadly.

I kissed her cheek, "I can tell you one thing, Vera will grow up to be the happiest person this world has ever seen. She'll do great things, wonderful things, and she'll enjoy every second of it."

"That's all that matters, I s'pose," Molly muttered, "That she's happy."

I nodded. In the grand scheme of things, you only needed two things: happiness and love. So long as you were happy and loved, nothing could go wrong. All you need is love, happiness, and a warm cup of tea, that's my philosophy. My tea went cold a long time ago, but I think I was doing alright. 

"By golly, Miss Molly, I love you," I whispered, kissing her cheek.

Molly looked up at me with a crooked smile, "Melly dear, I love you more."

"Don't start that, you cheeky shit."

"Look who's talking."

Both of us laughed. She placed her hand on the back of my head and pulled me down into a kiss. Both of us savored it, not wanting to let go even if the world came to an end. Had I been given the option, I would have chosen that moment to live over and over and over again. That is my Heaven. I wanted to stay in it forever, I wanted to stay with Molly forever. Anything would have been better than what was in store for us. 

"Do you remember when we met?" I asked whenever we pulled apart for air.

Molly nodded, "How could I forget? I ran into you on the stairs at school and we both fell down. You twisted your ankle and I had a headache for weeks."

"My ankle still hurts," I laughed, "I remember that day fondly, even if I couldn't walk for three months."

"I remember it too. It's the day I really fell for you."

I grinned, "If I remember right, you did the pushing, I did the falling."

"Alright, you cheeky bastard."

Molly smiled as I laughed. I pulled her into another kiss. Never could I forget the taste of her strawberry lip balm, or the feel of our coarse lips meeting. I'll never forget the feel of her hands in mine, our calluses built from years of playing music rubbing together. I'll always remember the nights we spent together and the laughs we shared. I'll remember every moment I spent with Molly Mackenzie; from the beginning to the end.

Vera began to whine. Molly sighed, "Here we go again. C'mere, Vera."

She crawled over to where Vera was on her back, flinging her tiny arms around. Molly lifted her up and held her on her hip. The two looked at each other and smiled. Vera grabbed Molly's nose and shouted, at the top of her tiny lungs, "Mummy!"

"Did she-?" I trailed off.

Molly's face completely lit up, "She did! Vera, honey, that was your first word!"

She held the baby close to her chest and laughed. I joined the hug to where Vera was squished between us. Both Molly and I had faces as bright as the sun itself, with smiles wider than the entire African continent.

"Great job, Junior!" I exclaimed, ruffling Vera's hair.

"Mummy!" Vera exclaimed, "Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!"

Molly kissed Vera's forehead, "Mummy is right. I'm so proud of you, Vera."

"Mummy!"

"You got your wish," I smiled.

Molly lifted an eyebrow, "I did?"

"You've always wanted to be a Mum," I replied, "You got your wish."

Molly practically began to glow. Every inch of her radiated light and beauty. She was a Goddess walking the Earth, Vera managed to fill her with enough joy to send her flying. All at once, that joy arrived and, all at once, it vanished.

"No-no, that's not right," Molly muttered, "I'm not her Mum, neither of us are. Regina is."

Molly looked down at Vera with a cloud over her face. All of her previous light had vanished along with the hope behind it. Gently, I tilted her chin up to where she was made to look in my eyes.

"She can have three Mums," I replied, "She's got her birth Mum, she's got her blood Mum, and she's got the drummin' Mum. She's a lucky girl, Molly."

"But-"

I shook my head, "No buts. She never knew Regina, a curse which nobody would have ever chosen for her. She may never know Regina personally, but we'll make sure she knows who her real Mum is. In the meantime, this little girl needs a Mum, and who better than the two of us?"

Molly blinked rapidly. She smiled, Leaning forward to place her head on my shoulder and her arm around my stomach. Vera snuggled in between us with a happy expression plastered across her face.

"Thank you, Melly," Molly muttered.

I kissed the top of her head, "It's my pleasure."

"I couldn't think of anyone better to be my other Mum," Molly giggled, "We're practically married anyhow."

"By golly, Miss Molly, if I could, I'd marry you in an instant."

Molly kissed my chin, "You'd have to beat me to it."

I laughed. Vera yawned, her mouth nearly stretching to the back of her head. Molly and I gazed down at her and smiled.

"Well, big girl," Molly smiled, "Time for bed, yeah?"

I yawned, "I can second that."

"Do my eyes deceive me or is Amelia McCartney actually going to sleep?"

"Bugger off," I laughed.

Molly grinned. The two of us stood and she passed Vera to me, "Time to work your magic, Melly Dear."

I winked at her. Vera was draped over my shoulder as I padded down the halls. Her nursery was looking much better. We got a real crib with real sheets and even a real mobile. The picture Jane had gotten Vera still hung above her crib, but now the rest of the walls had paintings as well. It was the picture perfect nursery, complete with large stuffed unicorn in the corner, compliments of Ellen.

"Once there was a way, to get back homeward," I gently rocked Vera, "Once there was a way, to get back home. Sleep little darling, do not cry, for I will sing a lullaby."

Vera was half asleep on my shoulder. In her little onesie decorated with various types of cats, she looked like the picturesque little girl. Filled with sugar, spice, and everything nice, she had a bright future ahead of her. I felt privileged to be there for it all.

Once Vera was fast asleep in her crib, I gently shut the door and plodded to the bedroom Molly and I shared. She was already in her pajamas, waiting for me in the bed. When she saw me walk in, she smiled, "Get to sleep alright, then?"

"As you said, I have magic," I grinned, "A magical lullaby."

"Where did you ever hear that?" Molly asked.

I shrugged, "Come to think of it, I dunno. Maybe Mum used to sing it for me."

"It works wonders, doesn't it?"

I nodded. I've known that song all my life, but I don't know where it came from. Perhaps Paul knew, I made a mental note to ask him tomorrow.

After I threw on my pajamas, I crawled into the bed next to Molly. She wrapped her arms around me and smiled contentedly whenever I burrowed closer to her. The two of us remained pressed against each other all night, just like we did for hundreds of nights before.

"Melly?" Molly asked when I was half asleep.

"Hm?"

She kissed the top of my head, "I love you."


	156. I Long For Yesterday

There was a time when I didn't believe in love. The only love I had seen was between my parents, and they hated each other. I'd seen both of my brothers go through girlfriends like most people go through toilet paper. I never believed in love, true love, until I met Molly Mackenzie.

Molly taught me many things. She taught me that sometimes it's better to hold your tongue, or that fighting isn't everything. She taught me never to give up and to always have hope. Most of all, she taught me that love was real.

I've written many silly little love songs, as have all of my mates. The entire world craves love song after love song because that music tells them about something they don't believe exists. Love is something so monumentally beautiful, you can't understand it until you feel it yourself. No amount of love songs can tell you what love feels like, but they can get close. 

Love is real, I know that now. Every moment I spend with Molly proves to me that love exists. Love is not possession, love is not clinginess. Love is knowing you can be separated from that person for long periods of time and still come back together in the end. Separation is nothing against love, even when the two people are separated by planes of existence.

Molly taught me that too.

I would be nowhere if it weren't for Molly. I'd still be sitting in that shower after leaving the band that meant the world to me, sulking in my own self-pity. Revolution wouldn't exist without Molly. I would be an old maid if it weren't for her. She had given me so much, done so much for me, and I loved her more than anything.

A knock on the door caused me to look up from Vera. The little girl was on her back, holding Applebaum close to her chest and babbling her own little song. I stood and moved to the door.

""Ello Johnny, Cyn," I grinned.

John tipped his head. Julian rushed forward and clung to my legs, giggling the entire time. I quickly ducked down and picked him up, "'Ello, Jules."

"Happy birthday, Auntie Melly!" Julian shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Julian, dear," Cynthia winced, "Please, use your inside voice."

"Sorry Mummy."

John cackled, "Kids got a great set of lungs on him."

"I can see that, just like his Dad," I winked.

John laughed. I set Julian down and allowed the family of three to step into the flat. Immediately, Cynthia went to kneel by Vera. She beamed at the baby just like the mother she was. Julian came up behind her and looked curiously at the babbling little child. 

"Happy birthday, Mel," John clapped my back, "Need me to get your walker?"

I pushed him off, "Aw, bugger off, John. You forget, you're three years older than me."

"I'm old and wise, you're just old."

The two of us laughed. John went to sit by his wife and child, all three watching Vera sing her tiny song. I shook my head and smiled.

John had come to pick Molly, Vera, and I up for a birthday dinner. Ringo and Maureen were otherwise occupied, but Paul, Jane, Brian, Linda, and Ellen were going to be there. George and Pattie might show up as well, it depends on how long Pattie's photo shoot takes. They had all insisted that I needed some form of birthday celebration even though I wanted nothing of the sort. Molly and Paul were especially determined, it was them who arranged this birthday dinner behind my back. I simply went along with it to make them happy. Deep down, a tiny part of me was excited. I enjoyed having all of my mates together in one place. Lately, as our lives got busier and our schedules stricter, it seemed as if we barely saw one another. 

Birthday's never seemed like a big deal to me. It was a corporate plan to get people to spend money on gifts. I didn't see a point in being congratulated for living another year. If anything, birthday's stood for reminding one how close we truly are to death. The only good thing that came out of them was the excuse to get everybody you love together in the same room. I never liked birthday's, but after my twenty third birthday, I began to hate them even more.

"Molly'll be back soon enough," I said, "She ran to the drugstore for more diapers."

John laughed, "For you or Vera?"

"Sod off, you wanker."

John began to laugh so hard, he was braying like a donkey. Even Cynthia giggled a little. I rolled my eyes, being used to this behavior, but still annoyed. All of the lads, John especially, seemed to make it a point to be as annoying as they possibly could as often as they possibly could. 

"Mummy, I need to go potty," Julian complained.

Cynthia sighed, "Amelia, can we use your loo?"

"Course. Right down the hall, first door to your left," I answered.

"Thank you."

Cynthia held the three-year-old's hand as they began to make their way down the hall. John shook his head, "I swear, that kid was born without a bladder, what with goin' to the loo every five minutes."

"Could be worse."

"What?"

"He could still be in diapers."

John chuckled, "Got me there."

I grinned cheekily. The two of us were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. I found that odd, we weren't expecting anyone. My only thought was that Molly had forgotten her key. Holding up my hand, I said, "Hold on, John, I've got to get the door."

"Maybe it's a candy-gram," John grinned, "Tell the singin' clown hello for me, will ya?"

"Git."

John laughed as I made my way into the hall. With every step I took, my feet seemed to get heavier, like I was stepping in liquid concrete. My stomach twisted in knots as I reached for the doorknob. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I felt like that, until I swung the door open.

A police officer stood with his hands folded in front of his stomach. He had the usual bucket hat of London police and jacket that seemed more like a robe. His badge was glittering in the bright hall lights and he looked down at me with a sad expression. Having a cop show up at your door is never a good thing, especially when they look like they're about to cry.

"Are you Amelia McCartney?" the officer asked.

I nodded, sucking in a shaky breath, "Yes, that's me. What-what's going on?"

"I'm afraid there was an accident," the officer replied, "I regret to inform you that Molly Mackenzie was hit by a drunk driver this evening."

Everything stopped. My entire world stopped spinning. I stopped breathing, seeing, even living. For a moment, I thought I might collapse. I expected to die right then and there. Yet, I remained upright, my hands trembling as I gripped onto the edge of the door.

"Is she-is she alright?" I asked.

The officer's face was overcome with the darkest cloud I have ever seen, "I'm sorry. She was killed instantly."

All I could hear was the sound of my heart shattering. I couldn't believe it, I wouldn't believe it. There was no way this police officer could be telling the truth. This was all some elaborate prank. Molly would come jumping out of the lift at any moment and tell me this was some birthday trick.

She never did. I stood there, staring at the officer with a face paler than snow. My fingers were gripping onto the door so tightly, I thought they might fall off. Inside, I was screaming, but on the outside, I was shocked silent. All I could do was stare as every ounce of blood left my body.

"I don't hear singing!" John exclaimed, "What kind of candy-gram doesn't- hold on, what's this?"

He came into the hall to see me and the officer staring at each other. The officer seemed ready to catch me, I half expected him to half to. My knees threatened to buckle at any moment, but I stood straight. I had no motivation to fall, no energy. All I could do was stand there.

"Amelia?" John gently placed a hand on my shoulder.

His hand brought me back to reality. Everything came crashing in on me in a single moment. I felt like I was drowning despite standing on solid ground. Had it not been for John, I would have hit the ground right then and there. He caught me as my knees buckled. I spun around to bury my face in his chest. Every part of me screamed, sobbed, wailed, wept, everything I could do I felt like doing, but I remained silent. All I could do was tremble.

"What happened?" John asked the officer.

The officer sighed, "There was a hit and run accident. Molly Mackenzie was struck by a drunk driver."

"Is she-?"

"I'm afraid Molly Mackenzie is dead."

I began to sob at that point. Horrible, agonizing sobs racked my body. They shook every bit of my consciousness until I could no longer see anything. To this day, my wails can still be heard through the halls of that building.

John thanked the officer and shut the door. He practically carried me into the living room. Cynthia was there, though I couldn't see her. She held both children with a terrified expression on her face.

"John, what-?" she trailed off.

"That was a police officer," John replied, "Molly's dead."

After that, the world faded from existence. All I knew was my wails and my anguished cries. I felt nothing, but everything all at once. I was numb and yet in so much pain, I couldn't stand it. All I wanted to do was scream, and I couldn't even manage that.

The worst pain in the universe is losing someone who meant more to you than anyone else. Molly was my other half, I felt like a part of me died the day I lost her. In a way, it did. A part of my soul died right along with her. I would never be complete until we were reunited in the next phase of existence, if we were.

I vaguely realized when Cynthia ran off to the phone. John was still holding me, my head was in his lap while the rest of me was curled in a fetal position. Every inch of my body was in excruciating pain, but I was numb.

I lost the person who means more to me than anything in this world, and that alone is worse than death.

***

How can one call someone a friend when all they do is take, take, take! Death is an old friend of mine, I've said that time and time again, but he only takes from me. He takes mothers and fathers, friends and family, and he took the love of my life in the fraction of a second. If death truly is my friend, he will come for me next, to put me out of my misery. I've already lost too much.

After feeling so much pain all at once, there's nowhere else to go. There's no more pain to feel, so you fall into a pit of numbness. I couldn't feel anything; not the wind on my cheeks nor the ache in my heart. I didn't hear the grass beneath my feet or the trees rustling around me. I could feel nothing as I stared down at the freshly packed dirt at that tiny graveyard in Scotland.

Molly was cremated, she made sure of it. Everyone she ever came into contact with knew she wanted to be cremated. Her ashes were buried between her parents' graves and Regina's. The entire family was together once again, except for Reginald and Vera.

Her funeral was small. To be honest, I don't remember much. Paul never once released my arm through the entire sermon. Jane tended to Vera as Paul made sure I stayed upright. Everybody came. They came all the way to Edinburgh specifically to bid a final farewell to Molly Mackenzie. I got condolences from all of the lads, their girls, Molly's distant families, both managers, both producers, a few roadies, a few stagehands, and a few old friends. Janice latched onto me and we sobbed together for what seemed like hours, in reality, it what only a few minutes. Even Linda cried with me. 

I ran out of tears just as we entered the graveyard. Molly's urn was buried in a pre-dug hole between two gravestones both labelled Mackenzie. I watched as the dirt fell on top of the urn, with Linda and Janice latched to me and all of the lads standing close behind. Linda, Janice, and I never stopped holding each other until all of the dirt was packed on top of the urn. 

It didn't seem real. Even when I identified her body, it still didn't seem real. Shock was still coating my system. One can't process much when all they know is petrifying shock. Part of me expected Molly to be waiting for me when I got back home, but I knew she wouldn't. She was gone; I knew it but I refused to believe it. 

Never again would I see her smile or hear her laugh. I would never see her blonde locks bounce as she strummed her guitar, or hear her as she sang. Never again would I hear the girl I had fallen in love with more than once tell me how much she loved me.

"By golly, Miss Molly," I muttered, "I love you more than you could ever know."

My voice didn't sound like me anymore. It was shaking, broken. It was the voice of someone who had just fallen down the rabbit hole and didn't know what to make of this new world. I could never dream of a world without Molly Mackenzie, and yet, I'm living it. From April 21, 1966 to now, I've been living it.

I was all alone at the grave. Most of the funeral attendees had gone, only the close few remained. Paul and Jane had taken Vera back to the car to change her. John, George, Ringo, Cynthia, Pattie, and Maureen all went with them. Janice, Peter, Ellen, and Linda were still here as well, quietly talking near Peter's car. They had yet to leave me, but I was alone at the graveside.

When someone dies, you are left with two things; grief and memories. The grief causes darkness, but the memories bring back the light. Molly left me with so many memories. It hurt to think of them, it hurt to know that's all I had left. Molly would never come back to me and the memories she left me with only stood as a reminder. I was left with two things, and I knew I could never forget either. The day I forget the good memories I had with Molly was the day the light would never come back.

"I'll never forget," I muttered, "By golly, Miss Molly, I swear to you I'll never forget. I remember it all; from the moment we fell down those stairs to the last kiss we shared. I remember every smile, every laugh, every song, every single second I spent with you, I'll remember until the day I see you again."

Tears began to hit the fresh dirt in front of me. I thought I had run out, but, somehow, I found more. They began to make dark marks on the dirt.

"I remember the first time I saw you," I grinned, "Your head was bleeding, so was your lip. You slammed into me on the school stairs and we were both limping for weeks. That day, I did more than fall down stairs, I fell into the greatest life I could have ever asked for. You made my life so much sweeter just by being in it."

The tears began to pour harder. I was hit with an overwhelming rush of grief, all I wanted to do was curl around the dirt in a fetal position. I felt like running away and crying, but I stood strong. Molly would want me to be strong, if not for myself than for Vera. She wasn't old enough to understand what was going on, but, one day, she would be. When that day came, she would need someone to be there for her. I was all she had left. 

"The last thing you said to me was I love you," I blinked away my tears, "I want you to know-I love you too. I loved you before I met you and I'll love you until the end of time. And I'll make sure Vera knows who her Mum was, both of them, I promise."

I reached down and touched the dirt as if touching Molly one last time. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wished to see her once again. All I wanted was to feel her wrap her arms around me and tell me everything would be alright.

For a moment, a strong smell of strawberries and spearmint mints hit me. I felt a warmth on my back as a wave of calm washed over me. My cheeks turned rosy as I took a deep breath. Molly was there, I could feel her, even if I couldn't see her.

"I love you," I whispered.

"Lia?"

The scent of strawberries vanished as two real hands gripped my shoulders. I glanced back to see Paul bending over me. His doe-eyes were filled to the brim with worry. I allowed him to stand me up and wrap his arms around my shoulders as if trying to protect me from the grief the world kept giving me. 

"It's gonna be alright," he whispered, "I promise."

I simply squeezed his chest. Both of us gazed down at the mound of dirt, neither of us willing to acknowledge the fact that Molly was underneath. Paul held me tighter as my tears began to fall harder.

"C'mon, it's time to go home," Paul muttered.

Tears dotted my eyes. Staring at that mound of dirt, I knew this was the end. Never again would I see Molly Mackenzie, the girl who showed me that love does exist without boundaries. For most of my life, she had been there, and now she was gone. That day, Molly Mackenzie wasn't the only one who died. I keep breathing, I kept living, but I was dead. A part of me would always be with Molly even when she was buried beneath six feet of dirt. Molly was the love of my life, and, when she died, so did I. 

"Goodbye, Molly."


	157. Let It Be

The house was familiar, and yet, so unfamiliar I could hardly recognize it. The photographs on the wall weren't quite clear enough to make out, but the warmth was. Only recently has my childhood home started to regain its old warmth, but even that was nothing like it was when Mum was alive. The house I stood in had a warmth I had almost forgotten about. It was the warmth that only existed when my mother was around.

Light shone in from the windows, but it didn't move. Nothing in the house moved. It was as if time had stopped all together. There was no wind, no fans, not even the rumble of a furnace. As I walked deeper into the house, I noticed exactly how still everything was.

Four people sat in the living room; a father and three kids. Jim McCartney sat in his favorite armchair smoking his favorite pipe and reading the newspaper, just like he always did. He looked so much younger. I could barely remember a day when he didn't have gray hair. Then, he had a hint of a smile tugging as his small lips, distorting the wisps of hair he had growing under his nose. That smile vanished after Mum died, and only recently has it begun to return. 

The three kids were sitting on the floor playing with a wooden train set. The oldest McCartney child had the engine. He held it high, keeping it away from his crying siblings. Paul smirked as his two much shorter siblings clawed at his shirt.

I looked to be in mid-jump, doing my best to jerk the engine from Paul. Mike was pulling on Paul's shirt, trying to pull his arms down to grab the engine. Neither of us were succeeding.

That was one of my earliest memories. I was barely five at the time. It was one of the few times where Dad was actually home with us, and one of the fewer times where he was actually smiling at us. 

The entire scene was frozen. My feet were hovering above the ground while Paul's smirk was frozen across his lips. Mike was permanently in a state of tears while Dad's pipe was locked between his teeth. None of us moved.

A sound came from the kitchen. It sounded like a kettle singing, telling the world the tea was done. I spun on my heel and began to slowly walk in that direction. Only one person would be making tea this early in the morning.

Mary McCartney stood in the kitchen tending to her favorite tea kettle. Steam poured out of the spout, swirling in the air like a cyclone coming to take us to Oz. She was exactly like I remembered her. Her floral dress hung under a stained apron, one which she called her lucky apron because everything she ever made while wearing it never burned. She never wore shoes in the house, instead choosing to shuffle around in pink socks with itchy lace at the top. Her hair, which she had passed down to Paul and me, was short and curled with the curlers she used every night. One forgotten curler still hung at the back of her head. She had a pen behind her ear. Standing in front of me was the mother I grew up with.

"Mum?" I whispered.

She turned around and smiled at me. I thought I would never see that smile again. It felt like years since I'd seen that smile, and yet, just yesterday. She opened her arms for a hug. Without hesitation, I rushed to bury myself in her chest.

"Hello, my dear," she said, "My, how you've grown."

Real tears were falling down my face. They were warm and salty but I couldn't feel them, nor could I smell them. As they traced my lips and found their way to my tongue, I couldn't taste them.

"Mum! I've missed you so much," I cried.

She ran her hand through my hair, "And I have missed you."

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard you needed me," she pulled me away to cup my cheeks and look into my eyes, "So, I came."

I blinked away the tears, "You didn't come to take me too?"

"No, dear, it's not your time. You still have a long life ahead of you."

"But-I don't want to live it."

Mum shook her head. She placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. I remember her kisses, they were soft like blankets just pulled out of the dryer and held all of her love in them. This kiss felt like nothing.

"Amelia, dear, you must," Mum held my cheeks and smiled, "You still have so much left to do. The pain will pass, I promise it will."

"I've already lost so much. You, Molly-I don't know if I can take anymore," I sniffed.

Mum smiled and pushed back my hair just like she always did when I was little, "My dear, life doesn't come without loss. To feel loss is to feel life. Your pain makes your joys seem that much brighter. To feel pain is to have felt love, focus on the love and you'll make it just fine."

She pulled me to her chest and began to hum. I buried my face in her shirt desperately trying to breath in her scent but all I got was nothing. It was as if she wasn't there at all. Slowly, I began to realize.

"Is this a dream?" I asked.

Mum nodded, "Yes, but that doesn't mean it isn't real."

"What am I supposed to do now?" I asked, "How am I supposed to survive without Molly? I barely survived without you."

"But you did," Mum caressed my cheek, "You're strong, Amelia, you will survive this and come out of it stronger than before. You still have so many people that love you. You have Paul, Michael, your friends, your family, your daughter. You have so many people who love you with all their hearts. Because of that, you will survive."

Life is nothing without love. Love from friends, love from family, or love from a lover, you need love to survive. Without it, life isn't worth living. Mum taught me that, she raised me on lessons of love. Love is the crutch on which I can lean on in times of trouble. Molly wasn't with me anymore, but that doesn't mean I've stopped loving her. Even from beyond the grave, I knew she loved me. I had so many people who loved me, that alone could pull me from the grave I was digging for myself.

"I love you, Mum," I whispered.

She kissed the top of my head, "I love you too, Amelia."

"Will I see you again?"

"Eventually," she replied, "One day, you will cross over too and we will be a happy family once again. Until then, stay strong."

I nodded, "I will."

Slowly, the dream faded. The kitchen dissolved into nothingness, leaving Mum and I embracing in a black void. She began to dissolve as well, leaving me with the lingering feeling of her hug, even though she was never truly there. When my eyes snapped open, I sighed.

The room was cold, much colder than it had ever been before. It was empty. I had the entire king sized bed to myself, but all I felt was emptiness. I was so used to Molly's warmth lying next to me, her absence made the room feel larger, emptier, and colder than ever before.

The entire world felt colder without Molly Mackenzie. She was a warm light to all, even those who didn't know her. Those that knew her personally would always miss the warmth she brought. Her classic scent of strawberries and spearmint lingered in the flat long after she was gone. Perhaps it was telling me she would always be with me, but I didn't believe it. She was gone and I had to adjust to a life without her. It seemed impossible, I couldn't imagine a world without Molly Mackenzie, but I was living it.

I sat up in the bed and looked around. It was dark, the only light coming from a streetlamp shining in through the window. I could hear birds chirping telling me it was nearing the early hours of the morning. I threw back the blankets and allowed my bare feet to touch the fuzzy carpet beneath.

To feel things was a blessing. I was still numb, from the pain and the shock. Feeling things, anything, made me remember I was still alive. Even feeling the emptiness of the room or the freezing tile beneath my feet was a welcome feeling. After spending so much time being numb, I welcomed any sort of feeling, even the bad ones.

I didn't even bother to throw on a jumper. I abandoned the bed and shuffled out into the hall. The door to Vera's nursery was shut with a sign saying 'baby asleep' hanging off the door. Molly had made that, she insisted it was the perfect decoration for the perfect nursery. She even painted a tiny portrait of the three of us in the bottom corner. I gently brushed the painting of Molly's with my fingertips, feeling the wood underneath my fingers and the paint beginning to chip.

My old bedroom door was wide open. Inside, a snoring lump was hidden beneath a patchwork quilt. A puppy slept at his feet and didn't even move whenever I shuffled past. Paul had been staying with us ever since the funeral, which was only a few days before. He claimed his flat was lonely since Jane was filming in Norway. I didn't believe him, he had spent many times alone in his flat without Jane. Both of us knew he was worried, and I couldn't blame him. Neither of us dealt with grief well. When Mum died, I ran away on multiple occasions and Paul wouldn't come out of his room. 

I glanced into the room to make sure Paul was asleep. He was, as was evident by his snores. I sighed deeply and shuffled into the living room. The couch was covered in various blankets and pillows from our earlier movie viewing. Paul had done his best to make it as comfortable as possible, perhaps even providing a distraction for me. Of course, it didn't work.

I pulled back the curtains of the window. It was a large window, nearly overtaking the entire wall. Blue curtains hung off of a rod and covered every centimeter of the glass. Molly, Janice, and I had picked those curtains through a compromise. I had wanted black, Molly wanted white, and Janice wanted purple. We all came to the compromise of blue curtains to match the blue in the rug.

The stars were still twinkling in the sky. It seemed odd to me. Nothing had changed since Molly died. The world still turned on. People went to work, they laughed, they cried, and they lived their lives as if the world hadn't lost such an beautiful soul. The stars still twinkled, the moon still shone, and the sun still rose every morning and set every night. Nothing had changed and yet everything was different. To me, everything was different.

I watched as a single shooting star crossed the sky. It was beginning to turn a light shade of orange as the sun approached the horizon. Soon enough, the stars would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Nothing would ever be the same again. Everything went on as if nothing had changed, but everything had changed for me. Never again would I look at the sunrise in the same way. Stars didn't seem to twinkle as brightly as they once did, and the moon didn't seem as full. Things had changed for me despite the world staying exactly the same. I was being introduced to a new world where Molly Mackenzie didn't exist.

It wasn't a world I liked, but it was a world I had to get used to. Even now, when the grief was still new and the wound still fresh, I knew I had to look forward. Spending all your life looking back was a sad existence to live. You never saw what was happening until it was already gone. As much as I wanted to pretend Molly was still here, I knew I had to move on, no matter how much it hurt.

"But it hurts," I muttered, "It hurts so bad."

The sun began to send orange rays into my living room. I saw them dance across the floor, landing upon a hand stitched jumper. That used to be Molly's favorite jumper. I picked it up and hugged it to my chest, allowing the tears to fall.

"Lia?"

I glanced up to see Paul standing at the edge of the hallway. Martha was at his feet, her tail tucked between her legs as she sensed the intense sadness filling the room. I rubbed my eyes and tried to force a smile, "Sorry, Paulie, I didn't mean to wake you."

"How could you when you didn't make any noise?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Course not."

He stepped forward and didn't hesitate in wrapping me in a hug. I buried my face in his chest and did my best to hold back my tears. A few escaped against my will. I had done enough crying over the last few days to last me a lifetime, yet more tears kept falling. Despite everything I did, the tears kept falling. 

"It's okay to cry," he whispered, "You're not weak to cry."

I began to let the tears flow freely, "It hurts- so bad."

"I know."

He rubbed my back and held me as I silently cried. The sun was still rising, piercing through the window and shining warm rays on my back. It felt like the sun itself was giving me a hug and telling me everything would be alright. I wasn't alone. After so many people had left me, I still wasn't alone.

"Thank you," I cried, "For staying with me."

Paul squeezed my shoulders, "I'll never leave you."

For just a moment, just a fraction of a second, I could smell strawberries and spearmint.


	158. Rebel Down

Somewhere back in history, revolutions were cursed. Even just the name of revolution comes along with a curse. Perhaps the world was doomed to it's awful ways, and those with the guts to fight against it were made to suffer the consequences. No real fight comes without pain, and no real war comes without losses. The fighters of the revolution die much too early and in painful ways. Our Revolution was no different. Because we fought for a cause, and because we used the name, we were cursed.

First, we lost Janice. She was shot down just like the soldiers of The Revolutionary War, benched for life despite her intense need to fight. She was the first limb chopped off, and we were able to get a prosthetic but it still a downhill drive from there. Looking back, the fall of The Revolution truly began when we lost Janice, and it ended when we lost Molly.

Molly was the other leg. The two of us, we were the legs of Revolution. We had created the band, dreamed it up and built it into what it became. She was the one who originally thought of Revolution, without her, we were nothing. With her gone, Revolution didn't seem worth continuing. 

We couldn't stop either. When Janice left, Molly and I wanted to stop but we knew the fight was more important. This was no different. I felt like I couldn't perform without Molly, I couldn't fight without her by my side, but I knew I had to. We were two halves of a whole, the leaders of Revolution. When one goes down the other keeps fighting for the cause they both believed in. Molly would want me to fight, I knew she would, but I just couldn't do it. Her death broke me into a million little pieces, and I was still struggling to put myself back together. Performing was the last thought on my mind. 

Something had to be done. Either we dissolve Revolution or we continue on without Molly. Neither option was agreeable, but it was necessary. We had to decide what was going to happen with our beloved band, and we had to do it now. 

"I wish we could put this off, but a decision must be made," Ellen sighed, "We have to decide where to go with Revolution now that Molly is no longer with us."

Linda patted my shoulder comfortingly. All of us were gathered in Aubergine Studios, sitting around Mitch's office and discussing the fate of Revolution. Linda and I sat on the leather couch together with Vera in my lap and Heather in hers. Mitch was at her desk and Ellen had occupied the chair on the opposite side.

All of us were downcast. Nobody in that room wanted to talk about the issue at hand but we all knew that we must. Something had to be done.

"We have enough material for one more album, if we did a bit of overdubs and post-production cleanup," Mitch said.

Linda nodded, "We could at least publish that, have one album on the shelves."

"Amelia?"

All three women looked at me. I glanced up, looking at each of them individually. It hurt everyone to talk about this, but it hurt me the most. I felt like I was going to cave in on myself until I vanished into nothingness. I straightened my back and did my best to look stronger than I felt. Somehow, I knew it didn't work but, for my sake, the other three pretended it did. 

"Molly would have wanted us to do it," I answered, "She would have wanted the world to hear her last work."

Linda smiled comfortingly. Ellen wrote that down, muttering under her breath as she did. When she finished, she met my eyes, "What about Revolution?"

That was the one question I was unwilling to answer. I didn't want to continue, but I knew I had to. For the exact same reasons why we continued after Janice left, we had to continue now. Just because Molly was gone didn't mean the fight was over. A war didn't stop when one soldier fell, neither did The Revolution. We still had plenty of fights left to win, there was no way we could stop now.

Yet, I didn't think I could continue. It felt wrong, continuing with the band Molly and I had created together without her. I couldn't imagine getting on that stage and playing without her standing with me. Linda and Janice were just as much as part of Revolution as Molly and I, but we were the legs. We were the core of Revolution and the band couldn't function without us. Having one leg is not enough to walk around with.

"We don't have to decide right now," Linda suddenly said, "Do we? The wound is still fresh, there's no way we can decide. What if we went on a hiatus? That way, Revolution is neither dead nor living, it is simply stalled."

Linda gripped my shoulder in support. I glanced up at her and smiled. Her idea was brilliant, it was exactly what we needed. All us, me especially, needed time to heal. We needed to take a step back and breath before deciding the fate of Revolution. A hiatus was exactly the break I needed.

"Linda's right. As much as I want to keep playing, I need time to heal- we all do. We can't effectively decide the next step until we can clearly see past the grief," I sighed.

I say we, but I mainly mean me. Ellen and Mitch could still see clearly. They were severely impacted by Molly's death, so was Linda, but none of them were as wounded as I was. It would take quite sometime before I could see clearly enough to decide the next step.

"I think it's a great idea," Mitch agreed, glancing at Ellen.

Ellen seemed to think it over. Linda, Mitch, and I watched the gears turning in her head. Finally, she nodded, "Yes, I agree, this seems to be the best route. I'll arrange a conference to announce it."

"Ellen-" Linda began.

Ellen held up her hand, "Don't worry, Linda, neither of you need to be there. I'll announce it myself."

"Elly, you're a saint," I smiled.

Ellen smiled and stood. She left to make the phone call, leaving the three of us in the office. Mitch smiled at me, "Don't worry, we'll make sure the world remembers Molly Mackenzie."

Molly's legacy would live on, I made sure of it. No matter what, I would make sure the world knew who she was. Her music would live on forever, even past all of us. Molly was gone but her spirit was still there in her music.

Her music wouldn't die and neither would the band she founded. Time heals all wounds, they say, and I needed as much healing as possible. Soon enough, we would be playing again and making sure the entire world hears the bells of Revolution. For now, I had to focus on rebuilding myself and learning to live in a world without Molly Mackenzie. Never have I faced a challenge as difficult as the one ahead, and a part of me was scared I wouldn't come out of it. After all, the Revolution is cursed, and the curse takes all of the soldiers.


	159. Eleanor Rigby

Back in the days of The Quarrymen, John and Paul would often vanish alone together. Sometimes, you could find them in a tiny graveyard on the side of the church where they met. In that graveyard is a single grave, one that doesn't stand out to the normal eye. It is the grave of Eleanor Rigby, a girl who would have been forgotten by history had it not been for The Beatles.

Some people theorize that the song is about her. Even though she was married and had children, some think Paul wrote Eleanor Rigby about her. Perhaps it was a subconscious thought. Nobody knows where he got the last name. He's never known a Rigby in his life, only ever reading it on a gravestone. He did, however, know an Eleanor.

"Mummy!" Vera cried out.

I glanced down at the bouncer to see Vera wiggling her little hands in the air. She was growing like a weed, soon enough she would be walking. I crouched down in front of her and smiled, "Done playin' already?"

"Mummy!"

"Alright, alright, I hear you," I lifted her out of the bouncer and balanced her on my hip, "Let's make you a bottle. Then we can watch Uncle Paulie on the telly, yeah?"

She didn't respond. I held her on my hip all the way to the kitchen. As the bottle warmed up, she cooed and sang in her baby babble. Whenever she learned more words than just Mummy, her songs would get so much more interesting. I couldn't wait to hear what she thought up once she knew how to talk properly.

I was never good at getting Vera to eat. Since Molly passed, Vera's been even more of a rascal when it came to eating. She would push away the bottle constantly and whine for her Mummy. Every time she called out, I knew she wasn't calling to me.

Vera was too young to understand what had happened to Molly. It hurt to think how she wouldn't remember Molly. She didn't know her biological Mum and she wouldn't remember the closest person she had to a Mum. All she had was me, and I was a sorry substitute.

"Vera, for Christ's sake, drink the bloody milk," I muttered.

Vera pushed the bottle away, "Mummy!"

"Mummy's not here," my voice cracked, "She's not here anymore. Just-drink your milk, please."

I had to hold the bottle in Vera's mouth to get her to drink. After several minutes of struggling, she finally settled down and began to suck on the bottle. I sighed in relief.

Molly always had a magic when it came to babies, especially feeding Vera. She could get Vera to eat in seconds whereas it took me hours. I can never understand what she did to get Vera to eat so easily.

As Vera reluctantly sucked on her bottle, I grabbed the television remote. The Beatles were having an interview in just a few minutes and I intended to watch. The loneliness of the flat was beginning to feel overwhelming. I felt like the emptiness was taunting me, just waiting for me to break down in tears. Any sort of company was welcome even if it were just over the television.

When the lads appeared, I sighed in relief. They were just on the television, but I could pretend they were in the room with me. For just a moment, I could pretend there wasn't a screen separating us. Even if it was just pretend, the excruciating loneliness vanished if only for a moment.

All four were sitting in a row at a table with a yellow cloth. Behind them, a red curtain hid the rest of their entourage. Every so often, I could see Brian stick his head out or Mal peer between the cracks.

"Are you excited about your upcoming tour?" one reporter asked.

"It's just like any other," John shrugged, "It's neither exciting nor dreadful. Somethin' we've done before."

I could tell he was carefully going over everything he said in his head. The last thing they needed was another disastrous comment. They were already in trouble with the last one, another one would only serve to sign the contracts of their demise.

"Ringo, now that you have helped write a song, What Goes On, can we expect to see more of your work in the future?"

Ringo grinned, "You never know, do you? Depends on if the mood strikes me."

"Cheeky," I muttered.

As if he had heard me, Ringo chuckled. George whispered something to him which made him laugh even louder. I found myself smiling.

"John, I know you don't want to talk about it in depth, but are you worried about any religious controversies surrounding this tour?" another reporter asked.

As all of us had expected, John's Jesus comment was haunting The Beatles. It had been a month or so since that interview was published and the press had yet to let it go. I could see the annoyance in John's face, but he quickly covered it with a cough.

"No, I'm not worried," John replied.

"You aren't?"

Paul took the mic before John could say anything bad, "No, none of us are. I think it'll be fine- just fine."

"You do?"

"Of course."

Brian had voiced his worries to Ellen, who had told them to me. John's comment was more disastrous than any of us could believe. His forced televised apology had made it better, if only slightly. The wasn't fully resolved yet, and the remaining cracks would become evident on the upcoming tour.

"Do you have anything to say on the death of Molly Mackenzie, guitarist of your sister band Revolution?" a different reporter asked.

All of the lads exchanged glances. I sucked in a deep breath, anticipating their reply and dreading it all at the same time. The question was intrusive, it didn't seem like one that was proper to ask in a press conference about the latest Beatles album and world tour.

"We're all very sad about Molly's passing," George finally answered, "She was a close friend to all of us and we'll miss her dearly."

"Will you be getting a new opener?"

Paul shook his head, "Nobody could replace Revolution, nobody can replace Molly. Let's just leave it at that, yeah?"

He seemed to stare straight at me, through cameras and television sets. I smiled slightly even though he couldn't see me. When he turned his attention back to the reporters, I noticed the tears running down my cheeks. Vera reached up and tapped my cheek as if asking if I was alright. I smiled and kissed her tiny fist, "I'm alright, Junior."

"Paul, John," one of the reporters called, "What is the song, Eleanor Rigby, about?"

"Two queers," John replied without missing a beat.

Several people laughed. The lads all smiled sadly, exchanging glances. I took a deep breath. Perhaps watching their interview wasn't the best idea. Interviewers tended to ask questions none of us wanted to hear or answer. Yet, in a bout of loneliness, this seemed to be the only option. 

"Many people believe you wrote the song with Mister McCartney's sister, Eleanor Amelia McCartney, in mind," the reporter continued, "Is this true?"

Paul and John glanced at each other, having one of those silent conversations they are famed for. From my spot several miles away, I lifted an eyebrow. That was my favorite song on their new record, perhaps my favorite song they've ever done. Paul never told me it was about me. Surely he would have, right? Then again, Paul likes to think he's sneaky. He might have written it about me without any intentions of ever telling me.

"She's a part of the inspiration, yes," Paul replied.

I gaped, "What the bloody hell?"

"Can you tell us why?" the reporter asked.

"It's just a name," John replied, "We could've done any name, but Eleanor matched. Mel just so happened to have the same name, simple as that. Next question?"

The two were clearly dodging the true answer. Even George and Ringo looked a little uncomfortable. There was something they were hiding, I could see it in the glances they exchanged. John successfully changed the subject, but the awkwardness still lingered among the lads. They kept exchanging worried glances with each other as well as glancing back for Brian.

I stared at the television, unblinking. For a moment, I was completely shocked. Never did I think a song about the lonely people would be about me. Part of me thought it made no sense, but the other part knew it made complete sense.

I was prone to loneliness. I'm the sort of person who needs to be surrounded by people at all times. I can't exist alone, it's simply who I am. I've gained so many friends, I haven't felt the loneliness in quite some time, until Molly died. Once she was gone, it seemed as if loneliness was simply the new state of my life. I was plunged into this existence after that song was first released.

"What the bloody hell," I muttered.

The interview was over just a few minutes later. Brian pulled the lads off the stage and they all waved as they vanished, one by one, behind the curtain. Once they were gone, an announcer began a commercial for Revolver, their new album. Dates for the next tour appeared on the screen. It would be the first Beatles tour without Revolution as their opener.

For a moment, I just sat there. It was difficult to wrap my mind around the fact that Eleanor Rigby was about me. Paul had written an ode to loneliness, singing about to church workers who would never find love. Eleanor Rigby and Father-

"Mackenzie," I whispered, "Fucking hell, it's not just about me."

Paul didn't come back for another two hours. I finished feeding Vera and put her to bed in time for Paul to walk through the door. He looked tired, press conferences do that to a person. I watched as he dropped his jacket on the back of the couch and took a deep breath.

"You look tired," I commented.

Paul smiled, "Press conferences are exhausting. Those bloody reporters suck the life right out of you, you know?"

"Like vampires, they are," I replied.

Paul laughed. He stretched his arms behind him and moved towards the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. I sat in one of the stools at the island, watching as he moved around. As he put the kettle on, he asked, "Were you watching?"

"Course I was," I replied, "Number one fan, remember?"

Paul chuckled, "That you are. S'pose that means you heard what they asked."

"Yeah," I answered, "Did you mean it?"

"What?"

"Is Eleanor Rigby about me?"

Paul hesitated. His back was to me, but I could still see the dread in his face. It was a question he didn't want to answer but one that was bound to come up. I was practically on the edge of my seat in anticipation.

"I wrote it before Molly-you know," Paul muttered, "Had I known what would happen, I wouldn't have published it."

I lifted an eyebrow, "Paul, what are you talking about?"

"It's about you and Molly," Paul spun around to face me, "I wrote it because- you know, you're not accepted. Your love isn't accepted by society so you're forced to live a life of loneliness despite your true love sitting just inches away. You're like lonely rice pickers cleaning up after a wedding and wondering when yours will be. You're lonely even when you're in love."

My jaw dropped. I stared at Paul unable to say or think anything. What he had written was so profound, yet it seemed like nothing more than an ode to loneliness. In truth, it was so much more than that. It was a ballad of a love that could never exist simply because the constraints of society are too tight. The hate outweighs the love, forcing people like me into closets to hide. Paul's song shed light on the world Molly and I lived in, locked in a world of loneliness and waiting for the day where we could love just like everyone else.

"Lia?" Paul pulled me out of my shock.

I shook myself and jumped off of the chair. Paul was surprised when I latched myself to him, tears pouring out of my eyes but a smile across my lips. For a moment, he was too shocked to reply. Eventually had wrapped his arms around me as well.

"Paul, it's beautiful," I said, "I love it."

Paul smiled slightly, "I was worried you wouldn't like it."

"Why?"

"It has a different meaning now. Two meanings, a love separated by society and a love separated by death."

I squeezed him tighter as tears began to make steady streams down my cheeks. That song already meant so much to me, as the years went on it would grow to mean even more. Paul had perfectly described everything I was living through.

"Thank you," I whispered.


	160. We're On The Road Again

For three years, Ringo and I have been making photo albums. At first, it was just the two of us adding pictures, but soon, everyone else started throwing their photos into the books. There were so many books, not one person could handle them all. Ringo had four or five while I had six. Each book was filled to the brim with photographs dating back to the late 50s.

I sat on the bed, a photo album open in front of me. It was one of the first photo albums we had ever made. The pages I had it opened to had a picture of all of the lads on one side and a picture of the original trio of Revolution on the other. My eyes were set on Molly's smiling face. Through the photograph, I could feel her joy. She was as bright as the sun, with her arms wrapped around Janice and me. All three of us were smiling brightly. Ellen took this just after we had gotten our first single. I remember that day clearly. If I concentrated, I could still hear Molly's ecstatic giggles. 

"Mummy!" Vera cried.

She patted Molly's face, making me laugh. She reached for the photo album, nearly falling out of my lap in the process. I pulled the book closer and wrapped one arm around her waist, "That's right, Vera, that's Mummy. That's Molly."

"Mummy!"

Vera patted Molly's face once again. I smiled sadly. One day, I would have to explain everything to Vera. I would tell her of Molly and Regina Mackenzie, the two sisters who she could call Mum. I couldn't wait for the day where I could carry on The Mackenzie family legacy. I was a poor substitute for Molly, but, at the moment, I was the best she had. Vera might not be able to remember her blood relatives, but I would remember for her. 

Vera glanced back at me, tilting her extra large head back to where her eyes met mine. She placed her hand on my chin and grinned, "Melly!"

"That's right, that's right!" I kissed her forehead, "Such a smart baby."

Vera giggled, tapping my chin. It seemed only fitting that I was her second word. Molly was her first, as she should be. Molly and I were the only Mum's Vera knew, and I would be the only one she remembered. Once, I thought I never wanted children. I never liked children, and I never intended to have any. Vera, however, changed my life for the better. I cherished every single second I spent with her. It was the seconds we were apart that felt wasted. 

"What's goin' on in here?" Paul asked as he leaned against the door frame.

I grinned at him, "Vera said her second word."

"She did? Was it Hell?"

"I'm never living that down, am I?" I muttered.

Paul laughed, "Course not."

"Melly!" Vera shouted.

"See, it wasn't Hell," I grinned.

Paul smiled, "Look at you, Vera. Next thing you know, we'll be shippin' you off to University."

He sat on the bed in front of us and took the baby from my lap. She giggled as Paul held her in his arms. I sighed deeply, "Don't remind me. I'd rather she stay little forever."

"Just think of it," Paul winked, "You won't have to change diapers anymore."

"Maybe it's not all bad."

Paul laughed. Vera watched him smile, and felt his chest heave as he laughed. It made her giggle and reach up for his mouth. She gripped his lips and tried to figure out what made them open so widely. Paul only laughed harder.

"She's a curious girl, ain't she?" Paul asked.

"Just like her Mum," I replied, "She's gonna be a handful when she starts walking."

"Ah, that's nothin'. You've put up with John all these years."

I covered my mouth to hide my braying laughter. Paul simply grinned cheekily. Tears began to run down my face as I laughed so hard I couldn't breath. It was a well known fact that, once you lived with John Lennon, you could live through anything. Put Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr with him and you're ready to face anything the world throws at you. 

"You're all a handful," I replied, "All four of you buggers."

Paul shook his head, "I am an angel."

"And I'm The Queen of England."

Both of us laughed loudly. Our laughter echoed through the empty flat, giving it just a hint of its old life. The darkness seemed to get brighter, if ever so slightly.

"You're a handful, but I wouldn't have it any other way," I grinned, playfully bumping Paul's shoulder.

Paul smiled, "Lia, you flatter me. That reminds me, I had somethin' to ask ya."

"Yeah?"

"We're leavin' for the tour in a week," Paul said, "The lads and I were talking and we thought you could come with us. You won't perform but you could come for a change of scenery, might help, you know?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. Going on tour seemed like a bit much this early in the game. It would be odd to tour the world with them without ever stepping foot on stage. Revolution had always opened for The Beatles, this would be the first tour with a different opener.

Part of me thought I couldn't handle it. The only reason I got through the other tours was Molly. Without her, I was bound to go insane. Even if I wasn't playing, it was the cabin fever that got you. This tour was bound to me even more tightly secure than the last ones, since John offended the entire world. We barely got to see outside then, I couldn't imagine how it would be now. 

Something told me I needed to. I needed to leave the confines of these gray walls and step back into the world. Since Molly died, I hardly left the house. It felt pointless to go outside and look for light when I knew there was none. I had no motivation, perhaps this was my opportunity to find it. There wouldn't be much of a change of scenery besides the walk from a plane, to a car, to a room, but it was better than the same four gray walls filled with pictures of a past I longed to hold on to. 

"Love to," I answered, "A change of scenery would be nice."

Paul's smile brightened, "Brilliant! It'll be great, Lia, just you wait."

"Maybe so, Paulie, maybe so."

***

"I bloody hate planes," I groaned.

Ringo clapped my shoulder, "Come off it, Mel, it's not that bad."

"I'm going to vomit."

"Toldja we should've slipped her sleeping pills," John said, "At least then she'd stop complaining."

"Oh, sod off, John."

George chuckled, "At least she's blunt about it."

I rubbed my temples and sighed. We had only been in the air for a few minutes and I was already feeling sick. Our first stop was the familiar Hamburg, Germany. I hadn't been back since the early sixties, it would be nice to see the old place again. John even brought up the idea of going by The Indra Club, but we all knew that was impossible. Things may have changed for us but the crazy fan base stayed the same. We couldn't go anywhere without the threat of the fans lingering over our heads. That meant the trip down memory lane would have to be inevitably postponed. 

"It'll be over soon, Lia," Paul tried to reassure me.

I groaned, "Next time, I'm takin' a boat."

"You say that every time," John commented, "And yet, you never do."

"Boats are bloody expensive!"

John laughed. George handed me a tin of mints which I gratefully accepted. They were spearmint, a favorite of Molly's. As soon as I popped one in my mouth I felt comforted, like she was sitting right next to me. She had always been able to get me through the plane trips.

Vera was fast asleep in her seat. Her first plane trip and she slept through most of it, though I couldn't blame her. If I could, I'd sleep through it too.

"Anyone for cards?" Ringo asked.

George grinned, "I'll play, Ringo."

"John?"

"Nah, son, I'm gonna take a bit of a kip," John replied, "Good for you, too, you might actually have a chance of winning."

Ringo rolled his eyes, "I've got me lucky rings on, you know."

"As usual."

John cackled as he headed for a seat on the opposite side of the plane. Paul sat next to George and cracked his knuckles, "I'm down for a game."

"Mel?" Ringo asked.

"Anything for a distraction," I replied, "You lads are doomed, I tell you, I'm feelin' lucky."

George smirked, "We'll just see now, won't we?"


	161. Back In Hamburg

The idea of a change of scenery was quickly trashed. Going on tour was never a good idea for someone who wanted a change of scenery. All I saw was a car and a room, and a room and a room. Sometimes the inside of a plane, train, or theater. My change of scenery consisted of more walls and screaming fans.

Going with the lads on tour was a terrible idea. I was nursing a broken heart, and listening to thousands of screaming fans and security guards ordering me around didn't help matters. To make matters worse, I had to watch as a different band took Revolution's place as The Beatles opener. You would think, having been on every single Beatles tour up to that point, I would have expected that. My mind was clouded at that point, and I could barely remember my name let alone what a tour was like. To someone drowning in grief, it seemed like a brilliant idea. 

As bad of an idea as it was, there was a good side. Had I been left at home, the only company I would have had was Linda, who was visiting her family in America for a month. I could have called up Cynthia, Maureen, Pattie, or Jane, perhaps even Ellen would have made time in her busy schedule, but that was unlikely. They all always seemed to be busy. With the lads on tour and me at home, I would have been left with nothing but a baby, a dog, and crippling loneliness. Deep down, I knew Paul planned for that. He knew I wouldn't get much of a change of scenery, but at least I wouldn't be left alone.

"Let's do Nowhere Man," John called out, "Then, What Goes On, yeah?"

Paul mock saluted, "Aye aye, Captain."

"There's a good Macca."

All four lads laughed. They were rehearsing and doing a soundcheck all at the same time. The first show of the tour took us to the familiar streets of Hamburg, Germany. It felt good to be back. Part of me expected the cops to show up and deport George and I again, despite us being more than of age.

Vera and I sat in the seats of the theater, watching as the lads rehearsed. I always preferred to watch them rehearse rather than perform professionally. During the rehearsals, there was no guidelines to follow. They could play to their heart's content and, if they messed up, they got a cheeky remark rather than displeased fans. Seeing them rehearse reminded me of the days before we hit it big.

Vera was enjoying it. She would squeal every time the lads began to sing and slapped the seat of the chair like a drum kit. I watched her with a tender smile. A newspaper was open in my lap but I was only halfway paying attention to it. Vera and my mates captured my focus.

"Love!" Vera shouted, "Love Uncle Beebles."

I giggled, "There you go, Junior, you're gettin' it."

Vera seemed to have a new word everyday. She went from saying nothing but Mummy and Melly to saying teddy, love, uncle, and beebles. To her, all four of the lads were Uncle Beebles. Soon enough, she would get their names right. She continued to pretend drum on the seats as she watched the show.

"It seems she's musically inclined as well," Brian smiled as he walked down the aisle.

He took the seat next to me, his smile never leaving his face. Every time I saw him, he looked exhausted, now more than ever. This tour was already proving to be straining, with a new opener band and John's religious comment lurking in every dark corner. Brian was at the end of his rope. His eyes were always bloodshot like he never got enough sleep. Permanent dark bags hung underneath his eyes and he seemed to have more wrinkles than most men his age. His hair, though short, had specks of gray in it when he should not be old enough to go gray.

"I always knew I'd raise a drummer," I smiled, "She'll carry on when I'm long gone."

Brian smiled, "How are you?"

"Me? I'm gear."

"Amelia, I'm serious," Brian's smile shifted into a frown, "How are you doing?"

I shrugged, "I'm here, aren't I? How much more could I ask for?"

Molly could be there with me, I thought. I'd be so much better if Molly were sitting next to me. Every so often, I would catch myself looking at the door and searching for her. A painful realization would hit me and leave me with a single tear locked in the corner of my eye.

"I am glad you came. If not as a performer, then as a friend," Brian said.

I nodded, "I s'pose I am too. Paul said it's for a change of scenery, but that didn't work out so well."

"Did you expect differently?"

"No, I just didn't think of it," I sighed, "I don't think of a lot of things lately."

Brian patted my shoulder, "That's alright, Amelia. You can't go through what you went through and expect to come out of it the same."

"I s'pose you're right."

We fell into silence. The lads began to run through their numbers, only stopping once when George messed up the chords. They all had a laugh before starting from the top once again.

"What about you? How are you?" I asked.

Brian shook his head, "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You can't steal my lines, Bri."

Brian chuckled. He watched the lads, his eyes never truly focusing. Something was bothering him, I could tell, and I could guess what. I smiled comfortingly, "Penny for your thoughts?"

"To be honest, I'm worried," Brian sighed deeply, "John's apology didn't do much. People across the world are calling The Beatles religious haters, some even going so far as to call John The Antichrist. They've gotten so many death threats from every corner of the world."

Brian rubbed his temples. My eyes slowly widened as I realized the depth of this situation, "Death threats?"

"Yes. I'm seriously concerned they may be assassinated."

I gasped. Vera glanced up at me in confusion. Brian's words rang in my head like the echo of a church bell. Assassinated, the lads, all because of a stupid comment. It seemed ridiculous, and yet, believable.

"I've made sure security is as tight as possible for each stop of the tour," Brian explained, "I've done everything I can to ensure their safety, just- what if it's not enough?"

I placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to offer a comforting smile, "It will be. They'll be fine, Bri."

"What if they're not?"

"I've learned not to focus on the what ifs," I replied, "If you worry, you only suffer twice."

Brian gazed at me before cracking a smile, "Yes, I suppose you're right. Sometimes, I just can't help it."

"None of us can."

We turned to watch the lads rehearse their next number. They tried to stick to their new numbers, all off of Rubber Soul and Revolver. Some of those songs were impossible to perform live, like those with sitars or full orchestra backings. The rest, however, were as easy as any that came before it.

Neil came and whispered something to Brian. The man sighed deeply before glancing at me, "I'm sorry, Amelia, something's come up that I must attend to."

"That's alright, Bri, you go do your manager stuff."

Brian laughed and followed Neil down the rows of chairs. I watched him go before sighing deeply. Glancing at the newspaper in my lap, I only felt my dread grow worse.

We've dealt with a lot during our years of touring. From rabid fans to less than kind reporters, I thought we've seen it all. We've had fans trample us, drummers collapse, guitarists run away, we've had so many problems and each one followed with a solution. I thought we could handle anything, but this seemed so much worse than any of us could have dreamed of. Our only fear of death came with rabid fans before, not religious zealots. None of us ever thought we'd have to worry about the lads getting shot or a bomb going off. All because of one off-hand comment, John, Paul, George, and Ringo were in serious danger with the rest of us guilty by association.

This tour was already proving to be worse than any of the others, and we had only just begun. I felt an overwhelming sense of fear gather in the pit of my stomach and spread through my body. I was terrified for the lives of my mates. Glancing down at Vera, I realized I inadvertently put her in danger. Anything could happen on this tour, and none of us could anticipate it. 

The newspaper in my lap only added insult to injury. I hadn't been paying attention to it before then, only absentmindedly reading the funny section. One article headline was glaring at me like an executioner.

The Beatles: Public Icons or Public Enemies?

"Bloody hell," I muttered.

The article spoke of Beatle record burnings in America and the banning of Beatles songs on radio stations across the globe. Fans were revolting, as were some people who were never fans but were ready to defend their religion. Johns apology had barely appeased them, it only put a band-aid over an amputation. 

Before the first chord was even struck, I knew this tour would be like nothing we had ever experienced before.


	162. Japan

Anyone can tell you that The Beatles 1966 tour was disastrous. There wasn't a single stop that proved to be different. It was that tour that solidified the future of the world's greatest band. I'm less than proud to say, I was a part of it.

Japan was a beautiful country. There was so much history there, but I could see none of it. I saw none of the tranquil gardens or beautiful structures. All I saw was the inside of a hotel and the angry faces of Japanese policemen.

"Vera, please," I begged, "Calm down."

The baby was wailing. She had her tiny fists clenched as tightly as they would go and her face was turning into a cherry. Tears poured down her cheeks as she wailed. I tried rocking her, singing to her, and even walking her around the room. Nothing helped.

Vera never did well when she was trapped inside for long periods of time. I usually took her on a daily walk, but that was impossible when we were on tour. We could barely leave the room let alone go outside. It was practically a death sentence for us.

Yet, I had to do something. Her screaming was beginning to give me a headache, and I'm sure the rest of the floor wasn't too happy about it either. I had to get her outside, even if it were only for a moment. Glancing at the window, I decided I would risk it.

"Alright, Junior, if that's what you want," I muttered.

I grabbed her jacket as well as her boots. She seemed happier once I began to dress her, as if she realized exactly what we were doing. Her grin showed her three teeth that were only just beginning to come in to the back of her mouth.

"Melly!" she shouted in her tiny voice.

I chuckled, "Love you too, Junior."

Once she was dressed, I slipped on my boots and we began to head towards the lift. Three police officers were lined in front of the copper doors. It was difficult to know whether they were there to keep people from coming in, or to keep us from going out.

"Sorry, Ma'am, nobody is allowed to leave," the tallest police officer said whenever I tried to step past them.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Chap, have you heard the wails coming from down the hall?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"That was this baby," I gestured to Vera, "She's got a touch of the deadly Cabin Fever and, if I don't get her outside, she will keep screaming."

Vera sniffled as if accentuating my point. I gestured to her, looking at the officer with a mixed glare of pleading and threatening. The officer glanced between us, un phased, and shook his head, "I'm sorry, we are on strict orders not to let anybody on or off of this floor."

"Sir, I must-"

"You will stay here," he ordered, "Return to your room."

His voice had turned from pleasant to strict, like a stern schoolteacher. I glared at him and huffed before spinning on my heel and stomping down the hall. All the while, muttering under my breath several obscenities that would make any old lady gasp.

I've seen security measures, but none as heavy as this. They were treating us like prisoners rather than performers, it was ridiculous! All because The Beatles had a few crazy fans, they were never allowed to see the sun.

I took Vera to Paul and John's room. She wouldn't be happy if I took her back to our room, she needed a change of scenery, any change of scenery. I couldn't blame the kid, I was beginning to feel cooped up as well. It seemed as if you couldn't have a tour without a healthy dose of cabin fever.

The door opened just a few seconds after I knocked. John stood there with his shirt buttoned crooked and his tie halfway done. He glanced at me and lifted an eyebrow, "It's you who's been screaming?"

"Course not," I replied, "Was Vera."

"There's a difference?"

He grinned cheekily, causing me to roll my eyes. I stepped past him and into the Lennon-McCartney room. Once again, they had a full house stuffed into their hotel room. The bedroom was sectioned off from the living room and tiny kitchen. They even had their own table next to the window. I set Vera down on the floor and turned to John, "The security measures are daft!"

"You're tellin' me," he replied, "Won't even let us look out the windows."

Paul appeared from the other room, straightening his tie, "What's this?"

"We're complaining about the security measures."

"Bloody rubbish, if you ask me," Paul said.

He took to tying John's tie while John straightened his shirt. Both lads looked frazzled but managed to keep their heads on straight. This tour was already off to a bad start. I had hopes it would get better once we reached America, but luck didn't seem to be with us.

"Eppy said it's for our own safety. I'd rather get shot than live like animals," John huffed.

Paul shook his head, "Don't say that, Johnny. We're better off alive."

"And be treated like shit? Come off it, Macca."

Paul sighed. I crossed my arms and said, "Neither option is good."

"Exactly," John replied, "We're either dead or treated like circus animals. Rubbish!"

He threw up his arms making Paul take a step back. Paul ran a hand down his face and sighed. His eyes landed on Vera and he smiled. I watched as he knelt next to the baby and began to play peek-a-boo.

"At least she's not screamin' anymore," I said.

John nodded, "Was given me a headache."

"You weren't the one holding her."

John laughed. Brian opened the door a few moments later. As each day rolled by, he became more of a wreck. It seemed as if he had forgotten how to comb his hair. His suits were usually always pressed to perfection without a single wrinkle in sight. Now, it would be more difficult to find a place without a wrinkle. He even wore two different socks.

"Good, you're ready," he said as soon as his eyes landed on Paul and John, "Come, it's time to go to the venue."

John grinned, "Rough night, Eppy? You look a state."

"Aw, lay off, John. Give the poor chap a break," Paul replied.

"He ought to feel pleased with himself, Macca."

"John!"

John laughed as he passed by the flustered Brian. Paul patted his shoulder apologetically before following his mate down the hall. I picked up Vera and followed close behind, offering Brian a kind smile as we passed.

George and Ringo were waiting at the lift. We all got in with the three police officers that had stopped me earlier. I offered them a cheeky grin, I had gotten out after all. The tallest simply rolled his eyes.

As soon as the doors opened, we were met with Beatlemania. Thousands of fans lined the pavement outside just waiting to get a glimpse of their idols. Those closest to the front hoped for a touch. Police officers outside pushed the fans to the side to clear a path from the door to the waiting car outside. Neil and Mal were there, waiting at the open car door.

All at once, the lads rushed out. The three police officers came right behind them as they hurried through. They rushed into the car, only offering a few waves to be kind to their fans.

I held Vera close to my chest as we plunged through the crowd. She buried her face in my chest and trembled. This wasn't an environment suitable for a baby, but I had no other choice. We were already here.

Just as I was a meter from the car, all of the lads and Brian had gotten in. To the officers, their mission was complete. One of the officers slammed the door and the car sped off. I could almost hear Paul shouting for me and telling the driver to turn back.

"What the bloody hell?!" I shouted, "What about me?"

The officer sneered, "Are you a Beatle?"

"Course not, do I look like a bloody-"

"Then, you are not permitted into the car," the officer replied, "Beatles and their entourage only."

"I'm a part of the entourage, you galoot!"

The officer glared at me, "I suggest you get back inside."

The fans were beginning to get past the officers, or the officers were letting them. Giving the policeman I was talking to one last glare, I hurried into the hotel. As soon as the door was shut, the fans were free.

I shuffled back into the lift and sighed deeply. There were two options left, either I call a cab to take me to the venue or I wait for the lads to get back. I already had enough of that hotel, so I decided for the first option. Especially whenever Vera began to sniffle.

"Aw, down worry, Junior," I smiled, "We'll get out, promise. Wanna go see Uncle Paulie, Uncle Johnny, Uncle Georgie, and Uncle Ringo play?"

Vera glanced up at me and smiled. I took that as a yes. Whenever we arrived on our floor, I went to my room and picked up the phone. The number for the cab company was written in a book by the phone. On one side, it was in Japanese. The English translation was on the opposite side. I quickly called a cab and went downstairs to wait.

The cab rolled up in the alley behind the hotel to avoid the fans. I quickly went through the kitchen and out the back door, by the dumpsters. The smell was a small price to pay for the safety from the fans. Quickly, I slid into the back, still holding Vera close to my chest.

"Could you take us to Budokan Hall?" I asked.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and lifted an eyebrow, "You want to go there?"

"Yes, didn't you hear me?"

"Alright," he replied, "I guess you're here to see that pop group playing there, aren't you?"

"You could say that," I answered.

He shook his head, "It's not right, if you ask me, having a Western pop music group play in such a sacred place."

"Sacred?"

"Yes, sacred, didn't you hear me?" he glared at me through the mirror, "Budokan Hall is a sacred martial arts venue, not a pop music hall."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. I decided it was better not to say anything more about it. The rest of the ride was taken in total silence, which I was grateful for. The last thing I needed was for this man to figure out my connection to the so called 'pop group' he despised.

Whenever the cab rolled up to the hall, I asked the driver to go around the back. Reluctantly, he did, only whenever I offered an extra twenty pounds. I paid him and quickly slid out to his obscene grumbles. He drove away, leaving Vera and me at the back door of the hall.

Two security officers stood at attention on either side of the door. I stepped forward and smiled at both of them, "Good evening, Gentlemen."

I tried to go through the door, but they both stepped in front of it. One of them glared down at me, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Inside of the hall," I replied, "Look, I've had a shitty day and I would really like it if you just let me pass. I'm Amelia McCartney, Paul McCartney's sister. He's probably worried about me."

"A likely story. Go around front and stand with all the other fans."

I sneered, "I will do no such thing. Do you honestly not recognize me?"

The officers exchanged glances. Vera began to sniffle and huff like she was about to burst into tears. I was at the edge of my rope, any tiny tap and I could be spent into a spiral. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Fine, if you don't believe me, go get Brian Epstein. He'll tell you."

One of the officers nodded. The other vanished into the hall, presumably to find Brian. While we waited, I glared at the remaining officer. The two of us had a stare down until the door opened once again.

"Amelia, thank God, we were all worried," Brian said as soon as he saw me.

I frowned, "You wouldn't be if the bloody officer would have let me in!"

I stepped into the hall, sending a cheeky glare to the officers. They simply looked ahead. Brian led me through the halls as he said, "I am sorry, we all tried to get the driver to stop."

"It's not your fault, Bri," I replied, "The security is bloody nuts!"

Brian nodded, "I know, but it's necessary."

"Is it?"

Brian didn't reply. He led me to the dressing room where all four lads were. They were getting ready, putting on their classic collarless jackets and tuning their guitars. Whenever the door opened, Paul released a deep sigh of relief, "Lia, you're alright."

"As I can be," I replied, "They wouldn't even let me into the building!"

"Did they not recognize you?" Ringo asked.

"Apparently not, thought I was a bloody fan."

John cackled, "You always say you're our number one fan, Mel."

"That's different and you know it."

Paul placed an arm around my shoulders and smiled, "I'm just glad you're alright."

I only nodded. Brian clapped his hands together and said, "Alright, boys, it's time."

"Already?" John asked.

"Yes, come along."

Paul winked at me before following Brian out. John, George, and Ringo weren't too far behind, all carrying guitars or drumsticks. I held Vera close to my chest and stepped out with intentions of going to find a seat near the stage. At the last venue, there was a row of seats arranged for The Beatles' entourage, including me. This time, there was nothing.

I intended to find a crate or amp to sit on backstage where I could hear the lads, but that turned out not to be. Just as I was walking behind the curtain listening as the lads started their first number, I was met with a stagehand flanked by two security guards. It seemed as if security guards were everywhere. They were just like roaches, you get rid of one and three more appear.

"You can't be here," one said.

I rolled my eyes, "Alright, that's it, I've had it. Do you not know who I am?"

"Yes, you're Amelia McCartney," the officer replied, "It's dangerous to be here."

"It's- what?"

The officer grabbed my elbow and began to guide me back to the dressing room. I tried to argue, but he wouldn't listen. I was practically pushed into the dressing room and the door slammed behind me.

"What the bloody fuck?" I asked.

"You too, huh?"

Mal, Neil, Brian, and Moxie were all sitting in the dressing room. I spun around to face them and said, "This is bloody ridiculous!"

"It is necessary," Brian replied.

I fell to sit on one of the amps in the corner. Vera wiggled in my arms in an effort to turn around. Moxie smiled at the baby once she was sitting straight forward. I gladly let Moxie take Vera from me so I could have a moment to breath. Vera began to play with Moxie's buttons, completely oblivious to the situation plaguing the rest of us. 

"Is the entire tour going to be like this?" I asked.

Brian sighed, "The security must be as tight as possible, though I do hope they will learn to treat us better."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes," Mal replied.

I sighed deeply, "Of course it is. Change of scenery my arse."


	163. In Which Miscommunication Gets Us Again

None of us had ever been to The Philippines before. It was the first non-democratic country The Beatles had ever toured in, and it would also be the last. The Philippines was not a scary country, nor did they do anything wrong. What happened was a miscommunication, a manager on edge because of a musician's offhand comment, and a group of people who had never know anything beyond the western idea of a non-democratic country. 

"Can you say Paulie?" Paul asked.

He had Vera sitting in his lap. The little girl was grinning up at him, moving her lips as if copying his motions but no sound came out. I sat across from them and watched in amusement.

Paul was determined to get Vera to say his name before any of the other lads. She already said Beebles, which was as close to Beatles as she was going to get for the time being. Paul saw himself as her one true Uncle, since I had adopted her as my daughter, and he wanted to be the first Uncle she called. I think the main reason why he wanted to be the first was so John wouldn't be. They always had that friendly rivalry where they had to constantly one-up each other. 

"She's not going to do it," I told him, "She'll only do it on her own."

Paul grinned at me, "Doesn't hurt to give her a bit of encouragement."

"Macca just wants to be first," John fell to sit next to me.

He grinned at Paul. Paul rolled his eyes, "I just want her to know who I am."

"She does," I replied, "Uncle Beebles, remember?"

"Uncle Beebles!" Vera exclaimed.

"Say, maybe she wants to say Uncle Johnny first," John commented.

"Or Uncle George."

George and Ringo were sitting in the seats in front of us. They turned to kneel on the seats and gaze over at us whenever they heard us chatting. I glanced up at them and chuckled. Ringo had a biscuit half hanging out of his mouth while George had a pen behind his ear.

"Could say Uncle Ringo," Ringo said, "How about it, Vera? Uncle Ringo?"

"Uncle Beebles," Vera giggled.

John grinned, "Yeah, yeah, we're all Uncle Beebles. How about an Uncle Johnny, yeah? C'mon, kiddo."

"Uncle Paulie," Paul coaxed.

"Uncle Georgie," George added, "I'll give you a chocolate."

I shook my head. Vera was glancing between the lads, seeming slightly overwhelmed with their coaxes. They were all talking at once, it was too much for the kid to handle. Her lip began to tremble until she saw Brian walking down the aisle.

"Bri-ban!" she shouted.

Brian stopped dead in his tracks and glanced at Vera, "What was that?"

"Toldja," I chuckled, "She's got a mind of her own, that one."

Paul sulked as John bellowed in laughter. He gently ruffled Vera's hair and said, "Aw, you'll come around."

"Melly mummy!" Vera exclaimed.

She wiggled her tiny hands in my direction. Paul handed her to me, allowing her to quickly burrow into my shirt. She shut her eyes and yawned widely.

"You only like me cause I'm comfy," I chuckled.

John placed his head on my shoulder, "I can vouch for that."

"Get off, you big baby."

John laughed as I pushed him off. Ringo, still kneeling over the chair, grabbed his camera and snapped a photo of Vera as she was falling asleep. He smiled, "She looks more like Molly everyday."

I glanced down at Vera and smiled. Her head was completely covered in long, blonde, hair. It would be time for her first haircut whenever we got home, an event which I had to have video of. If she was anything like Molly, she would absolutely despise haircuts for reasons I still don't understand.

"The plane is about to land," Brian informed us, "As soon as it does, be ready to disembark. We're already behind schedule as is."

John chuckled, "Calm down, Eppy, it'll all be alright."

"Yeah, it'll be fine," Paul replied.

George and Ringo sat back down in their seats just as the plane began to descend. Vera didn't wake up, not even when her ears popped. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for it all to be over.

No matter how many times I fly in a plane, I will never get used to it. The ascent and descent were the problems, as well as any turbulence along the way. I could handle steady flying, it was just like riding in a car so long as I didn't look out the window. The feeling of losing gravity whenever the plane was changing altitude always sent me into a panic attack. It felt unnatural, thus my body felt the need to defend itself.

Whenever the plane landed, I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. Paul stood and grabbed his bag as well as Vera's baby bag. Applebaum was sticking out of the top. She could never go anywhere without him or else we would risk her wailing uncontrollably. I had learned that lesson the hard way.

I covered Vera in her blanket and held her tightly as we exited the plane. After so many times of arriving in the next touring spot, we all knew what to expect. We had grown accustomed to being greeted with screams and policemen. Whenever we arrived in The Philippines, however, things were different.

There were no fans lining the tarmac. Not a single person stood around with large eyes just waiting to catch a glimpse of The Beatles. Instead, we were met with lines of military men. They all stood in perfect lines with matching uniforms and helmets. All of us gazed at them with confusion. It wasn't the sort of welcome we were used to, especially when the military men didn't say a single word.

"What's all this then?" John asked nobody in particular. 

One of the soldiers marched up to us and saluted, "Welcome to The Philippines, Beatles and entourage. We must run security on your bags and your person."

"Security?" Paul asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It is nothing to worry about, please, come with me."

The soldier beckoned us forward. Hesitantly, we began to follow, with Brian staying behind to speak to another soldier. None of us understood what was happening, and that was what made it scary. It wasn't what we were used to nor what we expected. Nobody was telling anybody else anything, leaving us completely in the dark while we were led to a mysterious location. 

"What the bloody fuck was that?" John asked.

George furrowed his eyebrows, "We've never needed a security check before."

"It's not a democratic state," Paul said, "At least, that's what Eppy said."

"It's a dictatorship, it is," I answered.

John glanced at me, "How'd you know?"

"Read it in a book."

"That's not good, is it?" Ringo asked, "We've got democratic rights, don't we?"

"Not here, son," John shook his head.

Paul and George exchanged glances. I looked out the window, watching as the tarmac vanished. I could barely see the forms of three men standing with a pile of suitcase and concert gear. One seemed to be talking with the military men. I didn't have to see his face to know that was Brian.

"Lads," I muttered, "How-how come they're not following us?"

I pointed out the window to the shrinking forms of Brian, Neil, Moxie, and Mal. John, Paul, George, and Ringo all turned to watch their manager, his assistant, road manager, and roadie vanish from view. A look of obvious fear crossed Paul's face but he quickly hid it behind fake calm, "There's probably another car or somethin' coming for them."

"That's gotta be it, Macca," John agreed, "They're comin', they've gotta be."

George, Ringo, and I all exchanged glances. Ringo and I had difficulties hiding our emotions, our fear was written all over our faces just like it always was. George was the best at hiding his emotions, but even he couldn't hide the fear showing in his eyes.

This wasn't at all what we were used to. Sure, we had cops always shoving us around and treating us like circus animals, but this was completely different. The people directing us seemed to be more military than the police, but we were used to the western distinction between the two. Before then, we had never had a security check in all our years of touring. 

"What the bloody hell did they mean by security check?" I muttered. 

"Bollocks," John whispered, "Macca-"

Paul gasped, "The grass."

"The what?" I asked. 

Paul, John, George, and Ringo all glanced at each other sheepishly. I watch them exchange guilty looks, all the while being left in the dark as to what they meant. It was well known that The Beatles used drugs, even if the population wouldn't acknowledge it, they knew. Before then, I had only ever heard the term 'grass' once and it took a moment for it to dawn on me what they meant.

"You didn't," I whisper-yelled, "You gits smoked pot on the plane?!"

"It's not like we haven't done it before! We didn't expect this level of security," John scoffed. 

I flung my hands in the air, "You should have, you gits!"

"Sod off, Melly."

"You're the ones who got us into this, laddies."

Paul rubbed the back of his neck as John fell back in his seat dramatically, crossing his arms and sneering. George and Ringo kept glancing at each other and back at their bandmates. Something told me they weren't the ones who snuck the drugs into the country, they weren't the sort to do that. John Lennon and Paul McCartney, however, definitely were. 

Our car pulled up to a dock where a ship was waiting for us. Only a few military-looking people stood around and none of them had guns of any sort. When the car pulled up, a few came over and opened the back door. 

"What this all about?" John asked.

He was the first one out. As soon as he was standing straight up, one of the soldiers gestured him forward. At first, he was very reluctant to go. John Lennon was nothing if not stubborn, and, if he didn't know what was happening, he bound to put up some sort of fight. Two soldiers had to gently coax him to the boat, but John made it look like they were holding him against his will.

Paul didn't hesitate in jumping out to follow John. He was much easier to coax forward than John, he marched straight to the boat. The officers struggled to keep up with him as he did. 

Miscommunication was what caused wars and terror more than anything else. Because we didn't know what was happening, we were afraid, and we assumed the worst. There was no real threat, but we didn't know that. Human brains naturally jumped to the worst conclusion, especially when they were left in the dark.

"Ringo-?" George began, but couldn't find the next words.

Ringo gulped, "It'll be fine. We've got to listen to them."

Bravely, he stepped out. The officers followed him to the boat as well, guiding him to the door that blended in with the wall. George and I watched as he vanished into the boat.

"Georgie?" I whispered. 

"It'll be alright," he took a deep breath, "It'll be alright."

George was next. Slowly, he stepped out, and, once again, he was guided to the boat. The officers never once touched any of us, they simply escorted us from one place to another. We didn't know it at the time, but they were escorting us to protect us because Beatlemania was just as prevalent in The Philippines as it was everywhere else. 

Cold fear gripped every part of my body. A thousand explanations ran through my mind, none of them good. My only option was to follow my mates into the boat, but I was too scared to do so. Perhaps the worst fear of all was when you didn't know what was happening because your brain was left to fill in the blanks. 

I was the last to step out. The officers shut the door behind me and followed me as I slowly made my way to the boat. Vera hung off my hip, smiling at the soldiers and babbling at them in her own little language. 

The officers led Vera and me to the boat. The door was a small white hole in a wall where everything was similar. If you weren't looking for it, you could never find it. One officer offered me his hand as I stepped up into the boat. Once I was inside, they shut the door behind me. 

Another officer was standing in the hallway. He gestured for me to follow him, and I obeyed, silently plodding behind him as he weaved through the boat. He led me down to a small room located near the bottom of the boat. It seemed more like a closet than a room, but, by the looks of the boat, most rooms were like that. He opened the door for me and gestured for me to step inside. 

The inside was outfitted with new furniture and a full refrigerator. The chairs were cushioned, there was a small bed in the corner, and paintings hung off the wall to give the room a more homely feel. It felt like any hotel would, the only difference being the floor moving with the waves. Had I not been terrified, I might have felt right at home.

The boat pushed off from the dock. I watched through the porthole as the land went further and further away. The further from land we went, the more terrified I became.

Nobody had told me why we were on that boat, there was no logical explanation. All I could think of was it had something to do with the drugs John and Paul illegally smuggled. That didn't explain why we were on a boat, however. The hotel we were staying at and the venue The Beatles were performing in was all inland, but, here we were, adrift in the ocean. It all seemed like something straight out of a horror movie.

After land had gotten several kilometers away, I decided to find the lads. Perhaps they knew what was going on. At the very least, I wouldn't be alone. I was absolutely terrified of what would happen next. Part of me was sure they were going to make us walk the plank or feed us to the sharks. I shook it off and told myself to think logically, but it was hard to keep my mind from running off with me. 

To my great relief, the door was unlocked when I tried it. I stepped out into the hall to find there were no officers guarding it. The boat seemed to be deserted. At first, I was confused, then I realized we had nowhere to go. Why would we need guards if there was nowhere we could escape to?

Covering Vera in her blanket, I silently shuffled through the halls. I peered around every corner before turning and through every door before entering. I'm not sure what I was looking out for, but I was always on guard. My fight or flight had been triggered and I wasn't sure where to fly too. 

I made it to the top deck. Saltwater splashed over the sides and the air stunk of fish. It reminded me a bit of Liverpool, the thought was a tiny bit comforting. I took a deep breath of the fish air and pretended I was back home, not trapped on some boat in the middle of an unknown country.

The entire deck was empty. There wasn't a single officer or Beatle in sight. I didn't even see The Captain, though I expected he was locked away in the little shack at the back of the boat. I stood at the very front, right near the figurehead. From there, I could see the outline of the Philippine coast and the land we were supposed to be standing on.

"Lia!"

I heard rushed footsteps hurrying down the desk. Spinning around, I saw John and Paul pushing past a bunch of hanging ropes. Releasing a deep sigh of relief, I rushed to meet them.

"Paul! John! You're alright!" I exclaimed.

Paul instantly wrapped his arms around me. I hugged back, feeling a momentary rush of relief as two of my friends were proven to be alive and well. John placed a hand on my shoulder as if assuring himself that I was there.

"I want to know what the bloody fuck is going on," John grumbled.

A dark cloud covered his face. His eyes had turned to stone just like they always did when he was angry. An angry John Lennon was not something to be trifled with, especially when he was so angry he went silent. He wasn't shouting or screaming like he usually does, instead, he had fallen into stone cold anger. Even Paul was a bit hesitant to speak to him.

"We're alright, that's what matters," Paul replied, "Any sign of George or Ringo?"

I shook my head, "The entire boat seems deserted."

"Put us in a fucking broom closet," John scoffed, "Bunch of bloody-"

"John, please, don't be daft," Paul chided, "Just because we don't understand what's happening doesn't mean we can just start calling people names."

"It'd make me feel better."

"Don't be an arse, John."

John opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it. Gripping onto Paul's shirt, I asked, "Why a boat?"

"I don't know," Paul frowned, "Perhaps The Philippines has different customs than us?"

"Naturally, think the boat's a part of it?"

"Maybe? Let's just find George and Ringo, yeah?"

I nodded enthusiastically. Paul led the way as we descended back into the bowels of the boat. It wasn't a large boat, only a few rooms and closets scattered about. We walked into what I presumed was the storage room to find George and Ringo lying on their stomachs on the top of a large crate. From there, they could look out of a porthole to see land slowly disappearing from view.

"George! Ringo! What're you lads doin' up there?" Paul called.

George glanced over his shoulder, "Watchin' the land vanish."

"Shouldn't we be on that land?" Ringo asked, "Not watching it fade away?"

"Yeah, yeah we should," Paul answered.

Paul and I both sat down on a crate. George and Ringo stayed on theirs, only turning to face us. John began to pace the empty floor in front of us. He played with his lip as he paced, mumbling incoherently under his breath.

"Uncle Beebles?" Vera glanced around innocently.

She didn't show a lick of fear. She kept looking around the room with her usual bright eyes and intense curiosity. Nothing about this seemed scary to her. She didn't have the same confusion as us, to her, this was just one big adventure. I smiled down at her, "It's alright, Vera, you're alright."

I kissed her forehead and pulled her to my chest. Paul placed a hand on her back and sighed, "We've got to figure out why we're here."

"It makes no sense," George replied, "We're playin' inland, why'd they take us on a boat?"

"That's just the question."

Ringo gasped, "Are they gonna make us walk the plank?!"

"They don't have a bloody plank, Ringo," John spat, "This has to be some political move. Maybe they've got beef with The Queen or somethin'."

"Why would they take it out on us?" George asked.

John shrugged, "Do I look like The Queen? Or whoever runs this bloody country?!"

"I think he's The President," I muttered.

John glared at me. Paul held up his hands to call for silence, "We're all scared, alright? Let's just take a deep breath, gettin' angry won't make things any better."

We all knew he was talking to John, but we obeyed anyways. I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, shoving out all of my worries as well. John didn't stop pacing despite Paul's best efforts.

"I'm sure they won't hurt us," I spoke, "You four have a show tonight, they wouldn't kill you before that."

John huffed, "You're not helping."

"I can try!"

"Deep breaths!" Paul exclaimed.

I sucked in a deep breath but found it difficult to exhale. The fear nearly closed my airways. I managed to release a shaky breath.

Vera glanced up at me with confusion. As time passed by, she began to feel the confusion and fear the rest of us felt. All I wanted was to get her off of that boat and back to England where she would be safe, but that was impossible.

"We have to remain calm, panicking won't do anything," Paul said.

John flung up his arms, "What else do you expect us to do, Macca? Have a tea party?"

"No, I expect you to take a deep breath and try to think about this logically."

"I am thinking logically," John spat, "I logically think that they herded us onto this boat like a bunch of mules and now we're trapped. What else is there to think about?!"

Paul glared at him. The boat rocked, nearly sending all of us flying. I gripped Vera with on arm and the crate with the other, all the while clenching my eyes shut and wishing this was all a dream.

"There is one thing we can do," George suggested.

John spun around to face him, "And what's that?"

"Wait and see what happens."

The six of us decided it was safest to stay in that cargo room for the remainder of the trip. The waves had gotten worse and the boat kept rocking dangerously. Being up on deck would only serve to make us sea sick. As is, down below, I was already on the verge of vomiting. I rested my forehead on Paul's shoulder and groaned, "Remember when I said I'd rather take a boat to a plane?"

"Yeah?" he replied.

"I take it back, I hate them both."

Paul offered a weak chuckle. We were all too terrified to do much more than that. After several hours of being trapped on a boat without any reason why, we had come up with a few of our own. Each one seemed worse than the last until we were sure we would never see land again, or, at least, we would never see England again.

Finally, the door to the cargo room swung open after we had been there for what seem like years. Several officers came in following an older man in a jacket decorated with medals. It was obvious that he was a man of stature, perhaps a colonel or a general. The soldiers marched in and surrounded us.

"What's going on?" John demanded, getting into the face of one of the nearest soldiers.

The general said something in a language I didn't know, but I presumed was Filipino. A few of the officers stepped forward and began to gently usher the lads forward. They rested their hands on each lads shoulders and began to escort them upstairs. The lads followed, seeming confused but more than willing to get off that boat. I jumped up and tried to follow but two officers stuck their arms out to stop me.

"Let me go," I felt my fear grow, "Let me- Paul!"

Paul glanced behind him, "Lia?!"

"Paul, they won't let me-"

"Lia!"

He was taken out of the room and the door was shut behind him. The two soldiers that held me back dropped their arms and took a step back. Had I not been focusing on my fear, I would have seen the relaxed expressions on their face and the worry in their eyes. They were not there to hurt us, but neither of us could express that to the other. Through my body language alone, they could tell I was scared, and that was where the worry came from. One of the officers, the same one who spoke to us earlier, stepped towards me. He stared at me for a moment before asking, "English?"

"Yes, yes, I speak English," I replied, "Please, can you tell me what's going on?"

The soldier translated this in his head. For a moment, he blinked before finally saying, "We are running a security check. The Beatles will be taken to their hotel for further security checks, you must remain here for a little while longer."

"What? Why? Why can't I go with my brother?" I asked.

The soldier shook his head, "We are clearing The Beatles entourage one at a time, you are last on the list, I apologize."

"Where is everyone else?"

"They are still at the airport being cleared," the officer explained, "You were supposed to be with them, only The Beatles were supposed to come here."

I furrowed my eyebrows. When we had gotten into the car, I was subconsciously hiding behind Paul. They must have missed me getting into the car. The soldier smiled at me, "Do not be afraid, we are not going to hurt you. We only wish to keep our country safe. Remain here until we return for you."

The officer left with the rest of his team following. I watched them go, still rooted to the spot they had left me. Confusion still plagued my senses, but what the officer said made sense. Going from a democratic country to a non-democratic country did require a certain level of security checks, but that didn't mean it was dangerous. Our fear came from confusion and that was the blindest fear of all. 

Vera began to cry and tug at the hem of my shirt. I cradled her, humming beneath my breath as I moved back to the crate. Sitting her in my lap, I did my best to smile, "Oh, don't cry, Vera. It's alright."

"Where Uncle Beebles go?" she sniffed.

I wiped a tear from her cheek, "To the hotel, but don't worry, we'll be there soon too. They'll come back for us soon. They will."

"Applebaum?"

I glanced around, mentally cursing when I realized Paul had her baby bag. Applebaum was in there as was her food and her change of diapers. We wouldn't last long without it, especially if she got hungry or had to go potty.

"Applebaum's with Uncle Paulie," I replied, "Don't worry, he'll be alright, Uncle Paulie will take good care of him, I promise."

Vera glanced at her hands, "Uncle Paulie."

"That's right, Uncle Paulie," I smiled, "He's gonna have a fit when he hears you said that while he wasn't around."

Vera giggled, "Uncle Paulie has a fit!"

"Exactly."

The two of us laughed. I shivered slightly, only then realizing how cold the cargo room was. Vera was practically an ice cube. I wrapped her blanket around her and held her closely.

The boat was docked, I could see it outside of the porthole. There were a few officers standing around the dock but there was no sign of the lads. All I wanted was to see my brother and my friends again. While I understood slightly more, I was still afraid and I didn't want to be alone. 

After a few hours of Vera and I being trapped in the cargo room, the door opened. The same English speaking soldier came in with two more officers following him. He approached me and nodded, "We ran our security checks, and you have been cleared."

"And the lads?" I asked. 

"Safe in the hotel," the officer responded, "Our security officers had to confiscate four illegal packages brought over our borders. The Beatles have been cleared to play tonight, and I am here to escort you to the hotel where you will be staying."

I was still nervous, but they had given me no reason not to believe them. Slowly, I stood up and followed the soldier towards the boat's exit. There was a ramp going off the edge of the deck and ending at the dock.

The officers had abandoned the dock, the only remaining officers being those following me and those in the car ahead. The English speaking soldier led me to a car at the end of the dock. I was faced with a Jeep without any doors, windows, roof, or seatbelts. The two front seats were occupied while the backseats were free. The driver spoke rushed Filipino to the English speaking soldier who nodded.

"In, get in," he gestured to the backseat, "My officers will escort you to your hotel."

I lifted an eyebrow, "There's no roof or doors?"

"It is safe, get in please."

I pursed my lips and climbed into the back of the Jeep. The two soldiers in the front of the car waited until I buckled my seatbelt to start the car. As soon as we started driving, the wind picked up and began to bite against my skin. The officers were used to this, but Vera and I had never witnessed anything like this. I held her close to my chest and did my best to shield her from the wind as much as I possibly could. 

By the time the Jeep slowed down, my skin was burning from the bite of the wind. My hair had been twisted and turned in every possible direction, it would be nearly impossible to brush out. I was shaking, though I wasn't sure if it was out of fear or exhaustion, possibly a combination of them both. Even Vera was trembling, her usually pale skin turned light pink from what little wind got to her.

The officers said something and I wished I had a translator. They gestured for me to get out, both standing on either side of the door. I held Vera's shivering body close to my chest as I slowly stepped out. The wind had beat me half to death as we drove, and I found it hard to move through all the shivering. The Philippines was a tropical country and the heat was enough to kill if you weren't smart. Through a combination of exhausting heat and wind slamming us in every direction, Vera and I had lost all energy. I felt like I was going to fall over. Both of us shook out of exhaustion as we climbed out of the Jeep. The officer standing closest to me looked at me worriedly. He said something to his partner and they began to hurry me inside. 

I slowly walked into the hotel and towards the lift. They kept speaking, though I couldn't understand what they said. Their hands were on my shoulders guiding me towards the lift in the hotel. As soon as we stepped through the door, a wave of warmth washed over me, but I couldn't feel it through the numbness leftover from the harsh wind.

They led me to the lift and gently helped me step inside. Once I was in, they saluted to me and hit the button for the floor The Beatles were staying on. I watched their faces disappear as the doors shut. 

"B-bloody hell-ell," I stuttered, glancing down at the baby in my arms, "You-you're alright, y-y-yeah? You're alri-ri-right."

Both of us were shaking strong enough to start an earthquake. Vera was whimpering slightly, I assumed she was much too exhausted to cry for real. I swear the entire lift began to shake right along with us. Cuddling Vera closer, I did my best to calm her down. 

The halls on the top floor of the hotel were completely empty. I stood at the open doors to the lift for a moment, just staring at the floor trying to comprehend what was happening. Vera was still shaking and had begun to cry a little bit louder. I held her tightly and whispered, "Shush, Vera. It's-it's alright."

The only sound was several muffled voices at the end of the hall. I slowly made my way in that direction, hoping that it was the lads. All I wanted was a comforting hug, and I knew for a fact there was a group hug waiting for me wherever they were. Just as I reached the door, I reached out and hesitated. I wasn't sure if I hesitated out of fear or if my mind just couldn't focus. The events of today happened so fast, I wasn't sure where I had left my mind in the thick of it all. 

I wasn't given the option of knocking. Just as I curled my fingers into a fist, the door flung open. Mal stood there with wide eyes and beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. As soon as he saw me, he breathed a sigh of relief, "Amelia, thank God!"

"Lia!"

Paul's voice jerked me out of my shock. I looked past Mal to see Paul, John, George, Ringo, Brian, Moxie, and Neil all scattered around the room. Paul leaped up from his armchair and was hurrying towards me. I smiled gently as Paul rushed up to hug me.

"P-Paul, la-lads, you're alright-t-t!" I exclaimed.

Paul wrapped me in a protective hug, "We didn't know what they did with you. Lia, I was so worried."

"I thought they threw you in the ocean."

"That's what we thought too," John came up behind Paul, "Brought us here, they did. We've been here ever since."

"We were all worried about you, Mel," Ringo said.

They all looked slightly more relaxed since I walked in, but not completely. All of us were still terrified of what was to come next. This could easily be one step in the grand plan, anything could happen. The anxiety was enough torture as it, let alone whatever they had planned.

"They left Ve-Vera and me in the cargo r-r-room," I explained, "We were there for a f-f-few hours, I think, I dunno. O-one of them said they were running s-s-security ch-checks, which seemed alright. Th-th-th-they took us to a Jeep and escorted us b-back here. Bloody Hell, it was so hot."

I was still shivering. Paul gasped, "Bloody hell, Lia, you're absolutely soaked."

"The-the-the bleeding Jeep didn't have a-a roof. The-the wind was h-hot and beat u-u-us half to d-death."

Paul wrapped his arms around me in an effort to hold me up. My knees were slowly giving out as I felt like I was going to fall over. I barely noticed when Moxie ran off to find a cup of water and a cool towel. The rest of the lads all crowded around us, joining the hug one at a time. I could feel when George and Ringo latched onto either side of me, and even when Paul pulled John in. Vera and I both sighed in comfort from the homeyness of the lads. 

When Moxie returned with water and cold towels, the lads let go, all except for Paul. He stood close and took Vera from me so I could drink water. He made sure she got enough water from her sippy cup and a cool towel pressed to her forehead. Through all of this, Paul kept a hand on my shoulder. Even as we stood there, gulping down water and wiping our foreheads with the towels, Paul kept his hands on my shoulders as if he were afraid we'd be separated again. 

"Those bloody wankers!" John exclaimed, "What do they think they're doing?!"

Brian sighed, "John, please, calm down."

"I will not calm down, they practically beat Melly to death!"

"It-it wasn't their fault, John," I stuttered, "The Jeep didn't have-didn't have a roof, they-they didn't mean for us the-the wind to be so h-h-harsh."

John snorted, "They should've. You've got a baby with you, for Christ's sake!"

Brian sighed deeply. I could tell he was nervous, but I wasn't sure if it was about the same things we were. All of us were on edge since John's Jesus comment, and I think that's one of the reasons we were so sure everyone was out to get us. So far, the Philippine government hadn't given us any reason to distrust them or make us think they were hurting us. We were all on edge this entire tour, no matter where we were, and the not knowing of it all just made us more terrified. 

"Please, John, take a deep breath," Brian held up his hands, "I will figure this out and we will get through this, until then, we must all remain calm."

John crossed his arms, "Calm my arse, I want some bloody answers!"

"John, for christ's sake, calm down!" I exclaimed, "They didn't do nothin' wrong, alright?"

"You call herding us onto a boat and moving us around like cattle 'nothing wrong'?"

"They treated us nice," Ringo added, "Didn't once push us around."

I crossed my arms, "Look, okay, we're not in England anymore, it's only natural that things are different. We can't go around calling everybody villains just because we don't understand what's happening or what they're doing."

"I'm not calling them the villains," John huffed. 

"Really? Cause it sounds like it," I replied, "They were just doing their job in keeping their country safe, John. They didn't hurt us."

"Yet."

"It's just a security check."

"Security check my arse."

"Well, maybe we wouldn't need a security check if you didn't smuggle drugs into the country!"

John shot me a glare as Brian gasped, "John, you didn't!"

"What?! Macca did it too!" John exclaimed. 

Paul flung up his hands, "John!"

"Alright, alright, that's enough," George stepped between us and held up his hands, "We're all scared and we're all a bit on edge. Yelling at each other and dwelling over what we don't know won't help matters in the slightest. Let's all take a deep breath and calm down."

John didn't have time to say anything else. At that moment, there was a knock on the door. All of us looked on with confused and worried expressions as the knocking became even louder. John, Paul, George, Ringo, and I all subconsciously moved closer together as Brian went to open the door.

Four officers stood there, including the one who had spoken to me earlier. He gave us a short nod before turning to Brian with a placid expression. The air became thick as I took a step closer to the lads. George grabbed my shoulder as Ringo held my elbow, Paul rested one hand on my shoulder and the other on John's arm. John stood in front of us all, ready to grab onto us and make sure we all stayed together.

"You are late for a function at The Presidential Palace," the soldier informed Brian, "The First Lady is displeased."

Brian lifted an eyebrow, "What function?"

"Mrs. Imelda Marcos has invited you to her dinner reception at the Presidential Palace tonight," the soldier barked.

The lads all exchanged glances. It was the first any of them had heard of a dinner reception. Brian gripped the door and offered a kind smile, "I apologize, I thought the function was tomorrow night."

"Hm," the officer looked him up and down, "I will inform the First Lady, but, be warned, we do not take kindly to people who treat our people the way you have."

We all glanced at each other in confusion. All any of us had seen were officers, we hadn't had time to see anybody else to treat them in any way. Without another word, the officer spun on his heel and walked towards the lift with the three other officers following him. Brian slowly shut the door and turned to face us.

"What's he on about?" Paul asked. 

Brian wrung his hands together, "I- er- accidentally ran into one of their singers, Pilita Corales, and knocked her off the stage."

"What'd you do that for?!" John exclaimed. 

"I didn't do it on purpose, John, obviously."

"Haven't we gotten on enough people's bad sides?" I muttered as I pinched the bridge of my nose. 

Perhaps our trip to the Philippines wouldn't be such a sour memory if things had just been different. John's Jesus comment followed us everywhere we went, and I had not forgotten when Brian voiced his worries about the lads being assassinated to me. Everyone was on edge, and any tiny little deviance from what we called the norm scared us. 

What happened in The Philippines wasn't bad, it was just simple security checks. The lads, as I later found out, fought against the officers when they had been taken back to the hotel and this put them in the negative light to the officers. This caused the lads to have an even more sour point of view to the whole trip when, in that instance, they had been in the wrong. 

In truth, our trip to the Philippines had only been tainted by miscommunication and a looming religious comment.


	164. Like A Thief In The Night

Whenever I do sleep, I find myself dreaming the same lucid dream each time. I'm sitting in the living room of the flat I once shared with Molly, but now share only with Vera. Each time, I'm sitting on the floor by the fireplace, our fireplace. We used to love to lie on the floor under a blanket by that fireplace and talk endlessly about things that didn't really matter. In my dream, we were doing exactly that. Her head was on my chest as we were wrapped in the same patchwork quilt we had for ages. It was our favorite quilt we owned.

"By golly, Miss Molly, how I love you so," I said.

She looked up at me and smiled, kissing my cheek. I couldn't feel it like I used to. A sad smile crossed my lips whenever she squeezed my hand under the blanket and I still couldn't feel it.

"Melly dear, I love you too," she replied.

I smiled at her, kissing her forehead and searching for the smell of strawberries. There was nothing. She looked up at me one more time, cupped my cheek and said, "Amelia, wake up."

"I don't want to," I replied.

"Amelia, wake up!"

My eyes shot open. The room was dark save for the light bleeding in from the hall. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. I registered a large hand on my shoulder. Panicking, I shoved it off before realizing Mal stood above me.

"Mal, Christ, you frightened me," I shook my head, "What's going on?"

"We've got to go."

"What-?" I glanced at the clock, "It's nearly three in the morning, what the bloody hell is going on?"

Mal shook his head, "Brian will explain on the way. Get your things, we have to go."

I was still confused, but I obeyed. Pushing the blankets off, I hurried to shove on my coat and stuff everything I had into my suitcase. Vera was still fast asleep in the bed next to me, snuggled up in her donut pillow. I grabbed her carrier and gently lifted her from the pillow. She groaned a little, but didn't wake up. I managed to get her in the carrier without waking her. Once I placed Applebaum in her arms, I was ready.

Mal and Neil were hurrying to get the luggage into the lift. Behind them, Brian was entering John and Paul's bedroom. Ringo and George came out of theirs, both still dressed in their pajamas with their coats and boots haphazardly shoved on. George was wide awake and ready to go, but Ringo was still half asleep. He was groggily putting on his coat and grumbling under his breath.

"Come on, into the lift, we haven't got much time," Brian said.

John and Paul appeared. They were both in wrinkled pajamas with the same haphazardly thrown on coat and boots. Paul was leaning heavily on John, he never was good in the mornings. John looked about ready to slap Brian. Neither of them were morning people.

"What the bloody fuck's going on?" John demanded.

We all stepped into the lift with Brian. I held Vera's carrier close, glancing at each of the lads individually. Brian clasped his hands together, his eyes red with worry, "We're leaving the country."

"I thought we still had another show?" George asked.

"It's been cancelled," Brian replied, "We're leaving and going straight to America."

I lifted an eyebrow, "I'm almost scared to ask why."

"I'm not. Why?" Ringo put in.

Brian glanced at all of us. Every wrinkle in his face held enough worry to fill the entire lift. Brian didn't have wrinkles when I first met him, he was too young. Those weren't natural wrinkles, they were stress wrinkles.

"I'll be honest, if we stay here, our very lives are in danger," Brian explained, "The country didn't take kindly to us 'snubbing' the First Lady, smuggling drugs into the country," Charles shot John and Paul a stern look, "and insulting their prized singer."

John snorted, "We didn't do none of that."

"Technically you did smuggle the drugs," I responded.

"I didn't know it was illegal!"

"John, you git."

"Sod off, Melly!"

"It was just a miscommunication," Paul yawned.

"The Filipino people don't see it that way," Charles muttered, "They came to my door earlier and told me the next show was canceled and we were ordered to leave."

I frowned, "Is there anyone in the world we haven't pissed off?"

"Amelia," Brian hissed, "We are walking on eggshells, boys, and I fear we may be in more trouble if we stay."

He was hiding something, I could tell. We were only getting the sugarcoated part of the story. As much as I wanted to know what was happening, I was terrified of it. I glanced down at Vera and shook my head, "Let's just get out of here."

The lift opened and we hurried towards the kitchen. Brian led us through the back doors and to a large, bullet-proof, car. There was nobody around, not even a single soldier.

Mal and Neil loaded all of our stuff in the back while we climbed into the seats. It was more like a transport van than a vehicle. There were only enough back seats for three of us. John, Paul, and George sat in the seats while Brian and the two roadies took the front. Ringo and I were left to sit on the floor in the very back of the van with the luggage.

Neil drove like a bat out of Hell. It would be a wonder if we made it to the airport alive, and then we still had to get past the security. Ringo and I sat close together with Vera's carrier in my lap as we rode. Every so often, Neil would take a particularly tight turn and Ringo and I would roll onto each other. Ringo ended up holding the back of the seat while I stuffed my legs under it. 

"Bloody hell, they won't have anything to worry about if Neil kills us first," I said.

Ringo furrowed his eyebrows, "We're missin' something here."

"What gave you that idea?" I asked, "The secrecy or the sugarcoating?"

"Both."

When we arrived at the airport, Neil slammed the brakes. Ringo and I were nearly squished with luggage. We quickly climbed out of the car only to be met with a large crowd of people.

"What the-" John muttered, "It's three in the bloody morning, what are these blokes doin' here?!"

Brian sighed, "A farewell party."

"Did they tell the whole country we were leaving?" Paul whispered.

"Stay close, boys, and stay together."

I held Vera's carrier to my chest. Miraculously, she was still fast asleep. Mal and Neil quickly got all of our luggage onto a cart and began to wheel it towards the airport with us close behind.

As we approached the front doors, the crowd simply stared at us. Several soldiers stood in front of them, but they made no effort to hold them back. Even as the crowd rushed forward, the soldiers simply stood there.

The crowd mobbed us. All I could see were bodies surrounding me. They jerked at my clothes, pulled my hair, and kicked my shins. A few even tried to jerk Vera's carrier away from me, but I kept a tight grip on it.

"Lia!" a voice called.

"Paul!"

A hand pushed through a wall of young girls and grabbed the back of my coat. John pulled me through the crowd to him. Paul was holding his sleeve while Ringo held the back of his coat. George held Ringo's wrist and Brian led the way, his coat tail tightly wrapped in Paul's fist. John kept a grip on the collar of my coat while I kept both arms wrapped around Vera's carrier. We were a parade of terrified musicians pushing through a crowd of hostile people.

"Sod off, you wankers!" John shouted, "Or I'll give you somethin' to fight about!"

Paul grabbed his arm, "John, please, don't make it worse."

"Why aren't they helping?" I asked, gazing at the soldiers.

George scoffed, "Way to hold a grudge."

The soldiers simply watched as we were attacked by the mob. Brian did his best to get us through the crowd as quickly as possible, but even he could only do so much. Mal acted like a bulldozer, pushing through the crowd without caring if he pushed anyone over. Even so, we moved at a snail's pace.

I thought we'd be safe in the airport, but that wasn't true. We were met with an even bigger crowd waiting in the halls. They did the same thing as the outside crowd.

One man much bigger than me reached forward and jerked Vera's carrier from me. I lost my grip momentarily before wrapping my fingers around the handle. Sneering, I shouted, "Like hell you will!"

I pulled back my elbow and slammed my fist into his nose. The man stumbled back, shocked at my actions. It felt good to feel his nose break under my knuckles, like a sort of momentary vengeance. I quickly shook myself and chided myself for that kind of language. These people had a right to be angry, we were the ones who were cruel to them. Shaking off my fist with a deep frown, I glared at him, daring him to continue. He kept a tight grip on the carrier. 

Even with a bloody nose, and after I kicked him between the legs, he wasn't going to let go. He stared at me with eyes full of malice. Part of me thought he wanted to kill me, the other part knew he wasn't going to get the chance. In a moment's act of desperation, I kicked him between the legs one last time. He winced in pain. While he was distracted, I released my grip on the carrier's handle, unbuckled Vera, and pulled her to me. The man fell backwards with the sudden loss of my opposite force. I held Vera tightly to my chest and sprinted towards the lads. 

We only found safety on the tarmac. The crowd tried to follow us, probably to beat us up more, but the airport security stopped them. It was dangerous for such a large crowd to walk around the tarmac. Brian led us to the plane and we all rushed up the stairs, terrified beyond our wits and ready to leave the country.

I fell into the seat next to Paul and across from John. I was still trembling and slightly confused, though I knew I would prefer it that way. Later I would learn we had just escaped death at the hands of a dictator.

"All in one piece?" Paul asked.

I nodded, "Seems like it. You?"

"Missin' a boot, but I'm fine."

He showed his socked foot. John crossed his arms and sneered, "Bloody wankers, I have half a mind to-"

"John, please," Paul glared at him.

John huffed. He was never a happy person after being abruptly woken up, especially when he was fleeing for his life. The fear and exhaustion mixed together in an unhealthy cocktail of emotions.

Vera began to scream. She may have been screaming for the past hour, but I was too hopped up on adrenaline to realize. I began to rock her, humming a soothing tune she had grown up on.

"Everybody alright?" Brian asked.

He walked down the aisle and looked at each lad individually. Ringo and George simply nodded. Paul winked at him, "Right as rain, Eppy. Thanks."

"John?" Brian asked.

"Fine," John spat, "Bloody pissed, but fine."

Brian seemed to accept this. He glanced at me and lifted an eyebrow. I nodded, unable to talk over the sobbing child. If she would just go back to sleep, everything would be fine.

"Let's never go to The Philippines again," Ringo sighed deeply.

John chuckled, "I can drink to that, Ritchie."

"I'm just glad we're safe," Paul breathed, "I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life."

I glanced at him and frowned. We were safe, yes, but for how long? We've only been on tour for a month, and it was already proving to be the worst one yet. It was the sort of tour that would scare anyone into giving up touring permanently. As I sat there rocking Vera, I felt all my adrenaline fade away. I felt like sobbing and laughing all at the same time.

"We're safe," I repeated, "All thanks to Bri, we're safe. It'll be better in America, I'm sure of it."

John glanced at Paul. The two of them had a silent conversation. I was always annoyed when they did that, my curiosity got the better of me and I was left with so many questions but not enough answers. They looked at each other with worried faces, John's had a bit of anger in them.

"Mel's right, it'll be better in America," Ringo yawned.

If we only knew.


	165. It'll Be Better in America

Touring is an experience all its own. Nobody can fully understand the feeling of going on tour until they lived it. No amount of explanations, acid trips, songs, or concerts could make someone feel the same mixture of emotions touring evoked.

It was both stressful and exhilarating all at the same time. Sometimes, I got off on being so stressed, it was like a drug induced craze. Once you've been touring as long as we have, you begin to depend on it like a junkie depends on their needle. You begin to feel empty without touring, though you know you should feel relaxed. Something just doesn't feel right when you're at home with your feet up instead of playing in front of an audience somewhere in the hundreds. It's like you know you should be doing something, so relaxation is never truly an option.

After you've been playing live for so long, it's odd not to play live, but it's even worse to watch others play live. Every time I sat in the audience for a Beatles concert, I felt like I was in the wrong place. I wasn't supposed to sit in the chair in the front row, I was supposed to be on stage. My spot was on the drum stool, not the concert floor. While the lads were playing I was supposed to be backstage with Molly and Linda tending to our blisters and laughing together. I wasn't supposed to be sitting in one of the theater seats watching silently as the lads played their hearts out. It simply wasn't right.

That's where I found myself. Time and time again, that's where I was. I was benched for a game I was dying to play. My fingers itched for a drum and my ears begged for a rhythm, but I was stuck in the same place every time.

I had to keep reminding myself that Linda was right, I needed a break. Going on stage and performing sounded good in theory, but it would be completely different once I went up there. As soon as I got on that stage and truly realized Molly wasn't with me, I would break down. The dam I've carefully built to combat my grief would come tumbling down in the fraction of a second. I was still too weak, and I hated every second of it.

"What goes on, in your heart?" Ringo sang, "What goes on, in your mind?"

Vera clapped along and giggled as the lads performed. She had begun to get excited every time we stepped into a theater as if she herself was the one performing. In a way, she did, though nobody but I paid attention. She would sing along in her own little language and clap to the beat of the drums. Every time she did, I wished I could film her.

Brian sat next to me, a large smile on his face as he watched his boys perform. It wasn't often that he sat down and took the time to watch, usually he had business to attend to behind the curtain. Tonight, I had convinced him, if not for him then for me. Sometimes, it was lonely during the concerts. Even though John, Paul, George, and Ringo were just a fence away, I found myself growing lonelier and lonelier. With Brian by my side it didn't seem so bad.

Brian tapped my shoulder and said something, but I couldn't hear him. A combination of the roaring fans and the amp just meters from us prohibited my hearing. All I could see was his lips moving.

"What?" I shouted, even though I couldn't hear myself.

He repeated himself. Just as he finished, a large popping sound came from behind me. My ears exploded at the sound to where all I could hear was a loud ringing. No screams, no music, just ringing.

I quickly spun around to face the sound. The security was going wild. Some were pulling the lads off the stage while others searched through the crowd. Their faces were stone cold as they searched, but their eyes told the story. They were scared.

My first thought was a gunshot. Brian's concerns still rang loud in my head. He was worried the lads would be assassinated by some religious zealot who was angered by John's comment. The Klu Klux Klan had already said they wanted to kill The Beatles, but they haven't shown up yet. The first thing I thought was that they had finally arrived and one of the lads was dead.

Pure panic filled my body. Every worse case scenario ran through my head at a thousand miles per hour. Brian had already gone backstage. I gripped Vera to my chest, unable to hear her cries through the painful ringing in my ears.

I leaped up and began to run backstage. There was an opening between two curtains where no security guards stood. I pushed through there until Vera and I were shrouded in the darkness of backstage.

The ringing in my ears began to throw off my equilibrium. I was stumbling around, crashing into walls I could have sworn weren't there a few seconds ago. The only thought in my head was that I had to get to the lads. I had to make sure they were safe. I couldn't lose them, I just couldn't.

People rushed around me, all in a frenzy. I couldn't tell if they were going to the dressing room or the stage, everything seemed to blur together. All I could see was right in front of me, but how could I know which way was forward when I didn't know which way I was facing? For a moment, I stood there in the middle of the hallway between the stage and the exit, panicking because I couldn't tell which way was up.

"Miss McCartney? Miss McCartney, are you alright?"

The ringing in my eyes slowly began to die down. I blinked rapidly, glancing behind me to see a worried stagehand trembling in place. She couldn't have been more than eighteen and looked frightened. I shook my head as if clearing it of the fog.

"F-fine, yes, I'm fine," I said, "Just a bit of ringing in my ears, mate."

"You looked like you were going to faint," she timidly said.

I shook my head, "I'm alright, just got a bit turned around. Bit crazy, yeah?"

"Everybody thinks it was gunshots," she bit her lip, "We thought someone got shot."

"Did they?"

"I don't know, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," I replied, "Just-point me in the direction of the dressing room, will you?"

She nodded, pointing down the hall towards a rack of colorful clothing. I winked at her before heading in that direction. As soon as my back was turned, pure panic covered my face once again. At that point I was sure one of the lads had gotten shot.

As soon as I flung open the door, I was met with four panicking faces. John, Paul, George, and Ringo were all standing in the middle of the dressing room looking lost, confused, and terrified. They all jumped slightly whenever I opened the door, but relaxed once they saw it was me.

"Christ, Mel, you nearly gave me a heart attack," John shook his head.

I glanced at each of them individually. Nobody was lying down, nobody was groaning. There was no red patches of blood on their clothes and they all seemed to be alright, just a bit shaken. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I said, "You're not shot."

Without hesitation, I rushed forward and wrapped my arms around Paul. He gratefully accepted it. As much as he wouldn't admit it, he needed the comfort. I could feel his trembling muscles as he gripped onto my shoulders. For once, I was the one holding him up even when I felt like collapsing myself.

"Course we're not shot," John replied, "It wasn't a bloody gun, first of all."

Ringo shook his head, "Sounded like one, mate."

"It was fireworks, I saw the lights," John replied.

"Could've been a gun," George suggested, "Covered by a firework."

"It wasn't a bloody gun, I'm tellin' you!"

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "Why would they shoot fireworks at a concert?"

"Why do they do anything? To scare us, you dolt!"

"You don't have to be mean about it," Ringo pouted.

John was about to say something else but I cut in, "John, just take a breath. We're all a bit shaken."

John glanced at me and exhaled more air than I thought he had taken in. For a moment, I thought I might have to catch him. His eyes trembled with a fear he refused to acknowledge. He hid his hands in his pockets in an effort to conceal their trembles.

"What a tour," he sighed deeply, "One problem after another, am I right lads?"

George nodded, "First Japan, then The Philippines, now here."

"We're cursed," Ringo muttered.

"We're not cursed," Paul firmly stated, "We're just down on our luck. It'll get better, lads, it will."

Nobody agreed or disagreed, but the looks exchanged between John, George, and Ringo told a different story. We all stood there in silence for a moment. Slowly, John, George, and Ringo drew closer together. Ringo was the first to wrap his arms around Paul, Vera, and me. George joined next, standing next to Ringo and resting his head on Paul's shoulder. John, reluctantly at first, joined in as well once Ringo pulled him in. We all heaved a deep sigh of relief.

"You're all alright," I said, "You're alright."

"We're alright," Paul repeated as if doing his best to will it into truth.

John shook his head, "We may not be bleeding, but we're far from alright."

Nobody said anything.

***

I heard a ding, causing me to look up at the ceiling. The seatbelt light had come on despite us being in the air for another hour. We still had a fair flight until we landed in Winnipeg. As soon as the light came on, the plane bounced with a heavy bought of turbulence.

"What the bloody fuck-?" John whispered.

The sounds of clicking seat belts could be heard throughout the plane. My blood ran cold as I looked through the window only to see clouds of gray and black passing us at alarming speeds.

"Mel, you alright?" Ringo asked.

I had almost forgotten he was sitting right next to me. In the panic of the moment, all I could remember was myself and the baby I was desperately clinging to. She tried to wiggle out of my grip, but I was too terrified to let her.

If there's a limit of how many times someone can go into a panic attack in their life, I hit it in that tour alone. It seemed as if every five minutes I was swan diving into a panic attack. My airways would close, my muscles would tremble, and I would begin to doubt any future beyond that moment. Later on, I would compare it to eating the peanut all over again.

"Mel?" Ringo called again.

I tore my gaze from the window and looked at him, "What-what's going on?"

"We just hit a rough patch of turbulence, nothin' to be afraid of," he offered me one of his infamous smiles, "We'll be alright."

His smile calmed me down slightly, until we hit another batch of turbulence. The bump was so hard it flung me up in the seat, reminding me that I had forgotten to buckle my belt. Vera nearly flew out of my pale arms, but I managed to keep a hold of her. When I landed, I didn't hesitate in buckling.

"Attention passengers," the voice of the pilot filled the cabin, "We will be making an unscheduled stop in Anchorage."

Ringo lifted an eyebrow as I felt my breathing nearly stop. The plane began to descend, in my panicked mind we were falling much too fast. I gripped the arm of my seat with white fingers as I squeezed my eyes shut.

A hand gripped onto mine, the warmth interrupted by occasional strips of cold along the fingers. Opening my eyes, I saw Ringo's tender smile looking back at me, "It'll be alright, Mel, we're just stoppin' for fuel or somethin'."

"I bloody hate flying," I muttered through a clenched jaw.

He laughed, "Never would have known."

From the other side of the plane, I saw Paul shooting me worried looks. He had a tight grip on John's sleeve, the man in question had his eyes glued to the window. Everybody was just as frightened as me. Even Ringo looked a little skeptical.

Lightning cracked outside, shaking the entire cabin. For a moment, the lights went out. Vera screamed as I yelped.

"Just a little lighting," Ringo said, "Nothin' to be afraid of."

I glanced at him, "Ringo, you sure have a way with words."

"Did I say somethin' wrong?"

"Not this time."

Ringo always had this magic about him. He could make everyone around him calm even if he were standing in the middle of a war zone. Just his presence was calming. He was calming. Not just to his mates, but to perfect strangers too.

For the rest of the short flight, Ringo kept a tight grip on my hand. Every so often, he would stroke the back of my hand and mutter something comforting. As terrified as I was, I felt like Ringo could make it better. Just by him being there, we would all be alright in the end.

The plane landed with a bounce and a jerk. My head was nearly slammed into the window, but I caught myself just in time. As soon as we touched down, the power in the plane went out completely and we were left in total darkness. The only sound was the raging storm outside and the panicked breathing of everyone in the cabin.

"Everybody, stay calm," the pilot announced as he stepped out of the cockpit, "We had to take an unscheduled stop due to the threat of a typhoon."

My breathing completely stopped as Ringo gasped. John shouted, "We're in a bloody typhoon?"

"No, Mr. Lennon, we are under the threat of a typhoon," the pilot replied, "Conditions may worsen, and, believe me, we don't want to be in the air if they do."

"Are we safe?" Paul asked in a small voice.

The pilot smiled comfortingly, "Perfectly safe. Unfortunately, we must stay in the plane until the storm passes."

"Can't we go into the airport?" George asked, "I'm bloody hungry."

Ringo chuckled, "You're always hungry, mate."

"Bugger off."

"You cannot go into the airport, Mr. Harrison, because there is no airport to go into," the pilot replied, "We landed on a private airstrip in the middle of The Alaskan wilderness. It was unscheduled and the owner will allow us to stay only until the weather passes."

The plane trembled under the gale force winds ripping outside. The pilot said we were safe, but I felt anything but. As he vanished back into the cockpit, I felt all of the terror well up into my throat and create a blockade of my windpipes.

"I'm going to talk to the pilot," Brian announced.

He abruptly stood and power walked into the cockpit. All of us watched him, our jaws clenched and our nails digging into the palms of our hands. Everybody was feeling the exact same thing. Only John had a different thought on his mind.

"Band meeting, pronto," he announced.

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "We're all in the same room."

"Well, get in the same spot."

Ringo groaned loudly and went to sit with John and Paul. George plopped down next to him looking confused and tired. Whenever George got hungry, he got tired. Soon, he would become hangry and we would all have to suffer.

I laid Vera in her carrier in an effort to get her to sleep. Despite the storms raging outside, she fell asleep almost instantly. She had missed her nap that afternoon, so, in a way, it didn't surprise me. Once she was down, I sat in Ringo's old seat and faced the aisle, watching the lads converse.

"This tour is a bloody train wreck and it's not going to get any better," John said.

Paul sighed, "Course it will, John. When you've hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up."

"Or dig a hole," Ringo put in.

"Ringo!"

Ringo shrugged. John placed a firm hand on Paul's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye, "Macca, we all know this isn't going to get any better."

"We've reached the top," George muttered, "The only way to go is down."

Paul shook his head. Ringo furrowed his brows, "What're you two gettin' at?"

"I think we should quit touring," John suggested.

The only sound in the airplane was my loud gasp. It seemed like a dream, and impossible thought that could never go beyond being just that, a thought. The Beatles couldn't quit touring, that was who they were. Beatles concerts were famous and always would be. They couldn't just stop.

Then again, they could. Hundreds have done it before and hundreds will do it after. The Beatles could become selectively a studio band. They could still do what they loved without the stress of touring. Being in the studio was ten times better than going on tour anyways, every band knew that. In the studio, you could experiment and play simply because you enjoyed it. There were no crazy fans or security reaches, just music.

"We can't," Paul argued, "This is who we are. We're The Beatles, a touring band, not a studio band."

George frowned, "That's what we are now, but it's not what we could be."

"What?"

"Things change, Paulie, we can't be like this forever. All things must pass, you know, this isn't any different," George explained.

John nodded, "In this one tour alone, we've nearly gotten shot, trampled, arrested, tortured, lost, and that doesn't count the thousands of times we've nearly been killed on our other tours. We're lucky this time, but what if we're not next time? What if it isn't a firework next time?"

"We'll get more security," Paul mumbled, "Eppy'll make sure of it, he'll protect us."

"Mate, there's only so much he can do," Ringo said.

John squeezed Paul's shoulder, "I can't live like this. We're treated like animals, we're nearly killed by our own fans, and we can't even hear ourselves play! What's the point in touring if you can't hear the music?"

"I agree with John," George nodded towards the older man, "I can't take another screamin' girl."

Ringo nodded, "Me ear's aren't what they used to be. And I'm only twenty-six."

Paul glanced at each of his friends. He was stubborn to begin with, especially when it came to something he loved. Paul loved playing live. He, just like the rest of us, didn't enjoy the screaming fans, bossy security guards, and the constant fear of being trampled, but he did love playing in front of an audience. Paul wouldn't be able to handle becoming a studio band, it was simply not in his nature.

"N-No," Paul muttered, "We can't- we just can't."

"Macca-"

"No!"

Paul jumped up and balled his fists, "We're a bloody touring band, and tour we will! It's our job, lads, we've got to do it."

"We're not sayin' we're giving up the music," John replied as if reading Paul's mind, "We're just giving up the spoiled parts."

Paul crossed his arms and shook his head. He glanced up at John and shook his head even harder, "I won't do it."

"Macca-"

"No."

Without another word, Paul turned his back to John. He pushed past my legs and fell into the seat next to me, crossing his arms and staring out the window at nothing in particular. Had he turned around, he would have seen the sad looks John, George, and Ringo exchanged. They had their hearts set on becoming a studio band, but Paul had his heart set on touring. Something had to get him to change his mind.

Paul needed a push and I knew exactly how to do it.


	166. Tug Of War

History is written long before any of us live it. Fate holds the pen and writes our stories long before they unfold in real time. It was destiny for The Beatles to become a studio band. If they didn't, I don't want to know what would happen.

It was impossible for anyone to live through what they were living through. From the way they were treated by security guards and theater staff alike to the screams of rabid fans, The Beatles were doomed from the start. The 1966 World Tour only served to hammer the nail deeper into the crack, ultimately severing the board.

Paul had to see it. He needed to see how they were in danger, and how it would only get worse. They were standing on a cliff and there were only two ways to go; plummeting over the edge or wandering through an unfamiliar path across the mountaintop. Either Paul watches The Beatles fall apart beneath his very nose or he consents to becoming a studio band.

"He's got to understand," John muttered, "He's thick as steel, there's gotta be someway to make him understand."

I exhaled through my nose, "He's a stubborn arse, just like the rest of ye."

"We're all stubborn arses, that's why we're such good friends," George added.

"Exactly," I snapped my fingers, "It takes one to know one, and it takes one to make another understand."

John lifted an eyebrow, "What're you gettin' at, Mel?"

"Simple, Paulie needs a push. The truth needs to slap him in the face and leave love bites on his neck."

Ringo snorted, "Mel, you sure have a way with words."

"Thank you, Ringo, but that is besides the point," I replied, "Paul already knows that touring might kill all of you, but he needs to do more than know it, he needs to feel it."

"Christ, Mel, will you get to the bloody point?!" John flung his hands up.

I smirked, "I'm gonna scare him into submission."

"How?"

"We'll go out," I replied, "Paul, me, and Vera. I'll take us somewhere we're bound to get spotted by fans. We'll get roughed up a little and, when we come back, Paulie will want to become a studio band."

"Brilliant!" John exclaimed.

George lifted an eyebrow, "Why you and Vera? Why not the rest of us?"

"Because, as much as he loves you lads, we're his family," I replied, "I'm his little sister and Vera's his baby niece. It'll scare him more if he thinks we're in danger, that's just how Paulie is."

"Mel, you're a bleedin' genius," Ringo grinned.

"Ringo, you flatter me."

John clapped my shoulder and smiled, "Macca's a pushover, he'll come crawlin' back and practically beg us to retreat into the studio."

"You forget, he's still a stubborn arse."

"Ah, but you've got a thick head. If anyone can convince him, it's Amelia!"

John tapped the top of my head for emphasis. I shoved him off and sneered, "I'm not sure whether to be complimented or offended."

"Both," George confirmed.

"When're you lot gonna leave?" Ringo asked, glancing out the window.

The sun was slowly setting. Soon, we would have to sleep so we could be on time for our plane the next morning. It was the perfect time to sneak out undetected, at least, undetected by Brian.

"Right now," I replied, "I'll go get Paulie and Vera."

John ruffled my hair, "Mel, you're bloody brilliant."

"Ta, John."

With that, I left the room. My feet carried me to my room without me even having to think about it. Internally, I was buzzing with adrenaline and fear. This could go South faster than a bolt of lightning. Paul and I could be killed, lost, or worse. It was a huge risk, but, one that needed to be taken.

The worst part was Vera. I was putting her in danger all for the sake of Paul's consent. He needed to do this, for his life as well as the lives of John, George, and Ringo. If we didn't do this, there was a serious chance one of them would be killed. Paul had to see how dangerous things were getting and, as much as I hated it, Vera and I were the only two who could get it through his thick head.

I took a deep breath and opened the door to my room. Paul was sitting on the bed playing with Vera. For that night, he had chosen to share a room with me rather than with John. He was avoiding the argument he knew was going to happen. With any luck, this night would spare him of that as well as save his life.

"Did he ask you to talk to me?" Paul asked.

I fell to sit next to him and smile, "Course he did, he's John. A stubborn arse, he is."

"They all are," Paul chuckled, "I can't bloody believe they're seriously considering giving up touring. A bunch of gits."

"Can't say I disagree with them, Paulie."

"Not you too!"

"Come off it," I replied, "I love touring just as much as you, but there's only so much a person can take. It's insanity, it is, and dangerous too."

"I'm the only level headed person here," Paul ran a hand down his face.

"You wanker."

"Tosser."

I slapped his shoulder gently, earning a chuckle. Vera giggled as well, reaching for Paul's nose and loudly exclaiming, "Uncle Paulie!"

"I knew she'd come around," Paul tapped her on the nose, smiling brightly the entire time.

"She's a smart one," I said, "Just like her Mum."

"And her other Mum."

"Paul, you flatter me."

Paul chuckled, "Your ego doesn't need anymore inflating, I was talking about Molly."

"Can't argue with that."

A sad smile crossed my face. Vera was so much like Molly, sometimes it hurt. Just by looking at her I was reminded that my love would never return. She was buried beneath six feet of dirt in a Scottish cemetery most people didn't know existed. As hard as I tried to forget Molly was gone, something always came around to slap me in the face.

"Let's go out," I suddenly said.

The pain was getting too much. I needed a distraction and Paul needed a wake up call. Now was as good a time as ever.

"What?" Paul asked, "Lia, you can't possibly be serious."

"Course I'm serious, we've done it before. I've got the coats, you've got the beards, we could sneak out just like we have done before," I replied, "I'm gettin' sick of being in here. We need a distraction, Paul."

Paul glanced at Vera and frowned, "It's not safe, you heard Eppy."

"When have we ever listened to Brian? It's not safe for Paul and Amelia McCartney, but it is safe for two total strangers and a baby," I replied.

Paul glanced at me. For a moment, we stared at each other. I was mentally praying he would agree. Finally, he sighed, "I am gettin' cabin fever."

"There you go!" I exclaimed, "We'll sneak out and got to that fancy record store down on fifth, you know, the one we passed on the way here? We'll go and be back before anyone's the wiser."

"You're a git, Lia."

"Family trait."

Paul laughed, "If we die, I'll kill you."

"And you call me the git."

We both laughed. I jumped up and moved to dig in my suitcase. Something had told me to bring our trench coats even with the threats this tour was under. Perhaps it was fate whispering in my ear, assuring me that we would need it. I pulled the coats out and threw one to Paul just as he found his fake beard.

"Want one? I've got Georgie's," Paul held up a spare.

I laughed, "I'll pass. It'll only be more suspicious for a girl to wear a beard."

"I dunno, you could be the bearded lady."

"And what a wonderful one I'd make!"

"Like I said," Paul smirked, "Your ego's big enough as is."

"And yours isn't?"

We were ready to go in just under ten minutes. I bundled Vera up in her black coat and hat that tied under her chin. It was enough to keep her concealed, especially since the general public didn't know exactly what she looked like. All they knew was her head of bright blonde hair.

Paul opened the door and glanced down either end of the hall. It was empty, save for the lights underneath the doors. The rest of the lads weren't going to just sit back while I scared the life out of Paulie. They were busy distracting Brian, Mal, Neil, and Moxie. We had a straight shot to the lift.

"I feel freer already," I said as soon as the lift doors shut.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "Freer isn't a word."

"Is now."

He chuckled as the doors opened. The two of us stepped into the nearly empty lobby. Only a few businessmen and police remained awake, everybody else was fast asleep in their hotel rooms. They looked at us oddly but didn't stop us as we made our way to the front door. We faced the revolving glass door and cringed.

Fans still lined the pavement. Some had fallen asleep propped up on the walls of the hotel. A few were awake, sitting on the ground and playing cards or looking up at the sky. They all glanced at us as we stepped out, but they didn't recognize us.

"Bloody hell, it's a miracle," Paul muttered as soon as we had left the mob of fans behind.

I shook my head, "Maybe we're not all out of luck."

"Toldja."

I playfully hit his shoulder and giggled. The record store we wanted to go to was only three blocks from our hotel. We walked down the empty streets making sure to keep our voices quiet and to stay close together. At any moment, we could be bombarded and then we would be doomed.

"I hope they have the new Ronettes record," I shifted Vera in my arms, "I'd like to hear it."

Paul nodded, "They're bloody good, they are."

"Remember when they came to The Christmas Show?"

"Yeah," Paul chuckled, "One nearly hit John when he wouldn't stop flirtin' with her."

"Can't say I blame her, I'd slap him to."

"We've all slapped John at least once."

I grinned, "Sometimes he needs it."

"They all do."

"You too, Paulie," I glanced up at him and smirked.

"Don't you bloody do it," he pointed at me, "Eleanor Amelia McCartney, don't you fucking-"

I reached up and gently slapped his cheek. He pushed me away and shouted, "You arse!"

"Sometimes you need it."

"Not now!"

I simply laughed. Paul reached forward and ruffled my hair, "Remember, little sis, payback's a bitch."

"Oh, no, I'm shakin'."

"Tosser."

"Wanker."

The two of us laughed loudly. We rounded the corner and the record shop came into view. It was large, almost as large as NEMS back in Liverpool. The lights were on and people of all ages still populated the store. Paul and I exchanged glances before stepping into the store.

A few people glanced at us but they made no notions that they recognized us. Even so, Paul and I made sure to stay close together. I had Vera wrapped in my coat to where only her face stuck out, and only I could see it. Slowly, she began to fall asleep, but I knew that wouldn't last long.

Paul began to shuffle through a crate of rock records on sale. I stood just behind him looking through a shelf. There were rows of great artists. I saw The Rolling Stones, The Mamas and The Papas, Elvis, The Who, The Beach Boys, The Beatles, and even Revolution.

My fingers found one album in particular. I picked it up and smiled at the cover. It was our second to last album, Liverpool Bop. On the front cover Molly, Linda, and I were all walking down the streets of Liverpool. Molly had a guitar, I had my drumsticks stuck in my bun, and Linda carried a child's toy piano. The three of us were smiling and laughing as if nothing could go wrong.

I stared at Molly for an exceptionally long time. Her smile was just as I remembered it, bright and full of life. I could still remember her warm touch and the calluses on her hands. Every time I smelled strawberries, I thought of her. I remembered every detail about her and I always would.

Seeing her smiling just like she did when she was alive brought tears to my eyes. It hurt to remember she would never smile again. The world seemed a lot darker without her smile to brighten it up. I felt my heart ache every time I was reminded that I would never see my love again.

"Lia?" Paul's quiet voice reached my ears.

I blinked rapidly and wiped my tears, "What?"

"You alright?" he placed a hand on my shoulder and eyed the album.

I quickly placed it back in the shelf, "Fine-yeah-fine. Just, memories."

He gave me a comforting smile before turning back to his crate. I turned back to my shelf as well but happened to glance up. Across the store, right in front of a large Beatles poster, was a group of five girls. They were all staring straight at me. Once glanced at the album in their hands and then back at me. It took me a moment to recognize the back of a Revolution album.

"Shit," I muttered, "Paul, Paul we have to go."

"What-?"

He spun around and his eyes landed on the girls. As soon as they saw his face, they gasped. Their faces became bright red as they began to make their way across the store. Paul quickly grabbed my arm and whispered, "Time to leave."

The two of us tried to casually make our way out of the store. We kept a grip on each other as if scared we would lose the other. Just as we reached the door, the girls reached us. One lunged forward and grabbed Paul's hat while another ripped mine off.

"It's Paul!" one girl shrieked, "And Amelia! They're here!"

Paul and I exchanged terrified glances. Without hesitation, we bolted out the door. Paul was practically dragging me down the streets as we ran. The girls followed. They were screaming, shouting, and yelling our names as loudly as they possibly could. Within seconds, their number had tripled. It was growing exponentially until Paul and I were severely outnumbered.

Pure terror filled my bloodstream. I began to regret this idea and wished someone would have stopped me. Paul was seeing exactly what he needed to see, but at what cost? The three of us could easily die all because of a stupid plan.

"In here!" Paul shouted.

He shoved me into a phone booth and followed shortly after. As soon as he slammed the door shut, the girls were upon us. They slapped their hands on the booth and screamed as loudly as their lungs could manage. I gripped onto Vera and huddled in the corner.

"This was a terrible idea!" I exclaimed.

Paul, who was holding the door shut, glared at me, "It was your idea!"

"And it was terrible! I'll admit when I was wrong!"

"This is your fault!" Paul shouted.

"You could have said no!"

"I wouldn't have had to say no if you wouldn't have suggested it!" Paul retorted, "Now, we're trapped in a stinky phone booth while a bunch of teenage girls are trying to kill us. Congratulations, Amelia!"

"Yelling is doing nothing, Paul!"

"It's making me feel better!"

Just as I was about to say something else, my eyes went past him to another group across the street. In that moment, I found a new level of fear I didn't know existed before. Across the street was a bunch of older men and women with faces filled with anger. They began to march over with eyes filled with flames of hatred.

"Paul, it's not just teenagers," I pointed across the street.

He saw the new mob and cursed, "Fucking hell, we're going to die!"

"We're not going to die!"

"They burned our records!" Paul shouted, "They sent us death threats and now we're no better than cornered mice."

I grimaced, "Paul, please, shouting is doing nothing."

"It's gotta do something!"

"It's doing nothing but scaring us more!" I shouted, "This was a terrible idea, I'll admit it, and I'm sorry! We have to find a way out of here, and we can't do that if we're shouting at each other."

Paul glanced at me and sighed, "Right, we'll argue about this later. How the bloody fuck are we supposed to get out of here?"

"Got any quarters?"

"What?"

'We're in a phone booth," I explained, "Got any quarters?"

Paul nodded, "One, I found it on the floor in the record store. It's in my left pocket."

I dug it out and grinned. Glancing at him, I said, "You make sure the doors stay shut, I'll call for help."

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

I sighed through my nose and put the quarter in. We only had one chance at this, I had to make it work. Bringing the phone to my ear, I waited for the reply.

"What can I do for you?" the operator asked.

"Hi, can you put me through to Brian Epstein at the Marriott Hotel?" I asked, "It's an emergency."

"Right away, Miss."

"Thank you."

For thirty anxious seconds, I waited. The mob seemed to be getting angrier by the second. Paul kept glancing at me and I shook my head, there was no answer yet.

"Who is this?" Brian's groggy voice finally answered.

"Brian! Thank God!" I exclaimed.

"Amelia, why are you calling me? And from a phone booth?"

"Brian, we're in serious trouble," I explained, "Paul and I snuck out, it was my idea and I'm sorry, and now we're trapped in a phone booth surrounded by an angry mob."

For a moment, Brian didn't reply. I nearly screamed in anticipation. When he did reply, he nearly shouted, "What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking I'm a git!" I exclaimed, "Please, just send help."

"Where are you?"

"On the corner of Fifth and Penny Avenue. We're surrounded by a mob, it's not hard to miss."

"Right, I'll send help. Just stay put, got it?"

"Got it."

With that, we hung up. I exhaled deeply and turned to Paul, "Brian's sending help."

"We're gonna hear it too," Paul muttered, "It's your fault, you're gonna hear the worst of it!"

"I bloody well know that, Paul, can we please focus on not dying?"

Keeping a hold of Vera with one arm, I helped Paul keep the doors shut with the other. Both of us were holding onto the handle for dear life. Over the shouts of the mob, I could barely hear Vera's sobs or Paul's grumbles. Even my own labored breathing had gone silent.

"Paul, I'm sorry," I said, glancing at my brother, "I never should have suggested we sneak out."

He sighed deeply, "You were just tryin' to help. We were all gettin' cabin fever."

"Yeah, but-"

"And you were trying to convince me to agree to stop touring," Paul looked me in the eye, "I know."

"How-"

Paul smiled, "I knew as soon as John brought it up. Somehow, you all would come up with an elaborate plan to get me to agree. I didn't think you lot would be this stupid, though, puttin' the three of us in danger. You daft sod."

"I'll admit, I didn't think it would get this bad," I explained, "All I wanted was to get chased by a few fangirls, that's it."

Paul shook his head, "You could have just talked to me instead of putting all three of us in danger."

"You're a stubborn arse, talkin' would've done no good."

"Takes one to know one."

"And that's why we're here."

Paul laughed, "It's an adventure, I s'pose. We'll have a story to tell if we survive."

"We will," I smiled, "If we survive, Brian'll kill us."

"Can't argue with that."

Ten minutes later, flashing lights began to fill the street. At least twelve police cars rolled up, all flashing their lights and warning the mob to back away. Paul exhaled deeply whenever he saw them. We were finally safe.

The police moved the mob to where we could safely exit. They surrounded us as we walked from the phone booth to the police car. A few things were thrown, but they were blocked by the bodies surrounding us. When we sat down in the back of a police car, I knew we were safe.

"That was harrowing," I muttered.

"To put it lightly," Paul replied, "I'm never letting this go, I hope you know that."

I glanced at him, "Can't you call me a git and be done with it?"

"Course not, it's my duty as your older brother to always remind you of the times you were undeniably ignorant."

I rolled my eyes. Paul laughed, ruffled my hair and said, "You're a git, Lia, but I love you anyways."

"Love you too, Paulie."

Whenever we arrived at the hotel, we were given another police escort to the doors. They kept the fans lining the pavement back as we entered the hotel. We were allowed on the lift alone. As we headed to our floor, I sighed loudly.

"Might not have ears after this night," I commented.

Paul shrugged, "Eppy'll understand."

"Will he though?"

"What were you two thinking?!" Brian shouted as soon as we opened the door.

Brian, John, George, Ringo, Mal, and Neil were all waiting for us in our bedroom. Only John, George, and Ringo looked relaxed, the other three were wound up tighter than springs. Paul and I glanced at each other before glancing back at Brian.

"We weren't, really," I replied.

Brian ran a hand through his hair, "That much is obvious. I expected more from you two, and I am very disappointed."

"We're sorry, Eppy," Paul said.

I shook my head, "I'm sorry. It was my idea, Paulie just went along with it."

"Amelia, I thought you would have known better than this. You, of all people, I told you what was going on," Brian lectured, "And Paul, you know better than to agree to such a stunt. As if The Philippines weren't bad enough, you two could have been killed!"

Paul snapped his fingers, "Exactly, Eppy, we could have been killed. And that goes for more than just this night."

Brian lifted an eyebrow. John caught my eye and I nodded. His smile slowly grew as he realized what was happening.

"Paul, what are you talking about?" Brian asked.

"I'm talking about the entire bloody tour!" Paul shouted, "First Japan, then The Philippines, now here. I thought we had been shot, Brian, next time, maybe we will be. We're in constant danger and, if the people don't kill us the stress will. It's unlivable."

Brian began to pale, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying The Beatles need to become a studio band only. We need to stop this bloody touring and focus on the music."

John smirked, "Knew you'd come around, Macca."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to be a git about it."

Brian looked like he was going to faint. He was the sort of person who looked ten steps ahead rather than looking at the now. A manager worked only to schedule shows and the like, a studio band wouldn't have any use for a manager. Brian could see that even before it was brought to his attention.

"You can't be serious," Brian muttered.

"Course he's serious," John stepped forward, "We're all bloody serious. We want to become a studio band. We're sick of being treated like dogs! We can't even hear ourselves play, Brian!"

Brian glanced at John, "I can make it better."

"You've tried, mate, nothing can make this better," Ringo shook his head.

"It's our decision," John said, "And we've all agreed."

Paul, Ringo, and George all nodded. Brian glanced at each of them, his entire body slowly falling. He let his arms droop and his mouth hang open slightly. He stared at the lads without blinking.

"We'll finish this tour, but then," Paul gulped, "We're done."

I could tell he still didn't like it. He looked forlorn as he signed the deal for the fate of The Beatles. I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiled. He was doing the right thing, even if he didn't believe it just yet.

"I suppose it is your decision. Just- please- think about it a bit longer?" Brian asked.

John shook his head, "We've already thought about it, Brian, and we've made our decision."

"Then, if that's what you wish," Brian's voice had become tiny, "After this next show, The Beatles will become a studio only band."

"That's all we want, to focus on the music," George said.

"Very well. If you'll excuse me."

Brian pushed past all of us, heading into his room to do God only knows what. Part of me was scared to leave him alone but the other part knew he needed it. He needed time to process what had just happened. In a way, he needed time to grieve as well. He was grieving the loss of his band, the loss of his boys even if they weren't dead.

"Can't believe that worked," John muttered.


	167. Not The Last Show

It seemed like just yesterday that Paul and I had gone to that church fete to see that skiffle band perform in the back of a truck. Only yesterday I saw the first performance of a band called The Quarrymen. It has just been minutes ago that I watched them play at the Cavern Club, and even shorter since I played with them. Only seconds ago I was watching them play on The Ed Sullivan Show and now I was watching what would be their last concert.

It wasn't their last, but it was the last for a while. I had seen The Beatles perform for the first time, the last, and everything in between. It didn't seem real, I could barely believe I was watching what would be their last concert. Yet, there it was, happening before my eyes.

"Mummy!" Vera cried out, "Mummy!"

I blinked rapidly, shaking myself out of my daze. We were at Candlestick Park waiting for the last show to happen. For the moment, Vera and I were sitting in the dressing room while the lads did a soundcheck.

"I'm right here," I replied.

Vera pouted, "Applebaum."

"Applebaum?" I asked, "Did you lose your bear?"

She nodded. She was standing by the table, her hands gripping the edge to keep her from falling. Soon, she would take her first step, she had only just begun to stand. She was wobbly but she was getting there.

I got off of the couch and moved to kneel next to her. Gently, I sat her down on her blanket to keep her from falling. She looked like she was about to burst into tears. I smiled and patted her head, "Calm down, Junior, I'll find it."

"Mummy."

"I know, you miss Applebaum," I kissed her forehead, "I'll find him, alright?"

"Okay!"

She stayed on her blanket as I looked around the area. The bear had rolled beneath the table and was hiding in plain sight. I clicked my tongue and handed her the bear. Instantly, Vera's entire face lit up. She took the bear and giggled.

"Now, what do you say?" I asked.

Vera smiled, "Tank!"

"Close enough," I ruffled her hair, "You'll be a talker yet, junior."

Vera began to play with her bear as I returned to the couch. After this show, we would go back home and stay there. Never again would we tour.

It was bittersweet. As much as I despised touring, I couldn't live without it. It was like my personal brand of heroin. Just being on tour without being able to play was torture. I couldn't imagine a life without dreading the next tour, or living off the high of a live performance. Even if we couldn't hear ourselves play, we were doing it and that's what matters.

There was a knock on the door, startling me out of my thoughts. My first thought was one of the lads, but this was their dressing room, they didn't need to knock. Confused, I stood up and opened the door.

"Surprise."

"Lindy!" I exclaimed, lunging forward to wrap my arms around the woman.

She laughed and hugged me back, "I take it that you missed me?"

"Like mad," I replied, "I'm surrounded by boys all the time, it's nice to see another girl. What're you doin' here?"

I stepped aside and let her into the dressing room. Heather walked in behind her, stopping to hug my legs. I pulled her into my arms and ruffled her hair, "Missed you too, kiddo."

"We were visiting my brother in L.A.," Linda replied, stopping to say hello to Vera, "I heard The Beatles were performing and I knew you'd be with them. Thought I'd pop by."

"I'm glad you did. Christ, I missed you," I grinned.

Linda chuckled, "Missed you too, Mel."

I didn't realize how much I missed Linda until I saw her. After being surrounded by boys all of the time, it was a wonderful thing to see another girl, especially a girl I was so close too. My heart ached to see Ellen and Mitch again, perhaps even popping by for a visit with Janice.

"How's everything back in jolly old England?" I asked, falling to sit next to Linda on the couch.

"Same as ever," Linda replied, "Nothing ever changes."

I shook my head, "On the contrary, Lindy dear, everything changes."

"Something happen?"

"So much has happened I'm not even sure how to explain it."

Linda smiled, "How about you start from the beginning?"

I began to explain to her everything that happened. From the article I read in Hamburg to our Japanese venue. I didn't go into detail about our trip to The Philippines, mostly because I didn't want to frighten her. I told her about the concert where I was sure someone had been shot and the excursion Paul and I had taken.

"They're not going to tour anymore," I muttered, "They've given it up. The Beatles are a studio only band now."

Linda gasped, "I never would have thought. It seems like they would always play live, I can't see them as a studio band."

"See it cause it's true."

"I can't believe it."

"Me neither, but I'm glad it's happening.

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "I thought you loved touring."

"I do, honestly, I do," I replied, "But, not like this. Lindy, I've been more scared on this tour than I have ever been in my entire life. I thought the lads had died more than once, and I thought I was going to die right along with them. Even now, I'm terrified, what if this is the concert that it's not a firework?"

"It'll be fine, Mel. Perhaps it is for the better, that they give it up," Linda placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I smiled at her, "It is. Nobody can live like this."

"Then, it's good," Linda smiled, "Besides, it'll do wonders for the boys. Who knows what kind of musical wonders they'll come up with once they can actually hear themselves play?"

I chuckled, "George and his bloody sitar."

"Can't really blame him, we used panpipes and a xylophone in the same song."

"That was your idea!"

"The point is, they can have fun with it now," Linda explained, "Now that they've given up touring, they can do what they love and break down the boundaries set by live performances."

"Maybe you're right, Lindy."

The door opened, causing us both to jump. Ringo stepped in closely followed by George, John, and Paul. They all walked in and stopped whenever they saw Linda.

"Oi, Linda, when'd you get here?" John asked.

Linda smiled, "Few minutes ago."

"Lovely to see you again," Paul winked, "What brings you down here?"

"I was visiting my brother. When I heard you were playing, I decided to pop by for a visit."

"And a lucky thing, too, I was just beginning to drown in the masculinity," I stated.

John pretended to show off his muscles, "Too much for you, eh, Mel?"

"Don't flatter yourself, John, I was talking about Ringo and George."

George chuckled as Ringo beamed. Paul rolled his eyes, "Glad you could make it, Linda."

"It's nice to see a familiar face," Ringo said.

Linda smiled, "Always a pleasure."

The door opened once again and Brian stepped in. As long as I had known him, he looked exhausted. He and I had that in common as well, we both never slept. Recently, however, he looked even worse. The dark circles behind his eyes had expanded to encompass most of his cheeks. He never smiled, not since the lads dropped the bombshell on him. His skin was always pale and clammy and he couldn't stop tugging at his cuticles. His cheeks, which had once been firm and youthful, had sunken in like a drug addict. The man was filled to the brim with anxiety, it was a wonder he could still stand upright.

"Linda, it's a pleasure seeing you again," Brian nodded towards her, "Boys, come along, it's time for the show."

John saluted, "Aye aye, captain, let's get this over with."

The four lads paraded out of the room and followed their manager. I picked up Vera as Linda held Heather's hand. We stepped out into the hall and I sighed.

"Poor chap," I shook my head, "He's been a wreck since the lads dropped the bomb."

Linda frowned, "It's only natural. What's left for a manager to do once they become a studio band?"

"Exactly. He needs to remember he's more than their manager, he's their friend. They're not going to ditch him just like that."

There was always a few seats in the front row reserved for the entourage of The Beatles. Linda and I sat there, side by side, hoping not to get recognized by the fans sitting behind us. Luckily, they were too busy staring at the stage to pay any attention to us. Linda sighed in relief.

"That's the only downside to our job," Linda said, "Getting recognized."

I clapped her shoulder and smiled, "Way to look on the positive side, Lindy."

"What?"

"There's a lot more downsides than just the one, my optimistic friend."

Linda lifted an eyebrow but didn't question. The curtains had lifted and The Beatles were performing. Once again, they were met with an arena full of screams. Nobody could hear the music because they were too busy screaming. Had that known what that concert symbolized, perhaps they would have fallen silent.

The fans didn't know they were watching the last live performance of The Beatles. It was the end of an era and only a few people knew it. Those two girls in the front row knew exactly what they were watching, and they did so with bittersweet smiles.

It wasn't the end, no, it was far from it. This story didn't end with a concert, no, it ended in a walk more iconic than Paris. It wasn't the end, but it was a beginning. It was the end of The Beatles live performances and the beginning to The Beatles and the history they made. With the last strum of the guitar, they began to make history behind closed doors. I feel privileged to have seen it all.

Just as the last song was nearing an end, Linda and I returned backstage. As usual, we would be rushed out to a car and taken to the hotel. Linda decided to go with us, she was staying the night in San Francisco and heading back home to London the next morning. As it happens, so were we.

We made it to the dressing room before the lads. The two of us sat down on the couch. Linda sighed deeply and shook her head, "It's hard to believe we just watched the last Beatles concert."

"I still can't believe it," I shook my head, "But, bloody hell, am I glad that's over."

"Oddly, so am I."

A few seconds later, the door swung open. John, Paul, George, and Ringo all walked in. They looked relieved, but nervous as well. Paul kept wringing his hands together and Ringo couldn't stop twirling his ring.

"Bloody brilliant!" John exclaimed, "It's over, lads, we've done it."

Ringo and Paul exchanged glances. George dropped his guitar on the nearby table, flung his hands in the air, and uttered the single sentence that would forever be remembered by those that heard it.

"That's it, I'm not a Beatle anymore!"


	168. Get Back

The last tour left us all with sour memories and the fear of flashbacks every time a live concert was suggested. For me, it did provide one good thing, it gave me a distraction. For three months, I was too wrapped up in the fear of the tour to remember the grief following Molly's death. I had three months to breath but, as soon as I stepped into my flat, everything came tumbling back to me.

The flat was colder than usual. Even when I turned the heating all the way up and started a fire, it was cold. The cold came from the emptiness. Molly always provided warmth when there was none left in the world. Without her, all I felt was cold in an empty void.

Vera felt it too. As soon as we stepped through the door, all of her previous laughter had vanished. Her lip began to wobble and she started to cry. The two of us sat on the floor and cried together, even though she wasn't sure why I was crying. She didn't know why she was crying either, she just knew she needed to. Her mind couldn't comprehend everything just yet, but she could still sense the sadness hanging in the atmosphere.

After several minutes of rocking her and singing, Vera had finally gone to sleep. I laid her in her crib and left her to her nap. Her soft snores were hard to hear, but I heard them. Smiling, I left the room and faced the empty flat.

I found myself sitting in front of the fireplace, my favorite spot in the house, with every photo album I owned open in front of me. Some were open to pictures of the lads, Molly, Janice, Linda, Vera, or even myself. A few had Jane, Maureen, Pattie, and Cynthia in it with Julian, Vera, and Heather making occasional cameos. One picture was of Julian, Heather, and Vera all sitting on the floor together just a few weeks after Vera came home. They were all playing together. I had caught them mid laugh.

Each photo was a memory, and it hurt to look at them. I gazed at the smiles and remembered that some of them would never be seen again. Those times had come and gone, leaving us to face a future where we didn't know what to expect. Things were changing rapidly, and I never did well with change. Especially not when I stood alone.

I wasn't alone, I knew that. I still had Paul, John, George, Ringo, Linda, Ellen, Cynthia, Maureen, Jane, and Pattie. I still had Vera, Dad, and Michael. I even still had Mitch and Brian, though I didn't see them as often. People who loved me surrounded me nearly every day, and yet, I still felt so alone. Having friends and family is different than having a loved one.

Molly and I were almost never separated. We went everywhere together, save for the time I went to Hamburg and New York without her. Even then, I could feel my heart still reaching out towards her. Now, it reached towards a tiny cemetery in Scotland. Molly had always been there and she left me with an empty void following me around every second of every day.

It hurt to look at the memories, but that's all I had left. Molly left me with a heavy void, but she left me with more memories than the sadness I felt. I could cling to the memories as if I were clinging to Molly, just like I wanted to.

The lock on the door clicked, making me look up. Paul walked in with a bag on his shoulder and Martha in his wake. The puppy wasn't a puppy anymore, she was full grown and as hairy as she could possibly be. She was like a walking, barking, slobbering mop. As soon as she saw me, she ran forward and dove into my lap, nearly knocking me over in the process.

"Missed you too, Martha," I grinned, rubbing her head and watching as my hand vanished into her thick hair.

Paul shook his head, "She nearly knocked me into next week."

"Doesn't surprise me, she must've been lonely."

"Nah, Jane was around," Paul sighed, "She's leavin' tomorrow mornin'. Got a job in Denmark."

I frowned. Paul dumped his bag on the couch and shook his head. He and Jane had gotten into plenty of fights over her constantly being gone. Neither could win because both had valid points, though I tended to take Jane's side, much to Paul's dismay.

Paul plopped next to me. He picked up one of the photo albums and admired the photo. It was of all of us; John, George, Ringo, Janice, Molly, and the two of us on the beach in 1964. We had stopped during our world tour and forced Ellen to snap a photo of us. He looked at it with the same longing nostalgia as I did.

"We've got some bloody good mates, don't we?" he asked, smiling wistfully.

I nodded, "All of them."

"'Cept John sometimes, when he's being particularly arse-like."

"Ey, you get that way sometimes too."

Paul laughed. I rested my chin on his shoulder and watched as he flipped through the photo album. Each had a memory tied to it that made me want to smile and cry all at the same time.

"Do you remember when we were nothing?" I asked, "Back when you lads only had one single and we had none?"

Paul chuckled, "You came to see us at The Cavern every Sunday."

"And you came to see us every Saturday," I smiled, "Back before all of this shit happened."

He knew exactly what I was referring to. Back when we were all together, where everybody was still living and playing together. Back in the times before nobody could hear us play on stage. It was the days where we were nobody's that were felt like we were truly somebody's. The days spent playing in dingy clubs that smelled like body odor and mildew were some of the best days of my life. 

"I remember. We were all together doin' what we loved, how could it get any better?" Paul muttered.

I sighed, "With a record deal, we thought. I s'pose we did reach the toppermost of the poppermost, just like we said we would."

"There's somethin' I haven't heard in a while," Paul smiled, "We did, didn't we? We reached the top."

"And we built a ladder."

Paul nodded, "We did everything we said we would and, funny enough, all I want is to go back to when we were nothing. Just a ragtag band playin' in a different club every night."

"Me too," I said, "But, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Me neither."

Those days were the greatest of my life. Back when we were nothing when nobody knew our names. We didn't have grand tours or even records, we were simply us and that was all we needed to be. Two bands playing their hearts out. Life was perfect when I could do what I loved with the people I loved. I would give anything to go back to those days, but I wouldn't change a thing.

Those were the days I call golden, but I wouldn't change the road ahead. I wouldn't stop the lads from signing with Brian, or us from signing with Ellen. I wouldn't turn down tours or record deals. The days when we were nothing were wonderful memories, but so are the days when we were something. I will always remember the shows at The Cavern just as fondly as I will remember The Christmas Show or The Ed Sullivan show. I'll remember the tours, the interviews, and the recording sessions with just as much fondness as I do our times in Hamburg. Each time has a different meaning for me and I will treasure those memories for my entire life.

"I had a thought," Paul mused.

I smirked, "Did it hurt?"

"Oh, bugger off," he rolled his eyes, "I had a thought. It gets lonely around here now, you know?"

I frowned. He wasn't wrong, I woke up lonely every morning and went to bed just the same. While he spoke the truth, it made me suspicious.

"Yeah?" I prodded.

Paul shrugged, "It gets lonely 'round the flat, what with Jane gone all the time. There's a flat for rent just across the hall from us. I thought it'd help us both for you to move there."

"Wait, what?" I asked, my eyebrow raised.

"Bein' here is just draggin' you down, Lia, you've got to find a way out," Paul smiled, "It'd be good for you to get away, a change of scenery, and this will work out better than last time. Plus, we wouldn't have to walk so bloody far to visit each other."

I furrowed my eyebrows in thought. It was a good idea, but I hesitated. Janice, Molly, and I bought this flat, together, it didn't seem right to leave it. There were memories here I couldn't abandon.

"Lia, it's just a flat," Paul said as if reading my thoughts, "Molly's not here anymore."

I gulped, my hands trembling, "Sometimes I hope she is. That I'll wake up and it'll all be some nightmare."

"I know. That's why you need to get out," Paul placed a hand on my shoulder, "It's not healthy for you to stay here."

What he means is it's not healthy for me to wallow in my grief. Sometimes, I woke up and I couldn't get out of bed. Depression often kept me lock under the covers as if they were a prison cell. Sometimes, I would want to die as well just so I could be with Molly again. I needed to get out, to find a new breath of life. Molly wouldn't want me to live like this.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I think you're right," I smiled.

"What was that?" Paul placed a hand to his ear, "Did you just say I'm right?"

"I'm not saying it again."

"Does that mean you'll do it?"

"Yeah, I'll do it."

Paul grinned and pulled me into a hug, "Brilliant!"

I smiled. It would be good, for both of us, but me especially. The memories inside of this flat were rich, but they were dragging me down. Every time I was here, all I could think was how Molly would never come back. Moving away would give me a new start, a new life, and a new beginning.

At least, that's what I hoped for.


	169. Paul?

This new flat was nothing like my old one. It was much bigger, it even had stairs that led to a second floor. The fire pit was large enough to fit me inside without having to curl up tightly. It even had a large brick fireplace built around it. The windows were large, almost taking up the entire wall. Two were sliding glass doors that led out to a large balcony. The upstairs had four bedrooms and a bathroom while the downstairs had a living room, kitchen, dining room, and second bathroom. Each was its own room.

This new flat was so large, I felt tiny just standing in it. It seemed like too big of a place for one girl and a baby, but it was perfect. Just across the hall, Paul and Jane lived in a flat just as big if not bigger. Everyone in this building was used to this size of a flat, but I felt out of place. Part of me yearned for the claustrophobia of my old flat.

"It's more like a castle than a flat," I muttered.

Vera glanced up at me and cocked her head. As I unpacked our belongings, she played with her toys. The very first thing she did when we walked into the flat was explore. She could almost climb the stairs on her own, but I was quick to stop her.

Zak was sitting next to her. He was just a few months older than her, but they were around the same size. The older he got, the more he looked like Ringo. He had the same sparkling blue eyes and mop-top of hazelnut hair covering his head. He even did Ringo's classic head shake whenever he was happy.

Ringo had called me the night before to ask if I could watch Zak for the night. Maureen had gone into labour and they couldn't take Zak to the hospital. Of course, I jumped at the chance. Maureen had sent along everything he needed for a single nights stay, including a cot for him to sleep on. She was more prepared than I ever was, I constantly forgot Vera's bottle. The lads were quick to suggest that I take 'Mum Lessons' from Maureen, and, I have to admit, I seriously considered it. 

Just as I began to unpack our record collection, the phone rang. Jane made sure that the phone was the very first thing I put in. She insisted I needed it just in case anyone called for an emergency or the like. So far, I've had six people call me and only two were wrong numbers. Zak and Vera watched me curiously as I went to answer it.

"'Ello, McCartney-Mac-no, sorry, McCartney residence," I answered.

Every time I answered the phone, I almost slipped into my old habitats. Molly and I always answered the phone as McCartney-Mackenzie residence, and I had to keep reminding myself it was just McCartney. The name left a sour taste in my mouth as if it should be different.

"'Ello, Mel!" Ringo exclaimed.

I smiled, "'Ello, Ringo, how's Mo doin'?"

"Wonderfully! Splendidly!" he laughed, "She's sleepin' right now."

"She had the baby?"

"She did! A healthy baby boy."

I grinned, "What's his name?"

"Jason. He looks just like his Mum, Mel, you should see him."

"You said that last time," I mused, "And Zak looks exactly like you."

"This time I mean it!"

Zak came trotting over to me. He pulled on my pant leg and asked, "Daddy?"

"Yes, Zak, it's your Dad," I crouched down, "Ey, Ringo, your kid's asking for you."

"Put him on, I want to tell him the good news."

I held the phone to Zak's ear. His face lit up once he heard his Dad's voice. All the while, I was smiling brightly. I could vaguely hear Ringo tell him he has a baby brother, to which Zak proudly cheered.

"He's gonna pee himself with excitement, Rings," I said once I returned the phone to my ear.

Ringo chuckled, "Wouldn't be the first time. Thanks for watchin' him, Mel."

"Always a pleasure. Gotta say I love the kiddo."

Zak trotted off to play with Vera once again. I watched the two kids babbling to each other with a small smile on my face. They seemed to have a language all their own.

"How's moving goin'?" Ringo asked.

"Same as ever," I shrugged, "I swear, I'm done moving. This is where I'm going to live until I die."

Ringo laughed, "I'll remind you of that next time you move."

"There won't be a next time. I'm tired of cardboard boxes."

"At least you can build a gear fort."

Both of us laughed. The line began to beep, signaling that someone else was trying to call. I sighed deeply, "Someone's tryin' to call. Tell Mo I'll bring the kids and Paulie around later."

"Could you bring some sandwiches too? The food here is rubbish."

"Will do, Ringsy. Bye."

With that, we hung up. I placed the phone down only to answer it again. The cold plastic touched my ear as I answered, "McCartney residence."

"Is this the home of Amelia McCartney?" the man on the opposite end asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "That's me, what can I do for you?"

"I'm calling on behalf of your brother, Paul McCartney," the man's voice never changed tone, "I'm afraid there's been an accident."

I nearly fainted right then and there. The last time I heard those words, the same officer told me my love was dead. My knees buckled and I hit the ground, tears welling up in my eyes as I clutched the phone for dear life. I was sure Paul was dead before the officer even told me what had happened. Every part of me was shaking, even my eyesight trembled. I barely realized when two children crawled towards me with worried eyes. They could sense my sudden distress, and it scared them. Vera looked like she wanted to run away and cry, but she stayed put. 

"Miss McCartney, we need you to come down to the hospital."

***

I hurried through the white halls of the hospital with a child on each hip. Zak and Vera looked around in confusion and terror as we passed nurses and doctors alike. I barely noticed the people passing or the foul stench of cleaning supplies, all I could think was how I needed to get to room one hundred and one.

Anxiety followed in my wake. Hospitals and I never went well together, I had seen enough of them to last me a lifetime. Just being inside of one made me shiver with nerves. Each time I was inside a hospital, somebody I loved was at death's door. I associated the smell of bleach with a sudden loss.

Whenever I found the room I needed, I pushed the door open with my foot. The bed was blocked by a white curtain, but that didn't matter to me. I walked around the edge and loudly exclaimed, "Paul, you absolute git!"

Paul glanced up at me from his perch on the edge of the bed. His face was a mess, dried blood clung to his skin and dark marks appeared under his eye. He had a cut through his eyebrow and climbing up his head. His top lip was nearly split in half and he had bruises all over his face. His arms had a few cuts and bruises as well. He looked miserable but alive.

"Lia-" he began, but I cut him off.

"You arse! You git! You wanker!" I shouted, "You scared me to death! I got a call sayin' my brother was in an accident and I immediately think the worse! I thought you died, Paul! What the bloody fuck were you thinking?!"

I set the two kids on the bed and began to pace the room. Paul watched, his eyes drooping and his body shaking slightly. I barely noticed his extreme exhaustion and obvious pain through my white-hot anger. The anger wasn't true, it was a curtain, blocking out the true emotion I felt but refused to acknowledge; fear.

"It's not like I did it on purpose," he replied.

"You don't even know how to drive a motorbike!" I exclaimed, "You could have died!"

Paul sighed, "I thought I'd give it a shot, alright? Didn't think it would end this badly."

"You fucking git!"

All of my fear had been covered with anger. The motorbike accident didn't kill him but there was a fair chance I would. Paul simply watched on with a placid but pained expression on his face.

"Lia, please stop yelling," Paul winced, "I've got a bad enough headache as is."

I threw my hands up in the air, "I can't help it, Paul! I've already lost Molly, I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too!"

Paul glanced up at me. Both of us realized we had gotten to the root of why I was yelling. I wasn't yelling at him, I wasn't even angry with him. In truth, I was so relieved he was alive, I felt like bursting into tears. I barely noticed when warm tears began to fall down my cheeks.

"The last time- the last time I got a call like that, Molly died," I tried to ignore the lump rising in my throat, "I couldn't-I don't-I-"

Paul stood up and wrapped me in a hug. Tears were freely pouring down my cheeks and sobs threatened to escape my lips. I held them back, wrapping my shaking arms around Paul's waist. He held me as I buried my face in his chest.

"I'm alright," he whispered.

I clenched his shirt in my fists, "I thought you died."

"I didn't," he muttered, "Takes a lot more than a tipped over motorbike to take me out."

I smiled slightly, allowing myself to relax. He was alright. Paul was alive, he was banged up, but he was alive. That's all that mattered.

"You're still stuck with me, Lia, and you will be for a long time," Paul smiled.

I weakly laughed, "You're a git, Paul."

"I love you too."


	170. All Things Must Pass

"I think it's time for a band meeting," I sighed into the phone, "My place, one hour, yeah?"

I could almost hear Linda nod, "I'll be there. Are you going to call Ellen?"

"Not yet. For now, it's just the two of us."

"Alright. See you in an hour."

With that, I hung up. For a moment, I simply stared at the wall, my hand still clenched around the telephone. The moment of truth had finally arrived and I didn't think I could handle it.

We had to do something. It had been eight months since Molly's passing and the pain hadn't gotten any better, but there were things I couldn't put off any longer. Revolution could only be on hiatus for so long, people were beginning to get anxious. I had seen several articles and even a television short speculating about the fate of Revolution. According to them, we had vanished off the face of the Earth, the only sightings were of me on The Beatles world tour.

Part of me couldn't stand the thought of playing without Molly, but the other part couldn't stand the thought of not playing. All I wanted was to get up on stage and drum my heart out, but I couldn't imagine doing it without Molly. Perhaps drumming would help me get over this grief. If I finally took that step that seemed impossible, maybe I could finally overcome this darkness. Drumming was therapeutic for me, I wouldn't have gotten this far without it. 

Something had to be done. Either we disbanded Revolution or we continued as if nothing had changed. Deep down, I knew exactly what was going to happen and I was terrified of it.

Linda arrived right on time. Heather held her hand, looking tired from getting up so early. She went to lay down on the couch while Linda and I gathered around the bar in the kitchen.

"Care for a cuppa?" I asked.

Linda smiled, "Got any coffee?"

"Course I do, just for you."

"You're too kind."

I made us each a cup of coffee, placing the red mugs in front of us. We sat in silence for a few minutes, just sipping our coffee and staring at the bar. Finally, Linda broke the silence.

"I suppose you called me here to decide what to do with Revolution?" she asked.

I sighed, "We've gotta do somethin', Lindy, we can't just keep going like this."

"I agree," she replied, "But, do you?"

"What?"

"We have to do something, it all depends on you," she replied, "You're the last remaining member of Revolution- last original member, at least. It all depends on what you want to do."

I shook my head, "I don't know."

"What does your heart say?"

"And I thought I was the sap," I chuckled.

Linda shook her head. I glanced up at her, meeting her eyes and feeling the wetness waiting behind my own. My heart trembled as did the rest of my body. I had to put down the mug before I spilled any of the contents.

"When Janice quit the band, Molly and I didn't want to continue," I sighed, "It didn't seem right to continue with Revolution without Janice, she was a founding member after all. But, we did, because we had to fight. We started Revolution as exactly that, a Revolution, and we couldn't stop because one soldier fell."

Linda smiled, "Are you going to stop now?"

"It doesn't feel right- playin' without Molly. Don't get me wrong, I love playing with you, I couldn't imagine it any other way, but it's different. Molly's always been there ever since the beginning. I couldn't-I don't-"

Tears began to well up in my eyes. Linda set her mug down and wrapped one arm around my shoulders. I rested my forehead on her side, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my jumper. Linda rubbed my back comfortingly.

"What would Molly tell you to do?" Linda whispered.

I blinked, "She would tell me to stop bein' such a baby and to get up and fight for something. She would tell me there's still a revolution to win."

We had only just begun. The Revolution wasn't going to stop because we'd lost two soldiers, it had to continue. We were a critical part of the revolution of women in music, we couldn't stop that now. There was still so much left to do and we couldn't stop.

Yet, I couldn't do it. I knew, deep down, that I would not be able to handle going on stage and playing without Molly. I couldn't imagine Revolution going on stage without Molly Mackenzie, it wasn't right.

That's when it hit me. It wasn't so much that I couldn't imagine playing without Molly, I had done it before during my days as a Beatle. What I couldn't imagine was playing as Revolution without Molly Mackenzie. We were a chair with three legs, and only one leg could be replaced with a prosthetic, even that doesn't last forever. Revolution was doomed from the second Janice quit the band until the moment it was dissolved.

I couldn't imagine being Revolution without Molly, but I could imagine playing. I could get up on that stage and drum my heart out for Molly, even if she wasn't there. The Revolution didn't have to stop, but we didn't have to continue either. We didn't have to be Revolution to get up on that stage and finish what we started. We didn't have to be Revolution to fight in the revolution.

"Bloody hell, I've got it!" I exclaimed.

Linda was startled whenever I leaped into the air. She watched as I began to pace, muttering under my breath and twirling my fingers behind my back. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind all at once, all drawing the same conclusion.

"Care to explain?" Linda patiently asked.

"Revolution is dead," I said, "You know that just as well as I do. The two of us, we're rebels, but we aren't Revolution. We can't continue if we've already lost two of our legs."

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "Are you saying we dissolve Revolution?"

"Yes and no," I answered, "I'm saying we stop being Revolution and start being something else."

"A different band?"

"Exactly! The two of us, we can start a new band. Somethings will still be the same; the two of us will still be there but we won't be rebels. We'll finish what we started but not how we started."

Realization dawned on Linda's face, "We don't have to be named Revolution to fight the revolution."

"Exactly, Lindy dear, a war isn't won on one thing alone," I replied, "Battle strategies have to change to take our enemies by surprise. If we become something different, we change the game."

"Sounds like we need an audition."

I snapped my fingers, "First, we need a name. If we're going to do this we need new members under a new name. We need a name that sounds ferocious but also elegant, the picture of rock-and-roll."

I continued to pace as Linda watched me. The last time we came up with names, Molly and I easily settled on one. We named Revolution after the reason it was created. This was different, we had to cut all ties to the name revolution but we still had to fight the revolution. We needed a name that sounded like a warrior but had no ties to revolution.

"Vikings?" I muttered, "Warriors? Wonder Women, I dunno."

Linda shook her head, "Something fierce. Something-"

Thunder cracked outside, making us both jump. We flung our heads to the open window in the living room. It had begun to rain despite the sunny skies outside. For a moment, Linda and I watched the rain come tumbling down. A smile crossed her face.

"Storms Over London," Linda suggested, "We could name it Storms Over London."

I spun around to face her, "Lindy, that's brilliant!"

She smiled brightly. I landed on the stool next to her and flung my arm around her shoulders. The two of us grinned as I held my hand out as if painting a picture, "I can see it now, Storms Over London will take the world by storm!"

Linda chuckled, "That's the plan."

"C'mon, Lindy, let's go tell Ellen."

***

"You want to dissolve Revolution but continue as a different band?" Ellen asked.

She looked completely lost. As soon as Linda and I came to the same conclusion, we rushed over to Ellen's office. That's why we stood in front of her desk with coats haphazardly thrown on, hair soaked with rain, and two grumpy toddlers in our arms.

"That's exactly it, Elly," I grinned, "We'll still be doin' the same things we've always done just under a different name with a few new members. We'll change our look, our sound, our name, and our band but we'll still fight the same fight."

Ellen shook her head, "Not everything is a battle, Amelia."

"No, but this is. We're fighting the revolution of women in the music industry and we have been since Molly, Janice, and I first stepped on stage together. We can't continue Revolution when there are only two rebels left, but we can start something new."

Ellen ran a hand through her hair. It was risky, that much was certain. In a way, we would be starting from scratch. By ditching the name Revolution we ditched everything that came with it. From our fanbase to our connections, we were dropping all of it for the sake of an idea. In business terms, it was a terrible idea, but, to me, it was brilliant.

We wouldn't be dropping everything, necessarily. Linda and I both had connections individually, both from being rebels and from being in the music industry. Some of our fans had come through our connection to The Beatles. So long as I carried The McCartney name, that wasn't going away. Our friends in the business wouldn't leave us either. In my mind, this plan was flawless. 

"I don't know, you'll be risking a lot. It will be like starting from scratch all over again," Ellen warned.

I grinned, "That's the plan."

"We can't keep going with Revolution without Molly," Linda explained, "Something has to change."

I nodded, "We're cursed, but we can get rid of the curse if we're someone else."

Ellen gazed at us for a moment. I could see the gears turning in her head, analyzing the situation. For a few anxious moments, we waited in silence. I barely noticed when I wasn't breathing.

"I will admit, this idea has promise," Ellen sighed, "It will be risky, there's a chance you won't make it to where you were once before especially if you do not go on tours. You will lose all of your previous reputation in the music industry, are you prepared to start from nothing?"

Linda and I exchanged glances and nodded vigorously. We had already gone over all of this, we've weighed the pros and cons and decided this was the best route. Revolution had to be abandoned if we were going to get anywhere.

"Alright, if that's what you've decided, then so be it. Revolution is as good as gone, once I sign the papers," Ellen smiled.

I ran around the desk to fling my arms around her, "Elly, you're the greatest."

"So you've said," she rubbed my arm, "What about a new name? Have you come up with one?"

Linda nodded, "Storms Over London."

"Lindy came up with it, she's a genius, I tell you," I jerked my thumb to the woman in question.

Linda bowed her head and blushed slightly. Ellen smiled, "I think it's a wonderful name."

"We'll need an audition," I announced, "We'll get two new members instead of one, to make it a quartet instead of a trio."

"We better get to work."


	171. Thunder, Lightning, Rain, and Clouds

Four people, that's what we needed. In order to make a storm you needed four things; thunder, lightning, rain, and clouds. Four parts of a whole. That's exactly what Storms Over London needed.

It would be the exact change we needed. Not only would we have a different name, but we would be a different band entirely, save for two members. Linda and I were the rain and the thunder. Linda was the rain, with her melodic piano playing that's all she could be. I was the thunder. With each beat of the drum, I created a clap of thunder to shake our entire band. All we needed was the lightning and the clouds. 

"I swear, if a bloke walks through those doors, I'm gonna lose it," I said.

Ellen shook her head, "I already told Prudence to turn all of the men away."

"And she'll do it too," I replied, "That girl is stubborn."

"And you're not?" Linda asked.

"We all know I'm stubborn."

Sitting at that table, I had deja vu. It was exactly like when we auditioned and found Linda, except a different blonde was sitting next to me. Mitch had set up a long table in the studio with enough room for four people. We all sat in a row, waiting for the first contestant.

Paul had graciously agreed to babysit Vera for the day. He was still healing from his accident and wasn't supposed to do anything too strenuous. Luckily, Vera was a low-maintenance one-year-old, most of the time.

"Let's call in the first girl," Mitch announced.

The first girl was young, perhaps around nineteen. She stood with her chest puffed out and a confident smile on her face. An acoustic guitar with hippie designs drawn all over it was slung across her back. That guitar reminded me of Janice, she used to doodle on her guitar like that too. The girl waltzed in with pure confidence. As soon as she spun around and her eyes landed on the four women behind the table, she lost everything. Her eyes landed on me and every ounce of confidence left her. She deflated in front of our very eyes like a balloon with a hole in it.

"You alright, lass?" I asked.

She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out. Linda and I exchanged confused glances. Ellen leaned forward, "Do you need some water?"

"I-" she shook herself, "I-I-"

"Cat got your tongue?" I asked.

The girl began to blush, "You're-you're Amelia McCartney. And you're Linda Eastman."

"Oh, good, you know our names," I laced my fingers under my chin and smiled, "Care to tell us yours?"

"I-um-I'm guitar. No, I mean, I play guitar. I'm bandabella. Wait, no, Anabella."

She was growing steadily redder with every passing second. I was legitimately scared she might faint, being starstruck does that to a person. Linda shook her head and whispered, "She's starstruck."

"Course she is," I muttered under my breath, "Alright, Anabella, can you play?"

"Yeah-yeah, I can."

"Go on, then."

She pulled her guitar in front of her and began to play. Her hands were shaking so bad, it's a wonder she managed to hit the strings at all. Every chord was off and she couldn't even get the words out to sing. Throughout her entire song, Linda, Ellen, Mitch, and I all exchanged glances. When she finished, I sighed deeply.

"Look, Bandabella," I grinned, "I'm sure you're a gear guitarist, but not when you're lookin' at us. Maybe this band isn't the best for you."

She nodded vigorously. Linda leaned forward and smiled, "It was nice meeting you."

"You-you too."

Without another word, she sped off, clearly wanting to be out of that room as fast as possible. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples, "This is going to be a long day."

We auditioned six different girls. All six weren't qualified for the position. Some couldn't play, some were too young, and I'm pretty sure one was a man in disguise. All didn't fit with the image we had or the music we needed to play.

"This is bloody ridiculous," I muttered, "Are there no other girls in London that know how to play a bleeding guitar?"

Ellen sighed, "We have to work with what we have. Here comes the next girl."

The seventh girl walked in with her head bowed down and her hands laced over her stomach. She seemed skittish, her every move was dodgy like she could bolt for the exit at any second. Her plaid dress was wrinkled and her socks were mismatched. She wore a yellow sweater that clashed severely with the purple plaid dress, but oddly, she pulled it off. Her curly black hair had a broken hair tie in the back, dangling off and threatening to fall at any second. She was like a cloud, someone who was quiet enough to fade into the background but could release a hurricane if the wind blew just right. I looked at her and all I could think was that she bit the inside of her cheek just like Janice did. 

"Hello," Ellen smiled, "I'm Ellen Marie, and you are?"

The girl wrung her hands together, "Minerva-Minerva Lane."

Her accent was eerily familiar. It wasn't of a native Londoner or any other distinct accent. This one was a British accent all of its own. Had I thought longer about it, I would have realized I heard that accent every time I heard myself talk.

"Minerva, pleasure to meet you. I'm Amelia and that's Linda, we're the band," I grinned.

She waved meekly. Just by watching her I had flashbacks of the first time I met Janice. She wouldn't make eye contact just like this girl. They both looked like they might faint at any second or run away. Had she looked up, I might have seen a blush rise to her cheeks.

"Care to play for us?" Mitch asked gently.

The girl nodded. She grabbed one of the guitars Mitch had around the studio, an acoustic that I was partial to myself. Her shaking fingers seemed to still as soon as she wrapped them around the guitar. She still wouldn't make eye contact with us, but her confidence grew as she began to strum. A small smile crossed her face as she started the first few chords to an ever-familiar song.

"Come back to me, my love is free," she sang, "One, two, three, you loved me."

My eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. I had only ever heard that song sung by Molly. She had written it about her Dad and published it whenever her Mum died. It was a heartfelt ballad about her calling a love back to her when, really, she was calling for her parents. Hearing it again made me want to burst into tears.

"That was lovely," Linda smiled.

She glanced at me, noticing the tears gathering in the corner of my eyes. I quickly wiped them on my jumper sleeve and waved her off.

"Do you play any other instruments?" Ellen asked.

Minerva nodded, "I can play the saxophone, the trombone, the clarinet, and the piano."

"Wow, you're quite fluent," Mitch observed, 'Have you ever been in a band before?"

"I used to play in one, back in Liverpool."

I flung my head up, "You're from Liverpool?"

"Yes," Minerva replied, "I just moved here two months ago."

"Ey, I'm from good ole Liddypool too."

"You are?"

I nodded. She glanced up and made eye contact with me. To everyone's surprise, she didn't look away. Both of us forgot about the other three women in the room and started our own conversation.

"What part you from?" I asked.

"Woolton," she replied, "Lived there with my Mum."

I laughed, "I lived near there. My Da still lives in Penny Lane."

"Oh! My Grandmum lives there."

"Well how about that."

Ellen cleared her throat, "Girls, if you will."

"Right, sorry, Elly," I jerked my thumb at Minerva, "It's not often I meet another Scouser."

Linda chuckled, "Except for your four best friends."

"They don't count."

Minerva laughed. She seemed to get more comfortable with us now that we learned we're both from Liverpool. I felt a bond with her even though we had only just met.

"Well, you are quite fluent with instruments and you have previous experience," Ellen smiled, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-One," Minerva replied.

I grinned, "Just two years younger than me. Come on, Elly, she's perfect."

"I have to agree," Linda said, glancing at our manager.

Ellen and Mitch exchanged glances. Mitch shrugged, smiling her usual smile as she did. Ellen glanced back at us and smiled, "I happen to agree. Alright, Miss Lane, how would you like to be a member of Storms Over London?"

"Oh, I would love it!" Minerva squealed.

I clapped her on the back, "Jolly good, then!"

"Welcome to the band," Linda smiled warmly.

Minerva looked like she was going to explode with excitement. Ellen told her to come back at the start of the new year for our first recording session. We would have to test our sounds and all but, seeing as how it was just a few days until Christmas, we all thought it best to take a bit of a vacation.

Minerva left with a pep in her step and a giggle in her wake. I watched on with a happy smile. She seemed to fit right in, even though she was skittish. Janice was like that and she fit in perfectly. The fact that Minerva was from Liverpool just made her even better in my mind.

"Last one," Prudence announced, sticking her head in.

Ellen motioned for her to send them in. I sighed, "This is why we need to keep going."

"Why aren't there more?" Linda asked, "I expected more."

"They're scared."

Linda understood immediately. We were faced with the same problem when we met Linda. Anyone who had followed our career, or any career of a female musician, had seen what we put up with. Some are absolutely terrified of being put in that situation as well. Very few are brave enough to knowingly put themselves in the situations we put ourselves in.

As soon as the next girl walked in, I knew she and I would not get along. She walked with the same cocky attitude that John had, but stronger. Even as she looked at Linda and I, two of the most famous musicians in Britain, she simply turned her nose up. The very air around her smelled of an ego much too large for her body. Her yellow sweater dress clung to her thighs and hung onto matching tights. She had a yellow beret with a red pom on top. Her makeup was perfectly done, and there was way too much of it. Neither Linda nor I wore any makeup, and this girl had it caked on. She pulled it off but it still made me frown.

"Hello," Ellen greeted.

The girl smiled, "Good evening. My name is Tabitha Plinkett and I am here to audition for Storms Over London."

"Thought you were here to build a bleedin' rocketship," I muttered just loud enough for Linda to hear me.

Linda snorted but quickly covered it up with a cough. I smirked slightly as Tabitha looked at me. She smiled sweetly but I could sense another desire. It was one thing to want to join a band for the music and another to want to join for the fame. I could already tell this girl would be all about the fame and nothing else, though I could be wrong. I can't say exactly why this girl put me off so much just by looking at her, but she did. Something about her cocky attitude and brilliant smile seemed suspicious to me.

"What instruments do you play?" Linda asked.

Tabitha smiled showing all of her overly white teeth, "The guitar, the piano, the drums, the flute, the violin, the trumpet, and I sing, of course."

She laughed sweetly. Suddenly, I realized why this girl put me off so much. There wasn't a single thing wrong with her. I couldn't see a single blemish or hint of anxiety. She was just like a porcelain doll wiped clean of all the negative human emotions, except for the few she buried beneath a dazzling smile.

"Have you ever been in a band before?" Ellen inquired.

Tabitha nodded, making her chocolate hair bounce beneath her beret, "Oh, yes, several. I was the lead singer for a band in Manchester and for one here in London."

"Why'd you quit?" I asked.

"The other band members decided to go their own ways."

She never stopped smiling. It was a wonder her cheeks didn't get tired, or she just ignored the pain. I glanced at Linda, but she didn't seem to see the dark side this girl so clearly possessed. All three of the other women lining the table seemed to love this girl.

"Why don't you play for us?" Mitch asked.

Tabitha nodded, "I would love to."

She picked up the same guitar Minerva did. I did my best to find something wrong with her playing but there was nothing to find. She was perfect, almost too perfect. Nobody could play with such precision as she did, not even the lads, and they wrote the song.

"He's a real nowhere man," Tabitha sang, "Sitting in his nowhere land."

Even her voice was perfect. Everything she did was so perfect, I knew there was no way we couldn't accept her. Linda, Ellen, and Mitch seemed ready to accept her right then, but I was more hesitant.

"Brilliant," Ellen said as soon as Tabitha finished, "Simply brilliant."

Linda grinned, "I think Tabitha would be a wonderful new addition."

"I agree. Amelia?"

All three women turned to look at me. I frowned, glancing between Tabitha and Ellen. Clearing my throat, I plastered a fake smile across my lips, "Tabitha, would you give us a moment?"

"Of course."

The girl stepped out into the hall, humming the entire time. As soon as she was gone, my fake smile fell and turned into a real frown, "I don't like her."

"Amelia, she's perfect," Ellen argued.

"Exactly!" I exclaimed, "Did you see a single thing wrong with her?"

"No-"

"That's exactly the problem, there wasn't anything wrong. Not a blemish, not a voice crack, not even a slip of her fingers. She wasn't even nervous, how can someone not be nervous in this situation?"

Ellen shook her head, "Amelia, you're judging a book by its cover."

"Sometimes, the cover tells the whole story."

"No, it doesn't," Ellen replied, "She is the last contestant we have and she's perfect. There is no logical reason not to let her join the band."

I glanced at Linda, "Surely you agree with me."

"Sorry, Mel, but Ellen's right. She's perfect," Linda replied.

"Mitch?"

"She is perfect, too perfect, I'd say," Mitch sighed, "But, I don't think you have much of a choice left. It's either Tabitha or sing trio."

Ellen, Linda, and Mitch all continued to stare at me. They couldn't make a decision unless it was unanimous. I did not want Tabitha to join the band, somehow, I knew it would go South, but I didn't have a choice. Sighing deeply, I said, "Fine, but if this comes back to bite us in the arse, don't blame me."

"Wonderful," Ellen clapped her hands, "I'll go tell her the good news."

As Ellen left, Linda grinned, "And here we have Storms Over London."

"Let's just hope we chose right," I whispered.


	172. Salt And Pepper?

Over the New Year, Paul thought it would be a wonderful idea to go to Paris. So wonderful, in fact, that he forgot to inform me prior to actually leaving. He was so wrapped up in the idea of spending New Year's in Paris that he forgot to tell the person he wanted to go with. 

An abrupt knocking on the door pulled me out of my slumber. I groggily sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and grumbling under my breath. Vaguely, I remembered I was having a nice dream and I became angry at whoever was at my door for ruining it. I sluggishly got out of bed and began to make my way towards the front door, running into several walls and tables in the process.

"What the bloody-" I flung open the door, "Paul, what're you doing?"

Paul looked me up and down, "Why're you in your jammies? It's noon."

"Sometimes I like to sleep, besides, I asked first."

"I got us tickets, we leave in two hours."

I stared at him blankly. He held up the tickets, grinning madly and waiting for me to respond. All I could do was stare at him. My head was still filled with the fog of sleep, I could only focus on one thing at a time. At that moment, for some reason, my brain decided to focus on the mustache Paul was growing to cover the marks leftover from his motorbike incident.

"Paul," I smirked, leaning against the door.

He lifted an eyebrow, "What?"

"I mustache you a question."

"Oh, haha, very funny," Paul rolled his eyes, "You're a git, Lia."

I giggled, "Takes one to know one, Paulie. Really, though, where we goin'?"

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "Paris, Lia, don't you remember?"

"Since when were we going to Paris?"

"Since an hour ago when I got the tickets," he replied, "Remember, I said we ought to spend New Year's in Paris."

I yawned, "You never said we were actually doin' it."

"It was implied!"

I shook my head trying to clear the fog wrapping around my brain. All I could think was how that mustache made him look like our Dad back in his sailor days. I couldn't focus on the idea of going to Paris, let alone actually doing it. Paul looked at me expectantly. I ran a hand through my hair and asked, "How long we stayin'?"

"Just the weekend, we'll be back on the first," Paul began to get even more excited, "It'll be gear, Lia! Mal's comin' too."

"Mal? Mal Evans?"

"Do you know another Mal?"

I chuckled, "Got me there. Alright, I'm game, let me get my stuff together."

"Gear! I'll meet you back here in an hour."

"Jolly good."

With that, I shut the door. I wandered into the hall with a sleepy smile on my face. I barely thought of what to pack for me or for Vera. My head was still stuck in the dreamworld. All of a sudden, I stopped and furrowed my brow.

"Hang it all," I muttered, "Did I just agree to go to Paris?"

Storms Over London had just gotten started and we were all due for a soundcheck on the second of January. It seemed like a bad idea to leave the country, even if I was coming back the day before. Ellen would tell me no in an instant, oddly, that made me want to do it more. Something about the sense of rebellion made it feel like the old days.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

I got myself and Vera dressed and ready to go. She was still half asleep as she watched me throw our belongings into a suitcase. Her eyes followed every article of clothing, looking even closer whenever I packed her favorite blanket. Rubbing her eyes, she asked, "Where we goin'?"

"To Paris with Uncle Paulie," I replied.

"We gonna fly?"

"We're going to soar!" I exclaimed, "High above the marshmallow clouds and straight through the blueberry skies."

I lifted Vera up and spun her around. Despite her exhaustion, she giggled loudly. When I set her back by Applebaum she smiled brighter than ever. Vera absolutely adored going on planes, a trait which I wished she would have gotten from me. Her love of planes was just as strong as my fear of them. While she would be squealing with delight, I would be trembling in fear. 

We were packed and ready to go by the time Paul came knocking on our door. I lifted Vera on my shoulders and placed her backpack on the top of the suitcase. Whenever I answered the door, Vera squealed, "Uncle Paulie!"

"'Ello, Vera, love," Paul grinned.

He reached up and lifted the toddler from my shoulders. Vera giggled as he hugged her. Both smiled brighter than ever.

"Are you excited to go to Paris?" Paul asked his niece.

Vera threw her arms up, "We gonna fly!"

"We'll fly so high!"

"She really likes planes," I muttered.

Paul grinned, "Funny, considering you hate them."

"And I will until my dying day."

Paul laughed. It was his turn to carry Vera on his shoulders as we made our way to the lift. Sometimes, it hit me just how big Vera was getting. She could walk on her own and make almost coherent sentences most of the time. Her blonde hair had met her shoulders and was almost always tied back. At just over a year old, she looked ready to go to university.

We took a cab to the airport. The entire time, Paul was talking my ear off. He talked about how excited he was to go to Paris as tourists and actually look around the city. He rattled off a list of all the most tourist places you could go, and how he wanted to go to every single one. Paul was so excited to be a tourist for once, not a Beatle. 

"Until the fans get wind of it," I replied, "You may not be touring anymore, but your fans haven't lessened."

Paul winced, "I'm not a Beatle anymore, you know."

"They don't."

Paul sighed deeply. It was obvious that the topic bothered him. Being a Beatle was a wonderful thing, but it was also a huge responsibility. Everything that came along with the fame and the music was emotionally, physically, and mentally draining. Just thinking of it made Paul look ten years older.

"Say," I quickly changed the subject, "Where's Jane?"

Paul shrugged, "Off on some play tour. I think she's in Amsterdam."

"Good for her. She's quite a good actress."

"That she is."

Neither of us wanted to get deeper into that subject. Paul was always against Jane following her career and leaving him all of the time. He expected me to take his side simply because he's my brother, but I never did. Every time this came up, I took Jane's side. He always conveniently danced around the subject with me.

Whenever we arrived at the airport, we climbed out and I paid the cab fare. Vera rode on the top of my suitcase as we entered the airport. There, standing near the check-in, was Mal Evans. He had grown his hair out since I last saw him, which was only a few months before. No matter how he cut his hair, shaved his beard, or changed his weight, he always looked the same to me. He was always the smiling teddy bear I had known since our days at The Cavern. These days, I'd do anything to see him again. When he was around, it seemed as if things could never go wrong. 

"'Ello, Mal, wonderful to see you again," I grinned.

He waved his extra large hand, "Hello, Amelia, Paul."

"I'm here too!" Vera shouted, peering around me.

Mal chuckled, "Hello to you too, Vera."

"Let's get on the plane, then," Paul grinned, "It's about to take off."

Mal nodded and began to drag his suitcase through the airport right alongside us. Being with a Beatle did have its perks, we were escorted through security and straight to a private jet. As soon as we saw it, Mal whistled, "Nice one, Paul."

"Eppy helped me get it," Paul beamed, "Didn't want any fans havin' heart attacks while we were in the air."

"Jolly good."

The two men began to walk towards the jet. I looked at the flying tin can of death, a fresh line of sweat slowly growing on my forehead. My hands began to shake as I gulped.

"I bloody hate flying."

***

"Happy New Year!"

Paul, Mal, and I all clinked the edges of our glasses. From our hotel suite, we could see the fireworks exploding over The Eiffel Tower. It was the perfect scene to start the perfect year. We all downed a large sip of champagne to start the New Year off correctly.

"To life and prosperity," Mal raised his glass.

Paul raised his as well, "And another year of bloody good albums and no touring."

"A new band, an old one, and good friends all around," I tapped my glass against theirs.

We all took another sip. the champagne bubbled in my throat, making me want to cough but I didn't have the need. It tasted like liquid gold and was just as valuable. The three of us sat at a table on the balcony of our suite. Dinner had only just arrived and we were all starving. As soon as we finished our New Year's celebrations, I didn't hesitate in digging into my food.

"Paul, can you pass the salt and pepper?" Mal asked.

Paul looked up at him and lifted an eyebrow, "Sergeant Pepper?"

"No, salt-"

"Wait, that's it!" Paul suddenly shouted, "Bloody hell, that's it!"

He jumped up so quickly his chair tumbled over. Mal and I watched with confused expressions as Paul raced into the suite. He vanished into his bedroom, repeatedly shouting, "That's it! That's it! Bloody hell, that's it!"

"What was that all about?" Mal asked.

I sighed, "Paulie had a lightbulb."

I left my chair more gracefully than Paul. Walking into the suite, I found him sitting on the floor in his bedroom furiously writing in his notebook. He was mumbling under his breath as he did.

"We're Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," he mumbled, "We hope you will enjoy the show."

I crouched in front of him and lifted an eyebrow, "New song idea?"

"Lia, it's so much more than that!" He exclaimed, "It's brilliant, I tell you, brilliant!"

"Care to tell me?"

He glanced up at me and grinned, "We're not The Beatles anymore."

"Yeah, but-"

"We are The Beatles, but we're not," he explained, "Being a Beatle is tiresome, it's crazy. What if we pretended to be someone else for a while? A different band entirely!"

I grinned, "A band called Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band?"

"Right on the nose!"

I smiled at him. It was a brilliant idea, and I can vouch for it because I was doing the exact same thing. Storms Over London was like being a Rebel without being Revolution. Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band would still be The Beatles. It would still be John, Paul, George, and Ringo, but they didn't have to be Beatles. For the first time, they could forget about their titles and their duties to focus solely on the music. 

"I think that's brilliant," I said, "You're The Beatles but you're not, it's the perfect escape without ever giving up what you lads have built."

Paul grabbed my hand and grinned, "Exactly, Lia! It's an escape within our own home!"

"It's genius, Paulie."


	173. The Storm Blows In

Being back in the studio felt like going back home, but slightly different. As if the house had been repainted or the photographs hung in a different pattern. It was the same home I knew and loved, but something was off. In this case, someone was missing.

I had grown accustomed to Molly not being there, but there would always be that tiny part of me that felt like it was wrong. Every time I woke up to an empty bed, that part of me would scream. Every time I sat down at the drum stool and looked around only to see Linda, Minerva, and Tabitha, that part of me would cry. I had to get used to playing without Molly just as I had gotten used to living without her. However, just because I made my peace with it doesn't mean it hurt any less.

Linda's keyboard was closest to my drums. She was just a few steps away. Every so often, she would glance up at me and smile as if reassuring herself that I was still here. I would always smile back.

Both of us felt off, I could see it in her demeanor. This was the first sound test for Storms Over London, and also the first time we had all played together. It didn't feel right to be in the studio with these two girls who were practically strangers.

Minerva sat on the floor with her legs crossed beneath her and a guitar in her lap. I was the only person she would make eye contact with so far, and that was only because we had bonded over our shared heritage. Soon enough, we all hoped she would grow comfortable with us enough to make eye contact with the rest of the group. As is, she couldn't even talk to Tabitha. When she first walked in, Minerva and I dove into a conversation about the greatest hangout places in Liverpool. I brought up The Cavern Club, Strawberry Fields, and the docks, but Minerva was partial to a few coffee shops and a certain bookstore. Of the two newest members, Minerva was already on my good side. As for Tabitha, that was yet to be decided. 

Linda, Ellen, and Mitch all thought Tabitha was amazing. They loved her from the first time she played, but I was different. She was perfect, yes, but that was exactly the problem. Nobody could be that perfect. Without a blemish on her body or a missed beat in her playing, something had to be wrong on the inside. Everybody had flaws, and hers had to be where we couldn't see them, yet.

Tabitha took over the couch. She had her bag on one end, her guitar case on the other, and her in the middle. Her smile had yet to lose its dazzle, but I knew it was only a matter of time. After enough time spent with each other, I would find her negative qualities and she would find mine. 

"For the sound check, let's play an old favorite," Mitch's voice was full of static over the intercom, "How about Liverpool Bop?"

I chuckled, "One of my personal favorites."

"Mine too," Linda grinned.

"That's why I chose it," Mitch admitted, "Alright, from the top, ready?"

"Ready!"

We all prepared ourselves. I glanced over at Minerva who looked like she was about to faint. She caught my eye and my confident grin. Shaking slightly, she smiled back at me.

"Well, I heard a tale of a man from Wales," I sang, "Who came down the coast and began to boast about them rockin' sockin' tunes down the old blue ja-aa-aa-ay."

Minerva slipped and played the wrong chord twice, wincing as she did. Linda shot her a smile whenever she did, assuring her that was alright. To us, it was preferable if you did slip up, that way we knew you were human. The more mistakes you made, the move improvement you could make. Without messing up you had no room to grow and learn. Minerva slipping only made me more confident that she was the perfect addition to the band.

Tabitha went through the entire song without a single mistake. She perfectly hit the notes on the guitar and even came in with backup vocals at the exact right time. Whenever we finished, I noticed she didn't even break a sweat. In the back of my mind I wondered if she was secretly a robot in disguise.

"Very good, girls," Mitch announced, "The soundcheck went nicely."

Linda chuckled, "You were both great."

Minerva blushed as Tabitha flipped her hair, "Naturally."

"Lindy, I'm offended," I placed a hand over my heart, "Was I not good enough?"

Linda shook her head, "Good as ever, Amelia."

"Alright, our friendship is saved."

Both of us laughed. Minerva stared at her lap as Tabitha rolled her eyes. She obviously didn't appreciate our humor, which confused me slightly. Most everyone in Britain had the same humor as us, at least, everyone our age. True, I had the Liverpudlian version, which was slightly altered than the London sense of humor. Up until that day, I hadn't found a Londoner that didn't apreciate my Scouser humor. 

"Now, about a new record," Mitch said as she walked into the studio.

I grinned, "Already on it, Mitch, got three songs written already."

"I should have known," Mitch shook her head, "Amelia, always ready with a new song."

I shrugged. Tabitha cleared her throat and said, "I've written a few of my own. I could show you if you like."

"Of course. This band is a team, all ideas are accepted," Linda said, sending me a glance.

I didn't say anything. She was right, of course, that's how we always worked. Everybody got just as much input as everybody else, and this wasn't any different. Minerva and Tabitha were just as much a part of this band as we were and had just as much input. If Tabitha had a song to share, it was only right that we listen to it.

"Let's hear one."

***

After six hours of recording, composing, and sound tests we only had one song on tape. It was one of Tabitha's and, I have to admit, it was great. Her style of music perfectly fit in with mine. The two of us went hand in hand when it came to compositions. We weren't quite a Lennon-McCartney, more like a Richards-Jagger. Not quite at the level of John and Paul, but close enough to where our shared compositions would be remembered. I began to question if Ellen was right when she said I judged a book by its cover. Perhaps I had been too quick to judge Tabitha and she truly was perfect.

"I think we picked the perfect people to join," Linda commented as soon as we stepped out of the studio.

I situated my hat on my head, "I've got to admit, they are bloody good."

"I thought you didn't like Tabitha."

"Eh, I judged a book by its cover," I chuckled, "She's not half bad, I'd say."

Linda grinned, "Glad you came around."

"You knew I would."

Linda laughed. The two of us began to walk down the street. She pulled her coat closer around her and sighed deeply, "Are you heading home?"

"Nah, gonna go visit the lads," I replied, "They've got this new album goin' and, I've got to say, it's bloody brilliant."

"Can't wait to hear it."

I nodded, "I'm tellin' you, Lindy, they're gonna make history with this thing."

"Haven't they made history before?" Linda asked.

"Yeah, but this is different. This'll change the face of music, I'm sure of it!"

Linda laughed, "I think you may be over exaggerating a bit there, Mel."

"Eh, maybe, but who better than them?" I replied, "They've already made history, why not more?"

"Maybe. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

I grinned, "That we will, Lindy dear."

We separated just as I crossed the zebra crosswalk across Abbey Road. That crosswalk had become familiar to me what with all of the times I had visited the lads. As I walked into the studio, I felt just as casual as I did walking into Aubergine Studios.

The door to their studio was shut. I could hear music radiating from inside, but it was too muffled to understand. The door to the production room was cracked open and I slipped in, careful not to disturb George Martin.

Every production room had a window with one-way glass. The people in the room could see the musicians but not the other way around. This room was no different. I came up behind George Martin to watch the lads play their music.

"We're Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, we hope you will enjoy the show," John, Paul, and George harmonized, "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club band, sit back and let your feet flow."

They stopped playing and glanced at each other. John chuckled, "Let your feet flow, Macca?"

"Put them up, you know," Paul replied, "Makes sense."

George shook his head, "No, it doesn't."

"It really doesn't," I agreed.

George Martin jumped slightly and turned to see my bright grin. He shook his head and sighed, "Amelia, when did you get here?"

"Few seconds ago," I replied, "Didn't want to bother you, you seemed concentrated."

"Alright, I'll change the bloody line," Paul announced.

John was cackling as George simply smiled. Ringo sat at his drum set, content just watching his mates work. George Martin set his headphones on the sound table and sighed, "You can go down, I believe we're done for the night."

"Ta, George."

I left the production room to waltz down the stairs. As soon as I entered the room, I chuckled and shook my head. It was hard to believe I was looking at the same lads who, just a few months before, all had the same matching mop-top. Now they all had matching mustaches. 

Paul had convinced them all to grow out their mustaches. I found it to be a bit ridiculous, but they managed to pull it off. George's mustache was growing the slowest, he only had wispy hairs while the rest had full mustaches. Ringo's was a bit lopsided, and John wouldn't stop playing with his. 

Paul and Ringo still had their mop-tops, though Ringo's was shorter on the sides and longer in the back. John and George had completely given theirs up. George was growing out his hair and it had only just reached his shoulders. He had it styled usually, but, this time, he let it fly around on its own.

John had begun to grow sideburns. They were thick and hairy, a style which didn't seem like John to me. They matched his curly hair which still slightly resembled a mop-top but more grown up, in a sense. To everybody's surprise, he was wearing his glasses.

"Since when did you willingly wear your spectacles?" I asked, jumping off the last step of the staircase.

John spun around to grin at me, "Since I got the new ones. Dashing, aren't they?"

He tapped the sides of his glasses with a coy grin. These new glasses were nothing like his old square ones. They were circular and you could barely see the rims. Those glasses quickly became iconic. John had wanted to ditch the mop-top era, and he quickly did so the second he put on those glasses. 

"You still look like an arse to me," I cheekily replied.

John laughed and flung an arm around my shoulders, "From you, that's a compliment."

"Only in the ears of the listener."

"What're you doin' here, Mel?" Ringo asked.

I grinned "Can't I come to visit the mates whom I love?"

"S'pose so," Ringo laughed, "Always a pleasure."

"Ringo, you big sap."

Ringo laughed harder. Paul rolled his eyes, "Ah, she just wanted to hear what we were doin'."

"That too," I replied, "Wanted to hear this 'grand new album' I've heard so much about. And to see your new looks."

"What'd you think?" George asked, twirling what little mustache he had.

"Dashing, as usual," I replied, "You're all quite handsome. I wouldn't even recognize you."

All four of them laughed. Ringo's laugh ended in a yawn which quickly spread through the group. Our infectious yawn only made us laugh harder.

"I'm bloody knackered, "John yawned, "Let's call it a night, yeah?"

Paul sighed, "We've still got to finish With A Little Help From My Friends."

"We can finish it tomorrow, Macca, we're all knackered."

"Come on, Paulie," George said.

Paul nodded, "Alright, I'm a bit knackered myself."

"Jolly good, then, let's head out."

"Just when I got here too," I shook my head and chuckled.

John wrinkled his nose, "It's all your fault, you know."

"It is?"

"Course," he replied, "The Beatles are breaking up all because you walked into the room!"

John and George laughed loudly, but Paul just looked uncomfortable. He offered a fake smile, quickly busying himself with his notebook. I simply shook my head, "Bugger off, John, you git."

"Ah, but you love me anyway."

"Sometimes."

"Wanker."

We all laughed. With one final goodbye, the lads packed up and left. John, George, and Ringo had already moved from their flats in London to large estates just outside of the city. They each had their own car, their own homes, and their own wives to go back to. Paul and I still lived in the city, all we had to go back to was a dog and a toddler. It was lonely, for both of us, but that's why we lived right across the hall from each other. It didn't take much to cure the loneliness when someone who loved you was just a door away.

"It's comin' along nicely," I said as I slid into the passenger seat of Paul's car, "It's going to be a bloody brilliant album."

Paul smiled, "It will, I know it will."

"Though, didja have to grow the mustaches?"

"It changes our look, yeah?" Paul replied, "We're a new band, Lia, with a new look and a new sound. It's only fitting for us to grow facial hair."

"I'm surprised yours isn't a fake," I teased.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Ah, you're just jealous."

"Jealous that I can't grow facial hair?" I asked, "Paulie, I'm a girl, you know that, right?"

"With a face like that, who could tell?"

I playfully slapped his shoulder as we both cackled. As Paul drove down the road, I glanced up at the night sky. The stars twinkled as if dancing in through the heavens. Slowly, I smiled.

1967 was off to a good start.


	174. When I'm Sixty Four

Sometimes, you become so invested in growing up that you forget your parents are also growing old. I didn't have a Dad for three years. He was still there, but he wasn't with me. Once I got him back, I never took the time to realize he was growing old.

Angela insisted that Dad needed a birthday party since he hadn't had a proper one in the past ten years. He was never one for parties; Paul, Michael, and I knew that just as well as Mum did. Angela, however, was stubborn. Her stubbornness outweighed Dad's thick-headedness ending in a birthday party set up in the back of their new home.

Paul and I had come together to purchase them a new house once the fans found out where they lived originally. They were in danger in our childhood home and needed to be relocated immediately. Luckily, we found them a nice country cottage with large yards just outside of Liverpool. Dad and Angela both fell in love with it instantly.

The backyard was filled with pine trees that were always green. The ground was once littered with dead needles but, with the winter frost, the needles had vanished. Angela had set up several tables in the backyard, some of which held food. Family, friends, and even some of Paul, Michael, and my school friends came to the party.

"Uncle Mikey!" Vera shouted.

She ran as quick as her tiny legs would take her. Michael stood at the gate, smiling brightly as the toddler ran up to him. He quickly knelt to pick Vera up.

"You look an awful lot like my little niece," Michael mused, "But, you can't be her, she's little and you're so big!"

"It's me, Uncle Mikey! It is!"

I chuckled. Behind Michael, Angela Fishwick stood. She was an old school friend of all of us and a longtime crush of Michael's. Paul and I had a running bet since 1956 of when the two of them would get together. I bet just after high school, Paul bet longer. I still owe him ten pounds. Angela smiled at the little girl in Michael's arms.

"Is it possible for one kid to have too many uncles?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

Paul looked up from his plate, a cracker trapped between his teeth. He shook his head, "She only has five."

"Six if you count Brian," I replied, "And eight aunts. Christ, that kid's gotta be confused."

"Nah, she's too smart to get confused," Paul replied.

"Only cause she's not related to us."

"I'm not sure whether to be insulted or to scold you on your self-depreciation."

I laughed. Michael came to sit next to us with Vera still in his arms. She wiggled out of his grip to sit between him and me, grabbing her book from the table. I had gotten her a box full of children's book for her first birthday and she always seemed to be carrying one around with her. With Applebaum in one arm and a book under the other, she was the stereotypical kid.

"Good to see you two," Michael winked at us, "As often as I see you, you'd think you lived on the other side of the world."

Paul winked back, "Cheeky as ever, Mikey."

"Naturally."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm related to a couple of plonkers."

"Ah, and we have a git as a sister," Michael ruffled my hair.

Paul snorted as I shoved him off, "Bugger off."

"You started it."

"And I'm finishing it," Dad stood at the end of the table with a soft smile across his lips, "For once, can you three please behave?"

The three of us all smiled innocently. I blinked up at him, "Aw, Da, I'm a perfect angel. These two, on the other hand-"

Michael shoved me forward, causing me to burst into laughter. Even Dad chuckled under his breath. Paul stood and placed an arm around Dad's shoulder, "Happy birthday, Da. You don't look a day over forty."

"I'm sixty-four," he replied, "I'd say that's a few days over forty."

I laughed, "Nobody would know if you didn't tell them."

All of us shared a hearty laugh. A sad smile crossed my face as I realized just how old Dad was. He had lost most of his hair, and, what was left had long since turned gray. His face was more wrinkles than smiles and he always seemed to be tired.

Vera practically jumped over me to grab Dad's sweater vest. He laughed and lifted her into his arms, "And how is my beautiful granddaughter doing?"

"Uncle Mikey thought I was someone else," Vera giggled, "He said I was too big."

"Oh, and he's right! Vera's a little girl, but you, you're a grown woman."

He tickled Vera's stomach causing her to burst into giggles. When the two of them caught their breath, Dad smiled, "How about we go see what Grandmum Angie is doing, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

The two began to walk towards the kitchen, laughing together the entire way. Michael shook his heads, "Are one-year-olds usually that talkative?"

"I have no clue," I replied, "But mine is."

Paul dropped his cheese on his plate, "Say, Mikey, what're you gonna name your kids?"

Angela nearly spat out her drink. I forgot she was sitting behind Michael quietly listening to our conversation. Michael patted her back as she coughed.

"What kind of question is that?" Michael asked.

Paul chuckled, "I didn't mean now. I meant, when you have kids, what would you name them?"

"You need to work on phrasing," I muttered.

"I'm a songwriter, Lia, I think I already know."

"Yeah, but you talk like a dolt."

"And you don't?"

Michael shook his head, "Why do you ask?"

"I'm writing a song," Paul replied, "Da inspired it, it about someone asking their love if they'll still love him when he's sixty-four, like Da. There's a line in it that goes 'grandchildren on your knees' and I need to name three grandkids. I've already got Vera and my names don't fit, so?"

Michael lifted an eyebrow. Paul writing a song didn't come as a surprise to any of us, it seemed as if that was all he did. I glanced at Paul and lifted an eyebrow, "And what names do you have?"

"Mary and James, " Paul replied, "Vera, Mary, and James. See, doesn't sound good."

"You're going to name a child after yourself?"

"Of course, I'll name him after the greatest person I know," Paul grinned.

I laughed, "What if he's a she?"

"Easy," Paul smirked, "Jamie."

"Hopeless. You're hopeless."

Paul bellowed in laughter. One of his crackers fell in the dirt where it was promptly eaten by one of the dogs running around the yard. Paul and I both turned back to Michael to hear his answer.

"I've always liked the name Chuck," Michael put in.

Paul thought this over, "Vera, Chuck, and something. Yeah, I like it, any others?"

"Er- Dave?"

"Really, Mikey?" I asked, "Dave? That's all you could think of?"

"What's wrong with Dave?"

"What isn't wrong with Dave?"

"I like it," Angela whispered.

Michael glanced at her and beamed. I rolled my eyes, "Sap."

"Wanker."

"Vera, Chuck, and Dave," Paul mumbled, "Brilliant! Ta, Mikey!"

Paul leaped up and hurried into the house for a pen and paper. Michael watched him go, mumbling, "Welcome."

"You should've seen him when he came up with the name for the next album," I shook my head, "Nearly dropped his chair off the balcony, he did."

"Doesn't surprise me."

A few minutes later, Dad returned with Vera on his hip. She had chocolate all over her mouth and a final piece in her hand. When they made it to us, she held the piece out to me.

"I saved some for Mummy," she said, waving it around.

I chuckled, "You're so sweet, Vera, but I think you should eat it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, go ahead, Junior."

Vera giggled and popped it in her mouth. Dad smiled at her before saying, "Why don't you sit with your Uncle Mikey for a bit while your Mum and I have a chat."

"Okay!"

Dad handed Vera to Michael before gesturing to me. Warily, I stood, shooting a confused glance at Michael. He shrugged, his eyes filled with confusion and a dash of worry.

Nervously, I followed Dad to living room. Nobody was in the house, save for Angela who was busy in the kitchen. Dad sat on the couch and gestured for me to sit next to him. Slowly, I did.

"Da, is everything alright?" I asked.

My anxiety was running away with me. Deep down, I was terrified he was going to push me away again. There was no real reason for him to do so, but that didn't stop me from worrying. I nervously wrung my hands together until he gently grabbed them.

"Everything is fine, Amelia, stop worrying so much," he smiled.

I exhaled deeply, "Sorry, nervous habit."

"Nothing is wrong, I just wanted to talk to you," he smiled sadly, "I never got a chance to express my condolences when Molly passed."

I felt my breath hitch in my throat. Nearly a year later, and it was still a painful topic to talk about. Most people danced around that subject when they were with me, but I knew they talked about her when I wasn't around. In a way, talking about her hurt just as much as it healed. She wouldn't be forgotten as long as we kept talking about her, but the mere mention of her name aroused memories of a life I could never live again. 

"Th-thanks, Da," I smiled, doing my best to hide my wobbly voice.

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, "I know how much you loved her and I know how much it must have hurt. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, but, I will say she would have made a fine daughter-in-law."

For a moment, I stopped. I stared at the floor as my mind absorbed what he said like a sponge. I flung my head up abruptly and asked, "What?"

At first, I thought that he presumed Paul and Molly were a thing, or that Michael and Molly might get together. There was no way he would know about us, it simply wasn't in him. He was religious and followed every law to the fine print. Of all the people in the world, he would be the last person I expected to give up his homophobia.

"I've made a lot of mistakes with you and Paul, Amelia, and I don't intend to make another," he cupped my cheek and smiled, "I'm still your father and I love you will all of my heart. All I want is for you to be happy, and it wasn't hard to see that Molly made you happier than ever before."

Tears began to fall down my cheeks. Dad wiped one away and smiled. I sniffed, "How-how did you know?"

"As I said, I'm your father," Dad replied, "It's not hard to see the love in your eyes whenever you looked at her. I could see the love in her eyes as well, whenever she looked at you."

"You know and-you still love me?"

He smiled sadly, "Of course I still love you. I never stopped loving you and I could never stop loving you. You're my daughter, Amelia, and I will love you no matter what."

"Oh, Da."

I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. Tears were freely pouring down my cheeks now and sobs threatened to escape my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut and allowed one shuddering sob to shake my body. Dad rubbed my back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry for how I was in the past," Dad's voice was muffled by my jumper, "But, I want to be better. I'm going to be better."

"This is all I've ever wanted."

Dad squeezed my shoulder, "I love you, Amelia, no matter what."

"I love you too, Da."

It seemed like an unachievable dream, Dad still loving me even when he knows about my sexuality. My greatest wish was for Dad to love me like a father should love his daughter, but he had given me so much more. At that moment, I felt more loved than I ever had in my life. For a moment, just a moment, all of the pain washed away simply because I had my father there. The monster's gone and he's on the run because my Dad is there.


	175. A Birthday and An Anniversary

I've never liked my birthday, to me it was more like a reminder of how close I was to death rather than a celebration of living another year. This year especially should be considered a celebration of survival, but I saw it as the most depressing day of the year. It was my birthday, yes, but it was also the anniversary.

On my twenty-fourth birthday I was more depressed than ever. It was the one year anniversary of Molly Mackenzie's death and the saddest day of my life. That morning; I couldn't find the motivation to get out of bed, let alone face the world.

Every day, I missed Molly. There was an ache in my heart that would never go away so long as I lived. On those days, when another year was put between me and the last time I saw her, the pain seemed to increase. Morphine couldn't help me with that pain, though I was tempted to take it anyways. When you're depressed, death doesn't seem like such a bad option anymore.

Vera was the one who managed to get me out of bed. She started wailing, filling the flat with her tearful cries. For a while, I let her, even her cries couldn't make me find the energy to get out of bed. Until she started sobbing, "Mummy!"

That got me out of bed. Slowly, I sat up. Shoving my feet into slippers, I shuffled down the hall to Vera's room. She was standing in her crib with a face redder than a crisp apple and as wet as the ocean. When she saw me, she calmed down, but only slightly. I flipped on the light and picked her up.

"Come on, Junior, it's alright," I offered a weak smile, "I'm here, it's alright."

It took half an hour to calm her down. When she was finally calm enough to speak, she said, "Hungry."

"Course, it's mornin' after all."

The two of us went downstairs and I set her on the couch. As I moved to the kitchen, I did my best to ignore how empty the flat was. It was such a large flat and only two of us. Deep down, I wished I hadn't have moved from the old flat, but I knew it was for the better. This flat may be empty, but it was a different sort of empty. Molly had lived in the other flat with me. Every morning I woke up there, the loneliness of the place was overwhelming. At least this flat didn't still smell of strawberries and spearmint. 

"Here you go, junior, eat up," I handed her the bowl.

She took it and began to eat the oatmeal. I always thought it looked disgusting, but she thought it was delicious. It wasn't too difficult for her to swallow and it filled her up until lunchtime.

I sat next to her and slowly ate my toast. At the time, that's all I could stomach. All I wanted was to go back upstairs and curl under the covers, pretending the world doesn't exist for a little while. When you have a toddler to take care of, laying in bed all day just wasn't an option anymore. 

"Mummy," Vera still had a bit of oatmeal in her mouth, "Why're you sad?"

I gently lifted her chin to where she would close her mouth, "Don't talk with food in your mouth, Junior."

She nodded and spooned another bite into her mouth. I glanced at the pictures on the wall, my eyes landing on one of Revolution in 1963, a sad smile crossed my lips, "Just-do you remember your Mummy?"

"You!" she pointed her spoon at me, giggling.

"Yes, but I mean your other Mum," I replied, "You had three."

Vera gasped, "I do?!"

"Yes, you lucky little girl," I poked her stomach making her laugh, "You have me, but do you remember your other mummy?"

Vera shook her head. I smiled, "I figured you didn't. Well, your other two Mummy's loved you more than I can explain. They were sisters."

"They were?"

"Yeah, they were," I smiled, "Your first Mum, she brought you into the world, a process which I will explain whenever you're about fifteen years older," I tapped her nose making her giggle, "Her name was Regina Mackenzie and she loved you before you were you."

Vera grinned, "What did she look like?"

"How about I show you?"

I left the couch and went upstairs. All of our photo albums were stored in the spare bedroom closet. They took up most of the shelf-space, leaving room for more. Ringo and I had been building our photo collection since 1963. My closet was full of them, and those were just the albums I had. Ringo had half the collection. Needless to say, we really liked taking photos. I grabbed one of the first books we ever finished and returned to Vera.

"This is your first Mum," I flipped to a picture of The Mackenzie family, "That's her, right there, with the red hair."

I pointed to Regina. At the time of this photo, Regina was only seventeen. She stood between her parents with her arms wrapped around Reginald. It was the only time I had ever seen him smile and I was lucky enough to catch it on film. Molly and I both stood off to the side. Originally, I had wanted to take the picture, not to be in it, but Mrs. Mackenzie insisted. She claimed it was a family picture and I was a part of the family. Tears welled in my eyes as I remembered.

"Who's that boy?" Vera asked, pointing to Reginald.

I smiled, "That's your Uncle Reggie. He's still around, maybe I'll take you to see him someday."

"Yeah!"

I smiled at the toddler. She was studying the picture, her oatmeal abandoned on the coffee table. My toast sat half-eaten next to it, but it didn't matter. We were too invested in the photo to care about food.

"Who's that?" Vera asked pointing to Mr. Mackenzie.

"That's your Grandda."

"No, he's not!" Vera giggled.

I shook my head, "You can have two."

"I can?!"

"Course, everyone's entitled to two, you know," I smiled, "This here's your other one. The Grandda you know is my Da, but this is your other two Mums' Da."

Vera smiled, "Is that Grandmum?"

She pointed to Mrs. Mackenzie. Just by looking at her photo, I could feel the warmth she brought everywhere she went. Molly had gotten that trait from her, they both seemed to spread warmth even when they went to places covered in ice.

"Right oh, Junior, you got it again," I chuckled.

Vera grinned, "Can I meet them?"

A sad expression crossed my face. She was still too young to understand the concept of death. One day, I would have to explain it to her, but that day had yet to come. I ruffled her hair, "Sorry, Junior, but they went away."

"Where?"

"To paradise," I replied, "I'll explain when you're older."

Vera huffed and turned her attention back to the picture. Her eyes scanned the photo until they landed on Molly and me. She gasped, pointing at me, "That's you!"

I nodded, "Right you are, Junior. And that girl standing right next to me is your second Mum."

"She is?"

"Mhm, that's Molly, your second Mum," I smiled wistfully, "Do you remember her?"

Vera knitted her eyebrows together. She stared at the picture of Molly, deep in thought as if digging through every inch of her mind. Finally, she smiled, "She used to sing to me."

"That's it, Junior," I grinned, "She did, she was always singin' to you. She was convinced you would grow up to be a singer just like her."

Vera looked up at me, "You too?"

"Yeah, me too. She loved you more than I can ever say."

"Did she love you?"

I glanced at the photo and smiled, "Yeah, I think she did. Molly and I-we were something special."

"Like Uncle Johnny and Auntie Cynthie?"

"Just like Uncle Johnny and Auntie Cynthie," I chuckled, ruffling her hair.

She laughed. We spent the next two hours sitting on the couch in our pajamas looking through the photo albums. I showed Vera photographs from as far back as 1960. Each time, I told her the story behind it. Some she laughed, others she asked questions, but through it all, she listened intently.

The doorbell rang just as I was showing her one of the earliest photos of The Beatles as we know them now. Molly and I were in the photo as well, sitting on the stage as the lads played their music. Vera was still looking at the photo whenever I opened the door.

I was met with a blockade of bodies. Linda stood at the very front with Heather in her arms. She had a knowing smirk across her lips but didn't say anything. Behind her stood John, Paul, George, and Ringo, all with the same smirk. Paul looked me up and down before he chuckled.

"Why're you always in your jammies when I show up?" he asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Cause they're comfy. What're you lot doin' here?"

"I'm just the babysitter," Linda mused, pushing past me and waltzing into the flat.

I watched her, "What? I didn't ask-"

"We asked for you," John interrupted, "Or else you wouldn't have."

"What?"

The lads all exchanged glances. Ringo stifled a laugh as George grinned madly. John wiggled his eyebrows and Paul stepped forward. The whole scene reminded me of the early days of Beatlemania, back when they would show up at my hotel door at odd times to whisk me out on an adventure. The scene in front of me was exactly that, complete with trench coats, hats, and lensless glasses. 

"And you didn't bring the beards?" I asked.

Paul chuckled, "Don't need them, we have some of our own."

"Those are mustaches."

"Same thing."

"Are you sure you know what a beard is?"

John rolled his eyes, "Get to the point already."

"We're gettin' you out," Ringo said.

"Thank you, Ringo," John nodded at his friend, "Come on, Mel, get dressed before we miss the train."

I glanced at each of them individually. They all watched on with hopeful expressions. There was a bit of excitement in the air around them, but it quickly vanished when it met me. I sighed deeply and shook my head, "Thanks for the thought and all, lads, but I'm just not feelin' up to it."

"Funny, you think you have a choice," Paul smirked.

"Paulie, don't you bloody do it!"

Paul and John glanced at each other before surging forward. They both grabbed one of my arms, dragging me into the flat and towards the stairs. When we made it to the living room Vera glanced up and grinned, "Hiya Uncle Paulie! Hiya Uncle Johnny!"

"'Ello, Vera," Paul winked, "We're gonna borrow your Mum for a bit, yeah?"

Vera nodded as I shouted, "I did not consent to this!"

"Too bad!" John laughed.

The two lads began to drag me up the stairs. George and Ringo casually walked in, both saying hello to Vera. They waited downstairs as Paul and John literally dragged me to my room and dumped me on the bed.

"It's a bit brisk outside, so you'll need something warm," Paul opened my closet and began to go through my clothes.

John fell onto the bed next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I tried to get loose, but he held me down. He grinned at me, "You'll thank us later."

"No, I won't," I replied, "You arses!"

"You'll change your tone."

"No, I won't!"

Paul flung a pair of jeans, my favorite jumper, an undershirt, and some socks at me. I caught them all just as John stood and met Paul by the door. They turned to me, blocking the door and grinning madly. 

"Get dressed before we have to drag you out in your jammies," Paul said.

They left, shutting the door behind them. I sneered, "I've half a mind to climb out the window."

Glancing at the window, I sighed. They meant well, I know they did. They all knew what today was and they all knew what I would be like. I knew they were just trying to offer me a distraction, but I didn't feel up to it. All I wanted was to lie in bed all day which was exactly what they were trying to stop me from doing.

Reluctantly, I got dressed. Once my boots were laced, I stepped out into the hall. Paul and John were waiting for me. Paul grinned at me, "Was that so hard?"

"I still don't want to go," I grumbled.

John rolled his eyes, "You still don't have a choice."

They both began to go down the stairs, only stopping when they realized I wasn't following. Rolling their eyes, they returned to grab my arms and carry me down the stairs. Paul shook his head, "Stubborn mule."

"Wanker."

"Git."

"Arse."

"Tossers," John grinned.

Paul glared at him, "John!"

"What? I felt left out."

They dragged me downstairs where George and Ringo were waiting. As John and Paul held me in the air. George placed a hat on my head and glasses on my nose. I glared at him. He simply smiled, "Sorry, Mel, it's for your own good."

I didn't reply. George and Ringo hurried to open the door as John and Paul followed. I was kicking and squirming, doing my best to get out of their grip, but they managed to keep a hold of me. Vera waved when Paul shouted, "Thanks for babysittin', Linda."

"My pleasure," Linda replied, "Amelia, please, don't do anything you'll regret."

"No promises!"

The lads simply laughed. John and Paul didn't let me go until we made it to Paul's car. They dropped me in the back seat where I was promptly squished between George and Ringo. Paul got behind the wheel as John turned in the passenger seat to face us.

"Ready for an adventure?" John asked as Paul pulled onto the street.

I crossed my arms and huffed, "I was perfectly content looking at photo albums on the couch in my pajamas with Vera all day, thank you."

"That's exactly why we had to get you out," Ringo smiled at me, "You can't stay locked up all day, Mel."

George nodded, "You've got to get out or else you'll never get over your grief."

"Who said I wanted to get over it?"

"What, you want to be a sorry sap forever?" John asked.

I didn't reply. Paul glanced at me in the mirror and frowned, "You were going to visit her grave, weren't you?"

"No."

"Lia."

"Maybe."

Ringo, John, and George all gazed at me sadly. I tightened my arms around my body and gazed at the floor, "It's been a year. I-I miss her, you know?"

"We all miss her," Ringo gently grabbed my shoulder, "You can't stay in bed forever, Mel."

"I wasn't in bed when you lot showed up, was I?"

John grinned, "Only cause of Vera."

"We know you well enough to know you wouldn't have gotten out of bed if it weren't for Vera," George argued.

I frowned, "What's so wrong with that?"

"What isn't wrong with that?"

"What you need is a distraction, and who better to give it to you than your four best mates?" John winked at me.

I sighed deeply, "I don't have the energy."

"That's alright, we have it for ya."

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?" a small smile crossed my lips despite my efforts to conceal it.

John leaned forward and gave me his signature cheeky grin, "No chance."

I scooted down into the seat to where my head was at chest level with George. The two lads sitting on either side of me simply sighed and turned to look out the window. I gazed at the leather of the seat in front of me.

Deep down, I was grateful to the lads for getting me out of the house. The last thing I wanted was to be alone at home, or alone at the grave. Then, all I would have to focus on was the intense grief I still felt. I wanted to get out of this dark hole I had fallen into, but the only person who could get me out was myself, I knew that. As hard as I tried, I just couldn't seem to find the light. John, Paul, George, Ringo, Vera, and Linda were helping. Just spending time with them reminded me that I wasn't alone, and would never be alone.

Them showing up at my door and kidnapping me was just another reminder; I wasn't left alone when Molly died. She left me feeling lost and unloved, yet I was anything but. I was lost in a forest of grief but four lads who once had matching haircuts and a girl with blonde hair came to show me the way out. Perhaps that was the greatest gift of all.

"Thank you," I mumbled.

George and Ringo looked at me with wide grins. John leaned over the back of his seat and cupped his hand by his ear, "What was that? Did you just- thank us?"

"Are you that old?" I cheekily asked.

John laughed, "You cheeky shit."

"Oh, but of course."

The entire car erupted in laughter. It felt odd to laugh on such a dark day, but it felt good as well. Laughing through the darkness was proof that the light would return. Every morning, the sun would rise. Through every patch of darkness, the light would return, one day.

Paul pulled up to the train station and we all left the car. All four lads crowded around me as if scared I would run away. My bed was calling me, but the pull of this adventure was stronger. Perhaps the most enticing thing was the promise of a distraction.

We got our tickets and stepped onto the train all within twenty minutes. It was the middle of the week and most people were busy with their lives. We practically had the whole train to ourselves.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked.

Paul smiled, "Seeing as it is your birthday, thought we'd go somewhere and celebrate."

"Somewhere familiar," John mused.

George grinned, "Very familiar."

"Familiarly different," Ringo added his Ringoism of the day.

"In other words," I sighed, "You're not going to tell me."

"Not a word," Paul winked.

"Tossers."

***

The lads kept the shades drawn the entire trip. Every time I tried to open them, someone would pop up to push me back into my seat. They were so determined to keep it a secret, they wouldn't even let me out of the cabin. I was trapped in my seat for the entire ride.

"Bloody hell, finally," I groaned once the train began to slow, "I've got to use the loo."

Paul laughed, "Oh, just wait 'til you see where we are."

"I'm suspicious yet intrigued."

"You should be scared," John commented.

"John, bugger off," Paul playfully pushed his shoulder, "We've got her this far, don't go scaring her off."

"Scared? I thought we were just goin' to Liverpool," Ringo knitted his eyebrows in confusion.

Paul flung up his hands, "Ringo!"

The look of pure exasperation on Paul's face was priceless. John was too busy laughing to notice anything else, even George was cackling. Ringo looked confused as I simply smirked.

"Good ole Liddypool, eh?" I grinned.

"It was s'posed to be a surprise," Paul grumbled, "Good goin', Ringo."

Ringo frowned, "What'd I do?"

"Aw, lay off the poor bugger," John grinned, "It's not his fault he was late to the meeting."

"There was a meeting?"

George shook his head, "Good ole Ringo."

We disembarked the train onto the familiar platforms of The Liverpool train station. More often than not, I found myself in that station. Taking a train between the two the cities was much easier, and quicker, than a car. Thus, I saw a lot of that train station.

Liverpool wasn't busy that day. Most everybody was at school or work, meaning we had the leisure to waltz down the street without a care in the world. The lads even went so far as to take off their disguises. Nobody came running.

"Somethin's not right," John stroked his chin thoughtfully, "There're no birds runnin' behind us."

Paul wiggled his finger at his friend, "Don't jinx it, mate, we're havin' a lovely time aren't we?"

He turned to look at George, Ringo, and me. The three of us glanced at each other before nodding enthusiastically. Paul nodded only once before turning forward once again. John glanced at us and puffed out his cheeks before following Paul.

The two men led us through the ever-familiar streets. They meant to provide a distraction, but bringing me back to the place where Molly and I were the happiest didn't seem like such a great idea. Just looking at the streets that the two of us used to walk up and down on was heart-wrenching, especially when I remembered she would never walk next to me again.

"When is the distraction part gonna happen?" I asked.

Paul turned a corner and grinned, "Right now."

The lads all crowded together at the end of the tiny street. I struggled to look around them, finally giving up and pushing my head between George and Ringo. What I was met with was a sight just as familiar as Dad's old house. It was the street made of bricks and lined with buildings that merged into one. In the middle of that street was a door that led to the most famous cavern in the world.

"How's this for a distraction?" Paul asked, stepping in front of the doors to The Cavern Club.

I didn't respond, choosing instead to stare at the door with a wistful expression. The last time I stepped through those doors, I was with Molly and Linda. It felt odd going back to The Cavern without Molly, she was with me the first and last times I went there.

Paul and Ringo each grabbed one of my arms and pulled me into the building. Going inside felt like being faced with a wall and being told I had to climb it. It was another thing I had to get over in my trials of grief.

For the first time since it opened, The Cavern Club was nearly empty. The only occupants were us, the bartender, the owner, the janitor, and a group of middle-aged men who didn't know nor care who we were. Four guitars, a keyboard, and a drumset all sat on the stage just waiting to be played.

The owner approached us. Clive looked the same as he always did except for a few more wrinkles and gray hairs. As soon as he saw us, his grin widened and he clasped his hands, "John, Paul, George, Ringo, Amelia, it's wonderful to see you again."

He shook everybody's hand individually. When he came to me, he offered a sad smile but quickly covered it up when John cleared his throat. Clive smiled brightly and said, "Martin and I got the old guitars out of the back just for you."

"Special treatment, eh? You're alright, Clive," John slapped Clive's back affectionately.

Clive beamed. I glanced between him and the lads, confusion marking my face, "What's going on?"

"Clive here didn't have an act for the lunchtime show," Paul grinned, "Told him we'd be in the neighborhood and we thought, might as well play, for old times' sake."

John chuckled, "Hell of a distraction, eh, Mel?"

"Playin' at The Cavern," I mused, "One hell of a distraction indeed."

Clive nodded, "We have extra security, just in case. I advertised you as The Nerks just like you asked."

"Brilliant, let's get ready lads," Paul gestured for us to follow.

All four of the lads headed to the stage. I trailed behind, my feet turning to lead. The last thing I wanted to do was play live. That was, perhaps, the biggest hurdle I had to overcome. Playing without Molly felt like something I could never do, but I knew I must. It had been a year, it was about time I got back on stage and did what I do best. For the first time playing without Molly, I was glad it was with my four best mates. The only way it could get any better was if Linda was up there with us.

"We've got a dilemma," John clicked his tongue.

Paul glanced up from his guitar and lifted an eyebrow, "What's that?"

"We've got two drummers," John jerked his thumb at us, "And only one drum set."

Ringo and I exchanged glances. John, Paul, and George watched us as we worked out the problem. Ringo was the first to step aside and gesture towards the drums, "Go on, Mel, I'll stick to tambourine."

"Ringo, you're as kind as you are funny," I chuckled, "You go on then, mate, I can play the spare guitar."

I jerked my thumb to the acoustic guitar sitting next to the piano. John, Paul, and George already had their usual guitars, that one was left to gather dust. Ringo chuckled, "I forgot you could play."

"That makes two of us, mate."

Ringo sat behind the drums and began to arrange them as I grabbed the guitar. Sitting on the floor, I held it in my lap and began to tune it. George plopped down next to me to ask, "Remember how to play?"

"It's not somethin' I could forget," I replied, "It's like riding a bike."

George grinned, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Both of us chuckled. The Beatles had their usual stage arrangement, but the dynamic was set off with another person. I had played with them before, but never all four at once and never as a guitarist. Usually, I was behind the drums. This was something completely different. In a way, it was familiar. With four guitarists and a drummer, we had the same setup we had back in Hamburg. Only, instead of me behind the drums, it was Ringo, and instead of Stuart being the fourth guitarist it was me.

I stuck to the back for most of the show. There was a stool situated just a meter from Ringo, and that's where I sat. As the people began to file in, I stayed on that stool.

"Ready mates?" John asked.

All of us gave him a thumbs up. He grinned and turned back to the microphone, "Welcome all you birds and blokes to the first ever Cavern performance of The Nerks."

Paul snickered, earning a glare from John. They had on their disguises and were almost unrecognizable, but that didn't mean much to us. John turned back to the microphone and said, "This first one, you've probably heard it, sing along if you have. Go on then, mate."

He gestured to Paul. Paul grinned and, moving to the microphone, began to sing, "Well she was just seventeen, and you know what I mean."

I knew the chords to every song by heart. Though I might not play guitar often, it didn't take much to know the chords. They were simple and memorable especially when you listened to the records as often as I did. I found it comforting to fill my empty flat with familiar voices even when the owners of those voices weren't around. By doing so, I knew every Beatles song just as well as I knew Revolutions.

We played for an hour. Each song we played was off the early Beatles records or a cover of one of our mutual favorite bands. Most of the songs were ones we've performed in the cavern before. Those claustrophobic walls weren't unfamiliar to the sounds of four lads singing those well-known songs.

"This next one," Paul laughed as a fan waved frantically at him, "This next one's special. Cause today- yes, hello- today is a special day for more reasons than one. And-"

"Oh, just give the introduction will ya? We haven't got all day," John interrupted.

Paul shot him a glare that ended with a laugh, "Right, anyways, let's give a round of applause for our acoustic guitarist."

The entire Cavern clapped. For a moment, I was confused. George grabbed my arm and pulled me to the front mic. My cheeks blushed bright red as Paul pulled the mic down to my height. I glanced up at him. He winked, "Your choice, Lia."

"I don't know what to do," I whispered.

"You'll think of something."

He went to stand next to George. Turning to the mic, I cleared my throat, "Er-'ello everyone."

I was met with a round of applause. Smiling, I continued, "I wasn't aware that I was singing, so I don't really-"

I glanced at the back and was met with a familiar face. The back wall of The Cavern had photographs of the acts that performed on a regular basis. One of the very first photos was of The Beatles, and the one next to it was of Revolution. Molly and Janice both smiled at me as if they were really in the audience. They seemed to be waiting for me to continue with the song we all knew I would sing.

"This next one's an oldie," I told the audience, "But- it's very special to me. Someone very close to me used to sing this song all of the time. She's not around anymore but- well, this song's for you, Molly."

I hit the first chord, "Once upon a time, I loved you, and you. You told me you loved me and that it was true. Now I want you to, Hold Me Again, love me again."

The lads knew the song without having to look at any music sheets. They played with bright smiles on their faces and a dance in their step. As I sang, tears poured from my face. I sang with every ounce of love I had for Molly.

A breeze blew through The Cavern. It was tinged with cold, almost like a winter wind but as fresh as the first breath of spring. For a fleeting moment, just as I began the last verse, I could smell strawberries.

When the song was over, I smiled. The Cavern erupted into an applause, even the lads were clapping. I took a bow and whispered, just loud enough for me to hear, "Love you, Mols."

The performance was over just as quickly as it began. We bid the audience goodnight before stepping off the stage and retreating to the 'dressing room'. As soon as he shut the door, John spun around and loudly announced, "A brilliant show once again, lads!"

"Simply brilliant," Paul smiled, "Was good to play in The Cavern again."

"That it was, Macca."

Ringo clapped my shoulder, "You were great, Mel."

I couldn't reply. My head was bowed as I did my best to hold back my tears. They came against my will, making rivers down my cheeks and splashing onto the floor.

"Lia?" Paul worriedly asked.

I flung my head up and shakily smiled, "You lads- you're the best mates any girl could ever ask for."

"Mel, you big sap," John chuckled.

"I mean it, John," I said, "Paul, George, Ringo, all four of you. I was gonna stay in bed and wallow in my own self-pity all day but you got me out and, Christ, it was the greatest show ever. Thank you."

Paul stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug. George and Ringo were quick to join, all wearing smiles as bright as the lights above our heads. John crossed his arms and shook his head, "Don't go all gushy on us now, Mel."

"John, shut yer yap and get over here," I reached my hand out to him.

He rolled his eyes but joined the hug. All of us squeezed together. I buried my face in Paul's shirt and smiled happily.

"I love you lads."

"You sap."

"We love you too, Mel."


	176. I Love My Friends, Mostly

"All bands tour, why don't we?" Tabitha asked.

Linda and I exchanged glances before sighing deeply. We had only just begun work on the first Storms Over London album and Tabitha was already talking tour. The last thing I wanted was to tour the world in a new band. Linda had only been on tour once and I could see her dread in her eyes. While she didn't live the Beatles 1966 World Tour, I think my stories had scared her off touring permanently. Linda shook her head and did her best to be decent, I, on the other hand, did no such thing. I crossed my arms and prepared to show her just how stubborn I could be. 

"I take it you've never toured," I frowned.

Tabitha shot me a glare, "My old band and I toured Britain last year."

"That's different," I replied, "Touring Britain in small pubs and the like is simple. Going from stadium to concert hall to stadium is absolute hell."

"I'd like to judge that for myself."

I shook my head, "You won't get to. We're not bloody touring and that's final."

"It's not final," Tabitha spat, "Last I checked, we were a band, a team. It's Storms Over London, not Amelia McCartney and those other three. Let's take a vote, shall we?"

I glared at her. Linda cleared her throat and eyed me, "It's only fair, Amelia."

"Fine. All in favor of touring raise your hand."

Tabitha was the only one to raise her hand. She looked at Linda and Minerva expectantly but they simply gazed back. I grinned, "All in favor of not touring?"

Three hands shot up. Linda, Minerva, and I were in agreement; we would not tour. I had PTSD flashbacks every time the word tour was mentioned, let alone actually going on tour. It terrified me enough to where performing live in any sense was nerve-racking. I hadn't been on stage when the fireworks went off, but I saw the trauma it created. I've already been through enough traumatic events, I wasn't keen on another one.

"Really, Minerva?" Tabitha asked.

Minerva, refusing to meet her eyes, shrugged, "Sounds stressful. I just wanna play."

"Exactly and, on tour, you can't hear your own bloody music," I stated, "Trust me, it's more trouble than it's worth."

Tabitha flung her hands up, "You forget, you're not Revolution anymore! You don't play with the bloody Beatles, because that's who the fans were screaming for, not you."

"Alright you little-"

"Amelia," Linda cut in, "Tabitha, it's more than just the screaming fans. Touring comes with serious dangers. The Beatles were almost killed on their last tour."

"We're not The Beatles," Tabitha replied.

I glared at her, "It doesn't matter, you git. We're close and that's all they need to go completely berserk on us. I don't know about you but I don't want to be shot."

"I-"

"Girls, please."

Ellen opened the door to the studio and walked in, her hands held above her head. I had forgotten that she and Mitch were in the production room going over the new songs. She glared at each of us, me especially. The look she sent me threatened death if I didn't stay quiet. I clamped my lips shut and watched as she walked into the middle of the room.

"There is no sense in arguing over this," Ellen smiled, "What we need is a compromise."

Tabitha brightened, "I'll accept half a tour."

"Elly, I'm not tourin' again," I said.

She met my eyes and nodded, "I know, Amelia, and you won't."

"What?! Ellen!" Tabitha exclaimed.

"Tabitha, please," Ellen glared at her, "You don't have to tour in order to play live."

"What?"

A small smirk grew on my lips as I began to realize what Ellen was getting at. Revolution had been playing live long before the first tour, even The Beatles were a live band before they were a touring band. Every good band starts out playing live in a club, pub, or even a church. We didn't have to tour to be a live band.

"There is a club that just opened near Big Ben," Ellen explained, "It is a prestigious venue, similar to a music hall, and they need a resident band. The owner is an old family friend of mine and has asked me to provide him with a band that fits his atmosphere."

Tabitha lifted an eyebrow, "And that's us?"

"Course it's us, it's a club, ain't it?" I asked, "All good bands get their start in a club."

"It is open to anyone, meaning they need a band who can cover every genre," Ellen smiled.

"And what better band then Storms Over London, eh, Tabby?"

Tabitha glared at me, "Don't call me that."

"Sorry, Tabby."

"Don't start, Amy."

I sneered. Linda placed a hand on my shoulder, shaking her head ever so slightly. To my dying day, I will say Linda Eastman was a saint in disguise. She was able to keep me grounded when I was about to kick someone so hard they'd end up in America. Linda had this way about her that made me want to listen. 

Ellen gazed at each of us, her eyes staying on Linda and me the longest, "Does everyone agree?"

"I think it's a brilliant idea," I beamed, "Elly, you've done it again."

Linda nodded, "I agree with Mel."

"Tabitha? Minerva?"

Minerva nodded. Tabitha, after glaring at me, sighed, "Fine, so long as we get to play live."

"It's settled then, I'll make the call."

***

Ellen didn't give the club justice. The Sycamore Club allowed anyone over the age of eighteen into their bar no matter the attire, stature, or financial stand. Anyone from waiters to kings could walk through those doors. It was a classy place filled with people who didn't quite match the area, but they fit us perfectly. 

The walls were made of logs, almost like a Lumberjack's cabin. The floors were polished tile and the bar had every kind of drink imaginable. Tables lined the floors except for the area just in front of the stage where wooden planks made up a dance floor. The stage itself was large with red velvet curtains and perfect surround sound.

If it weren't for the people populating the club, I would have thought we were in Buckingham Palace. It was fancy but not too fancy, just comfortable enough for a rock-and-roll band to play in. The place reminded me of the concerts Revolution put on in The Royal Albert Hall. It was similar in decorations but different when it came to the people.

The people were diverse enough to enjoy anything we played. No matter what song we sang, someone was always nodding their head to the beat. Some danced, others sat in the corners and smiled whenever their favorite song came on. Everybody was satisfied, including the band.

"We don't have any originals yet," Linda frowned, "Unless we do old Revolution songs."

I shrugged, "S'pose we could add a couple. Not the panpipes or xylophone."

"We could do the bagpipe."

"Sure, we might blackout, but I'm game to try."

Linda laughed heartily, holding her stomach as she did. Minerva glanced up at me, meeting my eyes in the mirror, "We could do covers."

"We'll have to, Minnie."

"How about Beatles covers?" Tabitha asked.

I glared at her. She could be telling me the nicest thing in the world, but I would still hear it soured. Tabitha's mere presence put me off, but I couldn't figure out why. Later on, Linda would tell me Tabitha and I were so alike, it's a wonder we didn't kill each other. The woman in question stepped between us and offered a peaceful smile, "I think that's a good idea. Don't you, Amelia?"

"I s'pose," I replied, "The lads'll be chuffed if we do."

"I'll get a pen and paper."

Linda wrote down the set list just five minutes before we had to go on. We decided to do some old songs as well as some new. We covered Nowhere Man, Please Please Me, Help!, and And Your Bird Can Sing. We also decided on a few Rolling Stones, Elvis, Buddy Holly, and others. We had a complete set list by the time we were ready to go on.

"What about Eleanor Rigby? It's one of my favorites," Minerva asked quietly.

We were all beginning to walk down the hall towards the stage. A few stagehands ushered us along. The way they moved and ordered us around was eerily close to how they acted during the tours. I became a little antsy despite playing in my hometown.

"I hate that song," Tabitha pouted, "It's bloody ridiculous for a rock band."

Linda and I exchanged glances. She silently warned me not to say anything, but I ignored her. I smiled, "I think it's a brilliant closing song."

"What? It's terrible," Tabitha argued.

"Hold your tongue, lass," I pointed an accusing finger towards her, "My brother wrote that."

"Well, I-"

"I think it's only fitting to play," I interrupted.

Minerva lifted an eyebrow, "You do?"

"Course I do. Didn't you hear? It's about me."

I cackled as I stepped onto the stage. As soon as Tabitha and Minerva had their backs to me, my face fell. Linda patted my shoulder and smiled slightly, doing her best to comfort me.

Eleanor Rigby was a special song to me for more reasons than one. Paul had perfectly described what Molly and I were going through in perfectly concealing metaphors. Not only did he write it about what we were going through, he wrote it about us. Eleanor Rigby and Father Mackenzie were me and Molly. He meant it as a statement to society's stupidity but, to me, it was so much more. It was a narrative of the life I once had, and the life I longed to have again. 

The curtains opened to reveal a full house. The entire club was clapping, cheering, and whistling. Through the echoing noises of the crowd, I picked up a familiar laugh. That laugh was one of a kind and it came with a familiar whistle and spastic clap. I knew who it was before I even saw them.

John, Paul, George, and Ringo were all standing and clapping around a table close to the back. Paul was whistling while Ringo laughed loudly. John, he could never do anything like a normal person, clapped spastically and made odd faces at us. George was the only one smiling and clapping like a normal person.

Cynthia, Maureen, Pattie, and Jane were all still sitting. They gazed up at us and smiled brightly. The brightest smile came from Jane herself. Through the sea of bright faces, hers was the brightest. Just by seeing her smile I felt all of my previous troubles wash away. I felt safe despite being on the stage in front of hundreds of people who could easily shoot me. The memories of past tours faded away whenever I met her eyes.

"'Ello everyone," I announced, "Good to see you, how are you lot tonight?"

The entire crowd cheered. Paul, waving to call my attention, flipped me off. I did my best to hide my laughter. Tabitha noticed and rolled her eyes. Following my gaze, her eyes landed upon the lads and their girls. She saw Paul and her face turned bright red. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and giggled. 

"It's lovely to be here," I announced, "This first song is one of the newer ones, kinda. I played it with that old band I used to be in."

The entire crowd cheered, knowing exactly what was coming. I smirked, "That's right, The Quarrymen!"

John, Paul, and George all doubled over in laughter. George was the only one able to remain standing through his rib shaking laughter. I winked at them, "Just kiddin'. Let's get it started, shall we?"

"I heard a tale, of a man from wales, who came down the coast and began to boast about them rockin' sockin' tunes down the old blue jaa-aa-aa-ay."


	177. I Met You, I Loved You, I Lost You, Repeat

One of Vera's favorite things to do was to go to the park just one block away from our flat. It was a large park with plenty of tree coverage and playground equipment. With all of the trees, the people inside were practically invisible. All I needed was a bit of luck and I could time it just right to where the park was practically empty. Fame didn't follow me to that park, so long as I timed it right.

I sat on the bench watching the one year old play in the dirt. She was never far from me, one quick jump and I would be on top of her. Yet, to her, she was free. She was out of my grasp and sitting in the grass all on her own. To a toddler, that was freedom.

"Mummy!" Vera called.

I glanced up from my book, "What is it, Junior?"

"Come look at my hole! It's really deep!"

I chuckled and closed the book. Slipping it into her baby bag, I shuffled over and fell to kneel next to her. She showed me a hole that I could barely fit my fist in but her face was filled with pride. I grinned, "Blimey, Junior, you've almost dug all the way to America."

"I have?"

"You have," I grinned, "Keep diggin' straight down and you'll pop out in New York."

"Really?!"

"Really really."

Vera gasped, "I wanna dig a hole to New York."

"Go on, then."

She gripped her little plastic shovel and began to dig the hole deeper, all the while muttering in her own little language. I sat back on my heels and smiled at her. Her overalls were covered in dirt and leaves decorated her hair, but it didn't matter. The smile on her face made any later cleaning job worth while. For a moment of pure joy, I'd spend six hours in the washroom trying to get the grass stains out.

A loud barking made both Vera and me turn to the nearby bushes. They trembled ominously, like the scene in any horror movie where the protagonists wait in anxious anticipation for the monster to jump out of the bushes. I found myself gently grabbing onto Vera as we watched the bushes begin to shake harder.

"What the bloody-"

I was unable to finish that sentence. At that moment, a large, hairy, English sheepdog erupted from the bushes. She galloped to us with legs like a horse and barreled into me. I tumbled head over heels with the dog landing on top of me. She pinned my shoulders and began to lick my face.

"Martha!" I shouted, "Martha, get off of me!"

I pushed her off and sat up. She wagged her tail. She seemed to be staring at me but it was hard to tell through her thick hair. Vera giggled and buried her fingers in the dogs' hair, "Martha!"

"Yeah, Martha," I mumbled, "What're you doin' here, girl?"

Martha only barked in response. I checked her collar to see that it was still intact, she hadn't broken it like the last four. Glancing around, I asked, "Are Jane or Paulie with you?"

"Uncle Paulie's here?" Vera asked.

I shrugged, "I dunno, Junior, how about we try to find them?"

"Uncle Paulie and Auntie Jane!"

I stood and picked Vera up. Placing her on my shoulders, I grabbed her baby bag and whistled, "Come on, Martha."

The dog obediently followed. She stayed at my heels through the entire loop around the park. All three of us looked for twenty minutes but there was no sign of Paul or Jane.

"Guess they went home," I scratched my scalp, "Surely Martha didn't escape from the flat."

For a dog to escape from the flat, she would have to get out the door, get in the lift, get out of the lift, and get past the doormen. The only logical solution was that Martha got away from Paul or Jane while they were walking her.

"Come on, Martha. There's a good girl."

I led Martha back to the flat building. The doorman tipped his hat to me and winked at Vera, causing her to giggle. Martha, being the obedient dog she was, followed me onto the lift and didn't panic when the doors shut.

On our floor, I found the door to Paul and Jane's flat halfway open. Martha bounded inside, barking the entire time. Vera and I closely followed.

"She was with me one minute and gone the next," Jane's flustered voice came from the living room, "I looked everywhere but I can't-wait, hold on."

Jane came around the corner with the phone still in her hand. Martha jumped up to put her paws on Jane's stomach, nearly knocking the ginger over in the process. I came around the corner and grinned, "Anyone order and extra large English sheepdog?"

"Mel, thank God," Jane breathed, "No, it's fine, Paul, Amelia brought her over. I dunno, Amelia, where did you find Martha?"

"She found me, in the park," I answered.

"In the park. Yes, we were going down the street and she jerked away," Jane groaned, "She's fine now. Yes, go back to recording. Love you too, bye."

Jane hung up the phone and sighed deeply, "You may have just saved my relationship."

"Aw, Paulie wouldn't break up with you over Martha," I waved her off.

"Sometimes I wonder which of us he loves more."

Martha barked. Jane shook her head and said, "As for you, Martha, you've been a very bad girl! Scared me half to death, you did!"

"She was just havin' a bit of fun," I grinned.

"And nearly gave me a heart attack in the process."

I laughed. Jane pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. For the first time in a long time, Jane and I were alone. Paul was usually there, I only ever seemed to see her when Paul was around. Jane with Paul was a totally different Jane than Jane alone. With Paul, she seemed a bit more anxious than she should. It was as if she was walking on eggshells but managed to convince herself that she was comfortable. I had no doubt that she loved him, and I knew for a fact that he was head over heels in love with her, but sometimes I wondered. Jane was always so relaxed when Paul wasn't around. She seemed to be more comfortable with herself when he wasn't in the room. Perhaps that had to do with acting as the model woman with a man in the room and it went for more men than just Paul. With me, she knew she could be whoever she wanted to be and I wouldn't think any less of her.

"Auntie Jane!" Vera shouted.

She nearly fell off of my shoulders. I grabbed her middle and gently set her on the ground. She ran as quickly as her little legs would carry her to Jane. Jane lifted the toddler into her arms and hugged her tightly, "'Ello, Vera, I missed you while I was in Amsterdam."

"Oh, I see," I smirked, "You missed Junior here but not her old lady. I see where your loyalties lie."

Jane laughed, "I missed you too, Amelia."

"Course you did, it's impossible not too."

"And I thought Paul had the ego."

Both of us laughed. Jane set Vera on the ground, allowing the toddler to run off and play with Martha. Turning back to me, she smiled, "Care to stay for tea?"

"Love to."

I followed Jane into the kitchen. She started making the tea while I sat at the island. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, "Sugar?"

"One," I replied, "And honey, if you have any."

"Just like Paul."

I chuckled, "He got it from me."

"Or you got it from him."

"Mutual discovery?"

Jane chuckled. Once she had the tea made, we both sat at the island and began to sip. For a few moments we were silent but it wasn't the sort that had to be filled. It was a comfortable silence shared between friends.

"How long are you going to be in town?" I asked.

"Few months, probably," she replied, "Got a job filming in Edinburgh."

"Lovely."

"Paul doesn't think so. He's always on about how I'm never with him," she sighed into her tea.

I shook my head, "He's a bloody git, he is."

"So you've said."

"And it's true, we both know it," I replied, "He's got it in his mind that you've got to dump everything you've worked for just to follow him around here, there, and everywhere; as he put it. Rubbish, the lot of it."

Jane glanced at me, "You think so?"

"I bloody well know so. You've got a good thing goin', Jane, you can't drop it now. If Paul can't see that, he's as dense as a wall. He loves you dearly, I've heard him say it and I can see it in his eyes. Because of that, he should be happy not tryin' to convince you to give up your entire life for him. Rubbish!"

For a few seconds, Jane simply stared at me. I could see her mind working overtime behind her eyes, which stood like lensless glasses. I half expected her to argue with me, but she smiled, "Thanks, El."

"El?" I asked, my eyebrow lifted.

Jane smirked, "It's all about the nicknames, you know."

"Janie, you flatter me," I grinned, "Why El?"

"Everyone else calls you Mel or Lia, thought I'd try something else."

I smiled seductively, "Special nickname for a special person, eh?"

"Well I-" Jane began to blush as red as an apple.

"Janie, love, you're blushin' like mad."

Jane placed her hand on her cheek, "You're such a flirt."

"It's in my nature."

"Tell me, El," Jane met my eyes, "Do you flirt with all your friends?"

"Just you, Janie."

Jane smirked, "Special flirt for a special person, eh?"

My cheeks began to heat up. Jane's smirk deepened as I cleared my throat. She placed her fingertips under my chin and gently made me look in her eyes, "El, love, you're blushing like mad."

"No fair," I could barely find the words, "Usin' my own words against me."

Jane smiled, "Payback."

She returned her hand to her tea and smiled slightly. For a moment, all I could do was stare at her. The previous events kept rolling over in my head. All I could think was how my skin felt oddly warm. The only person who had ever given me that kind of warmth was Molly.

"I think I'd like some biscuits. El?" Jane turned to me.

I gulped, "Love some."

Jane abandoned her stool and moved to the pantry. I watched her every move. She was doing such an ordinary task, yet, it seemed extraordinary. Everything about her was so normal it was abnormal, from the way she crouched to find the tin to the way she clicked her tongue when she opened it. Everything from the cracked nail polish on her fingernails to the accidentally mismatched socks on her feet was completely average, anybody could do it, but I saw it. I noticed everything, every breath and every move she made.

I had seen Jane a thousand times before but, that day, it felt like the first time. Something inside of me had flipped, an old switch that had been left to the dust bunnies for over a year. What I saw was just a snapshot of daily life, there was nothing special about it except for the person it was about. Jane was so extraordinary, it was unreal.

"You alright, El?" Jane asked.

I felt my cheeks heat up, "Course, do I not look it?"

"You haven't blinked for a full minute," Jane replied, "Is that normal for you?"

"How else do you think I get my natural bloodshot look?"

"From not sleeping."

"Touche."

Jane laughed. As she did, I felt my stomach tie in knots. It was an odd feeling, but not one I was unfamiliar too. I had felt that with only one person before. It felt as if I was reliving the past except, instead of looking at a blonde I was looking at a ginger. Instead of looking at my best friend, I was looking at my brother's girlfriend.

"Mummy," Vera sniffled.

I turned on the stool to see her standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was rubbing her eyes and clutching her overalls. Instantly, I knew what was wrong.

"Tired, Junior?" I asked.

She nodded. I lifted her onto my hip where she promptly rested her head on my shoulder. Any moment now, she would be asleep and I still had to get her out of her dirty overalls. Turning to Jane, I smiled, "It's nap time."

"What a cutie pie," Jane cooed, "Sweet dreams, Vera."

"Bye-bye, Auntie Jane," Vera yawned.

I saluted, "Ta for the tea, Janie."

"Anytime, El."

Not another word was said because I couldn't seem to find my breath. As soon as we were out in the hall, I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I wasn't physically tired, just emotionally tired.

"Bloody hell," I muttered.

Vera was already asleep by the time we got into our flat. I changed her into her pajamas and put her to sleep, gently shutting the door behind me. Going to the living room, I began to pace.

When I fell in love with Molly, I had no idea. It took me years to finally realize what I felt for her was more than friends feel for each other. Every time I was with her I felt happier than I ever was before. I felt like I could truly relax and be myself without her judging me. Molly was my happy place, she made me feel something I had never felt before. Like I was reading the greatest story in the world and it was about the two of us. She was the match to my fire.

That fire extinguished whenever she died. The second Molly's light went out, so did mine, and I thought it could never be relit. All I had left was charred embers and ash, nothing could relight that. At least, that's what I thought.

Molly was my match to light my fire before I could burn. She was the first and, I thought, she would be the last. Molly was a match but Jane is a flamethrower. Just when I thought my flame was gone forever, a fire with the strength of a thousand suns comes to prove me wrong. Jane gave me light where I thought the darkness had prevailed.

I always felt odd around Jane. When I was with Cynthia, Pattie, or Maureen, we all laughed and had fun but that was it. We went home mates and that was the end. With Jane, I felt genuine. I felt like every smile and laugh I produced came from genuine happiness, the sort that I thought had died with Molly. Ever since Paul first introduced her to me, I knew she was different.

What I thought I felt had to be just that, a thought. It was nothing more than a trick of my imagination. I could never love again, not after Molly. I've never loved anyone as much as I loved her and I felt as if that wasn't repeatable. A soulmate only comes once in a lifetime, and mine was lost in the blink of an eye. Molly is my one and only, there could never be anyone else.

I stopped pacing and glanced up, my eyes landing on a framed photograph of Molly. It was the last photo I ever took of her. Just three days after that photo was taken, Molly died.

"By golly, Miss Molly," I muttered, "I don't know what to do. I love you with all of my heart. Only you."

I couldn't fall in love with Jane, I could never love again. I've loved once and that ended in the biggest heartache of my life, I wasn't keen to do it again. Love came once in a lifetime and I've already used my turn.

Mum once told me, what you feel is always valid no matter what it is. When you're angry you're angry, there's no fakeness about it. When you're sad you're sad, when you're happy you're happy, and when you're in love you're in love. You can't fake emotions. Emotions are always real no matter how extreme they may be. All emotions are valid, love most of all. You can't feel fake love, that isn't how love works. You couldn't imagine being in love with someone and assume it's real. Love is something you feel through no choice of your own. That's how I fell in love with Molly and that is how I fell in love with Jane.

"Bloody hell!" I exclaimed, "I can't do this, not again, and not with my brother's girlfriend for Christ's sake! Molly, please, tell me what to do."

I stared at her picture as if that could give me the answer. All I got was her smile, frozen in time. Yet, I could imagine what she would say. She would want me to be happy even if that wasn't with her.

"I can't be happy without you," I bit my lip to try and hold back my tears, "You are my happiness. I can't-not again."

Had she been there, she would have told me a life lived in loneliness wasn't a happy one. I wouldn't be happy until I found someone to spend my life with. True, I had my mates, but they had their girls. John had Cynthia, George had Pattie, Ringo had Maureen, and Paul had Jane. They had had someone to spend their lives with other than their mates. I wouldn't be happy until I had someone to wake up to and to go to sleep with.

"I can't be happy again until I have Molly," I mumbled, "I can't be happy unless I have a Molly."

I glanced up at the photo and smiled sadly, "By golly, Miss Molly, I've loved you since the moment I met you and the moment I lost you."

All at once, words began to fly around my head. They spun around like a hurricane of music notes and mismatched words. A light bulb went off in my head, forcing me to run to the study and grab a pen and paper.

Grief will last until you learn to say goodbye. You have to let go of the pain of losing a loved one and move on with your life. I learned that when Mum died, and even better when Molly died. Molly was my true love, but she wasn't my one true love. To this day, I still love her with all of my heart and soul, but I knew I had to move on. I couldn't truly live until I learned how to say goodbye.

Molly was gone, I simply had to come to terms with that. There was nothing I could do to bring her back, but I could live a life she would be proud of. She wouldn't want me to go through my life still grieving her. She would want me to pick myself up and move on, traveling around to find a new source of happiness. No one could ever replace Molly, but someone else could make me happy. All I had to do was to move on.

"I loved you from the moment I met you, I loved you, I lost you," I sang under my breath, "One final say, one last hurrah. To my dearest angel flying the sky, I say goodbye."

For the last time, I glanced up at Molly's picture. The flat became warmer as a small smile crossed my lips. Had my nose not been clogged from crying, I would have smelled strawberries.

"Yeah," I smiled, "I like it too."


	178. They Are Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

Eight albums. In four years The Beatles made eight albums. My personal favorite has always been and will always be Revolver but their first album of 1967 comes close. With Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band they changed the face of music. Rock-and-roll was never quite the same after The Beatles released their iconic album. They tested the boundaries and found them unsatisfactory, instead deciding to build new ones. Eventually, those would be tested and broken as well.

Words can't express how proud I was of them, how proud I still am. I remember when Paul called me nearly in tears because they were releasing a single with Tony Sheridan. I can still hear John's voice echoing through the halls of The Cavern Club as he said they were going to the toppermost of the poppermost. Those four boys who thought they did good to get one album out had just changed the face of music for the better, and I was beyond proud.

"I don't like dresses," Vera pouted, "They're cold."

I chuckled, "I've raised you right."

She glanced up at me and frowned, tugging at the hem of her purple dress. It fell to her knees and had sleeves that barely touched her elbows. She had thick tights beneath them despite it being summer. I crouched next to her and smiled, "Be lucky you have tights, Junior. Us adults have to go bare-legged."

My dress was one of the few Ellen made sure I had at all times. No matter how often I tried to pass them on to Jane, Pattie, Maureen, or Cynthia, Ellen always made sure I got more. I hated each and everyone one of them, but, sometimes, I had to wear them.

The release party for the new album wasn't the fanciest thing in the world. The lads themselves were showing up in casual clothing, which, for them, meant psychedelic clothing that looked to have been made by someone tripping on acid. Some would have psychedelic designs and others would make me wonder if they were high when they looked through their closets.

"I don't wanna go," Vera whined, "I'm tired."

I picked her up and held her on my hip, "Don'tcha wanna go see all your Uncles?"

"All of them?" Vera asked, "Uncle Mikey too?"

"Nah, Uncle Mikey's in Denmark."

"Uncle Ringo?"

"Uncle Ringo'll be there," I answered, "And Uncle Paulie, Uncle Johnny, and Uncle Georgie."

Vera yawned, "Will Auntie Jane be there?"

"Yes."

Vera smiled, "Okay, I'll go."

"Good, because you didn't have much of a choice."

I tickled her belly, causing her to giggle. Putting her on my shoulders, I began to bounce down the stairs. With each bounce, Vera squealed loudly, filling the entire flat with her giggles. By the time we made it to the cab waiting at the curb, she was crying from her constant laughter.

Brian had decided to host the party at his own flat. It was cheap, accessible, and nicer than any rentable venue he could find. Brian always kept his apartments clean and up to date with all of the most fashionable furniture. Even his paintings were ahead of their time.

When I knocked on the door, Moxie answered. She looked lovely in her mini skirt and ruffled blouse. Her smile was wider than ever, almost like it was held back with tape. I could sense an overwhelming amount of anxiety she did her best to hide.

"Amelia, welcome," Moxie stepped aside and let me in.

I glanced at her, "Moxie, you alright?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno, you just seem off," I replied, "Like you ate something nasty."

Moxie laughed, "I'm just a bit tired is all. Go on, enjoy the party."

She hurried off much too quickly for my liking. Vera rested her head on the top of mine and asked, "Why is she scared?"

"You think she's scared?"

"She looks like she had a bad dream," Vera frowned.

"Maybe she did, Junior, maybe she did."

The two of us made our way into the living room. A few people had already arrived, but the lads were nowhere in sight. I recognized a few faces from their earlier album release parties, but I couldn't name any of them. George Martin nodded to me as I passed. I nodded back, my eyes set on the refreshment table against the back wall.

Vera sat down on one of the armchairs with her sippy cup. She looked so tiny in such a large armchair. Sometimes I forgot she was just over a year old, she always seemed much older. Linda said she might turn out to be a child prodigy, what with her talking so soon. I brushed her off. She was smart, but child prodigy seemed a bit much.

I stood next to her gingerly sipping a pop. People began to file in. I only knew a few, but not enough to indulge in conversation. Most simply nodded at me as they passed.

"Mel?"

Linda and Heather walked in, hand in hand. I smiled and waved, "Lindy, wonderful of you to show."

"Can't say I'm late if I'm earlier than the guests of honor," Linda replied.

Heather climbed up to sit on the couch with Vera. Heather had decided that she was Vera's big sister. No matter what Linda and I said, Heather was sure she had to take care of Vera. Vera loved every second of it. Linda and I just stepped back and let the two little girls have their fun. Heather climbed up onto the armchair and sat next to Vera, grabbing her hand and beginning to talk to her.

"The lads are always late," I replied, "It's a defining trait of their personalities."

Linda laughed, "You're not wrong."

"Besides, they do it for the spectacle. They're always about the drama."

"Explains a lot."

Both of us laughed. Just as we did, the kitchen door opened and Brian came out. Each time I saw him, he looked worse. I thought he had forgotten what sleep was, all he knew was anxiety and stress, though the two weren't much different. His once smooth face was covered in wrinkles and blemishes. His eyes were always bloodshot with deep black-and-blue crevices beneath them. When I first met him, he had the sturdy hand of a lumberjack, but now he was always shaking. He could barely hold a drink without it spilling over.

"God, he looks terrible," Linda muttered.

I nodded, "Poor chap, thinks he carries the world on his shoulders."

"That sounds dangerous."

"It is," I sighed, "Would you mind keepin' an eye on Vera for a second? I wanna talk to him."

"Of course. Good luck."

"Ta, I'll need it."

Taking a deep breath, I hurried over to where Brian and Moxie were talking in rushed whispers. When Moxie saw me, she excused herself, leaving Brian and I alone in the corner. He spun to see me just as he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat growing on his forehead.

"Oh, Amelia, thank you for coming," he wouldn't meet my eye, "Care for a drink? Or some sandwiches? Moxie made-"

"Bri, I've been here for twenty minutes and I've probably drunk everything you have to offer."

Brian sighed, "I apologize, I didn't see you come in or else I would have greeted you."

"That's not why I came over," I replied, "Have you been sleeping?"

"What?"

"Have you been sleeping? And taking your anxiety medication?"

Brian shook his head, "Amelia, this is none of your concern."

"As your friend, it is my concern," I replied, "Brian, I care about you, which is why I want to make sure you're alright. Ever since the last tour, you seem to get worse and worse every time I see you."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. Come on, Bri, you can tell me."

Brian shook his head, "I don't want to burden you, you have enough issues of your own."

"It's not a burden because you're my friend. Now, tell me."

Brian wiped his forehead and sighed. He was never one to tell the world about his issues, but there was the rare occasion when he would break. Only a few times have I seen him in one of the moments where he released all of his worries to the wind.

"I'm just stressed," Brian sighed, "The Beatles have stopped touring- they don't need a manager at all, really. Cilla Black doesn't want to sign with me anymore, and- it's all too much."

He rubbed his eyes. For a moment, I thought he might burst into tears, but he wasn't that kind of man. He was the sort who would bottle up his emotions until they literally killed him. That is exactly what I wanted to avoid.

"Just because the lads have stopped touring doesn't mean they won't need you," I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "You arranged this, didn't you? All their interviews, their album covers, you do that. Even if, and I say if, they didn't need you as a manager, they would need you as a friend. You're one of their greatest friends, Brian, they're not going to ditch you."

Brian smiled slightly, "You're right, Amelia, of course. I needn't worry."

Something told me he still would. I smiled sadly. There was only so much reassurance one person could take. Too much, and they would never listen again. I decided to leave it at that.

"They're supposed to be here," Brian sighed, "They were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."

"Who's driving?"

"John."

"Oh, they won't be here for hours," I teased.

Brian obviously seemed more stressed by this. I quickly gripped his shoulder and smiled, "I'm jokin', Brian, honest. John drives like a bat outta hell, they'll be here soon enough. Paul's probably just doin' his makeup."

As if on cue, the doors opened. John, Paul, George, and Ringo walked in with their ladies hanging off their arms. All were having a merry time and they hadn't even hit the refreshment table yet. Brian spun around and released a deep sigh of relief.

"Toldja," I smiled.

Brian hurried over to them with me close in tow. John quickly wrapped an arm around him and laughed, "The party has arrived!"

"You're late," Brian accused.

Paul chuckled, "We can't be late if we're the guests of honor."

"You're always late," I replied, "It's part of your personality."

"Oh, bugger off. Like you weren't."

"I was here on time like a respectable party-goer."

"Or you wanted first go on the drink table," Ringo chuckled.

"Ringo, I thought you knew me better," I gasped, "I only take the good alcohol."

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Cynthia smiled, "They made it here, isn't that all that matters?"

"I suppose so," Brian replied.

"Let's get this party started, then," John grinned, "Drinks all around!"

I shook my head. It was easy to tell all four lads had a few drinks already. John and Paul both stumbled a bit as they made their way to the drink table, the only reason they stayed up was because of Cynthia and Jane. I watched them heading towards the drink table. In reality, I wasn't watching them, I was watching Jane.

"We're in for a party tonight," I mumbled, sitting next to Linda.

Vera crawled into my lap as Linda lifted an eyebrow, "We are?"

"Oh yes."

I tipped my glass towards the lads. They each had a drink and were laughing merrily. Jane, Maureen, and Cynthia seemed uncomfortable, but Pattie was drinking right along with them. The other three did their best to limit the drinks their men consumed.

"They've only had two drinks," Linda muttered.

I chuckled, "Here."

"They had some before they came?"

"Most definitely."

Linda shook her head, "Maybe it wasn't best to bring the kids."

"It'll be fine," I replied, "They've got their ladies. For once, I don't have to drag their drunken arses back home."

Linda laughed with me. A few reporters came in to interview the lads about their new album. So far, the party was going swimmingly. All the lads had to do was answer questions, pose for a few pictures, and limit their drinks enough to where they didn't get blackout drunk.

Eventually, Linda and I separated. Vera spent most of the party on my hip or on my shoulders. Whenever we stepped around the sandwich table to stand next to a ginger girl, Vera nearly dove off, "Auntie Jane!"

"Hello, Vera," Jane took the toddler from my shoulders and hugged her.

I chuckled, "I think you've found your biggest fan."

"Vera?"

"She's always askin' if her Auntie Jane will be there," I shook my head, "Wherever we go, it's always 'will Auntie Jane be there?'"

Jane giggled, "Guess I'll have to go more places."

We both glanced at each other and smiled. I looked over her shoulder to see Paul talking to Linda. The two were awfully close, almost too close for comfort. Paul's eyes were glazed over, telling me he wasn't quite drunk but he was coming close. Linda was completely oblivious, whether by choice or not, I don't know. They kept subconsciously leaning towards each other as if Linda was the positive magnet and Paul was the negative. Paul was almost falling off his seat and straight onto Linda. I thought it best to keep Jane from seeing the scene. Every time she was about to turn, I brought her attention back to me.

"So, Janie," I smirked, "Enjoying the party?"

Jane shrugged, "Guess it's alright. I'm just hoping Paul doesn't get drunk."

"If he does, I'll cripple him."

Jane laughed, "You'll have to beat me to it."

We both chuckled. George glanced over at us, grinning the entire time. He sluggishly made his way over and flung his arm around my shoulder, "'Ello, Melly, enjoyin' the party?"

"I'd enjoy it a lot more if you'd stop drinking," I took his cup from him.

George laughed, "Where's the fun in that?"

"Being sober is so fun."

"It's rubbish, you know."

"You wouldn't."

Jane snorted, earning a confused glance from George. He began to laugh even though he didn't know what he was laughing about. He became distracted with a round of laughter from John and Ringo and began to wander in that direction. Jane and I shook our heads.

"They're plastered, the lot of them," I sighed.

Jane frowned, "Paul was nervous this morning."

"He was?"

"They've been in the studio for so long," Jane glanced at me, "The last time they were in the public eye-really in the public eye- was the tour. He was worried about how this party would go and, he started drinking."

I glanced at my brother and frowned, "So, it's contagious."

"What?"

"The stress, the anxiety," I frowned, "We need a break."

"We could take a vacation but-"

"We need more than that. We need a vacation not only physically, but spiritually. Mentally. Emotionally. Everything, we need a vacation from being ourselves," I stated.

Jane lifted an eyebrow, "How are we supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, but I'll figure it out."

In the end, we did find a place for our minds, spirits, and bodies to vacation, but it wasn't the sort of place I had envisioned.


	179. I'm Running on Spite and Fury

Aubergine Studios didn't feel like the same studio it used to be. It still had the homely atmosphere, but I was never quite as comfortable as I once was. That studio used to be my second home, more so than any other place I frequented. Every time I felt bad, all I needed was to visit the studio and I would be alright. Now, it seemed to be exactly the opposite. I couldn't go into the studio with good spirits without expecting them to be dampened.

I knew it had nothing to do with the studio itself, rather, who was in it. Mitch, Ellen, and Linda were still there, and for that I was grateful. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if every familiar face had gone away. Even Minerva was a welcome sight, and I had only known her for a month or so. The problem rested with a certain uptight brunette who couldn't find a hat large enough to contain her big head.

"That was bloody brilliant, it was," I grinned.

Minerva blushed. She stood just before us with her guitar and had just finished the song she wrote. All of us clapped, Linda and I the most enthusiastically. Tabitha gave a half-hearted clap.

"Thanks," she muttered.

Linda nodded, "We'll have to put it on the new album."

"I think it should open the thing," I replied, "It's got a great intro."

Minerva looked like she was going to faint. The first album of Storms Over London, and the newcomer was already opening the album. In any other situation, it would have been Linda or me. Those with more experience and more fame usually go first, but not in our case. Our system thrived on the music and the music alone, not the popularity of the person.

"What about you, Lindy?" I asked.

Linda shook her head, "I don't write, I only play."

"You wrote before."

"I only added chords to your songs," she replied, "And I know you have one."

I grinned, "Don't I always?"

"Exactly."

As I went to the piano, Ellen came in. She always made it a point to visit us in the studio even if she didn't have any work to do. Her visits were as a friend, and I was always grateful for them. To my great relief, she never brought Prudence with her. I never did get along with Ellen's new assistant. Our personalities clashed, especially when I was used to the wallflower of Peter Marvelle. Every time I saw Prudence, I found myself longing for the boy who I often forgot was there.

I was a bit hesitant to play the song. It was special, perhaps one of the most important songs I have ever written. Each word stood as a tribute to the woman I loved more than anyone on Earth. This song was my everlasting proclamation of love for Molly Mackenzie, and nobody would ever know it.

"I met you, I loved you, I lost you," I sang, "Tales of sorrow and love, seen as cliche. You were my dove, but you weren't here to stay."

The song brought tears to my eyes. Linda sat next to me and placed a supportive hand on my shoulder. She understood, I could it it in the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. When I finished, both of us were near tears.

"Amelia, that was beautiful," Ellen sighed.

Tears hung in her eyes as well. She and Linda were the only two people who knew who that song was about. To anyone else, it was just another silly love song. Minerva clasped her hands and smiled, "I loved it."

"It was amazing," Linda hugged my shoulders, "As usual."

I patted her arm, "Thanks, Lindy."

"I think it's a load of rubbish."

All of us turned to face Tabitha. Her lips were locked as if she had just eaten a sour lemon. She glared at me as if threatening me to fight her, a threat which I gladly accepted. I spun around and stood, "And why is that?"

"It's too slow," Tabitha replied, "The lyrics are redundant, and it's been done before. A lost love, bla bla bla."

Tabitha open and closed her hand as if miming a person talking. I sneered, "We've done slow songs before, and people identify with a lost love."

"It's cheesy."

"It's romantic," I spat, "People like romance."

"People are sick of romance."

"They can never get sick of romance!"

Tabitha rolled her eyes, "It's too sad. It's going to make people cry."

"At least I make people feel things. Your songs just make people want to claw their ears off."

"Take that back!" Tabitha shouted.

I flung my hands up, "Sorry, can't take back the truth!"

"You wanker!"

"Arse!"

"Tosser!"

"Daft Sod!"

"Egotistical git!"

"Girls, please, break it up!" Ellen stepped between us, "I will not tolerate any fighting, understood?"

I crossed my arms and frowned, "She started it."

"I did not, you child!"

"You did too! And who are you callin' child, I'm older than you!"

"Barely!"

"Stop it this instant!" Ellen shouted, "I expected better of you two."

Ellen glared at each of us individually. Tabitha turned her shoulder as I sighed, "Sorry, Ellen. I'll bite my tongue."

"Good, now, the four of you are a team and you will decide this as a team," Ellen said, "We already know Amelia and Tabitha's opinions, what about you two? Linda? Minerva? What do you think?"

Linda glanced at me, "I think it needs to go on the album."

"Thank you, Lindy," I nodded at her.

Tabitha snorted, "There's only a tiny bit of bias there."

"Oh, bugger off."

"Amelia," Ellen cut in.

Her glare made me shut up. She turned to Minerva and smiled, "What about you, Minerva?"

Minerva stuttered. Tabitha was holding her pinned beneath her glare. My gaze was a bit softer, a small smile creeping across my lips. She locked eyes with me and smiled, "I like it a lot."

"Then, it's settled," Ellen smiled, "The song will be recorded and will feature on the album."

Tabitha crossed her arms and huffed, "I say this wasn't fair."

"It wasn't? Everybody had a vote," Ellen cooly replied.

"And they were all biased," Tabitha spat, "We need another opinion. Mitch, we need your opinion!"

The intercom buzzed, "Please don't bring me into this."

"Don't bring Mitch into this," I repeated, "I won fair and square, I can't help that you're a git."

"Amelia, you're not helping," Linda whispered.

"Makes me feel better."

Tabitha stomped up to the window of the production room, "What do you think? Do you like McCartney's song?"

I sneered, "So, we're going to play it that way, huh?"

There were several ways you could use a person's last name. Most people used it jokingly or professionally, others used it in anger. John only ever called Paul 'McCartney' when he was boiling in anger. This was no different, Tabitha was angry so she played the last name game. That game took two players, and I was on the other side of the board.

"I think it is a good song," Mitch replied, "It has a strong possibility of becoming a hit."

Tabitha frowned. I chuckled, "That enough for you, Plinkett?"

"Fuck off, McCartney."

"It's settled, Storms Over London will record Amelia's song," Ellen smiled.

I grinned, "Jolly good. Let's get to work then, yeah?"

Throughout the entire recording session, Tabitha shot me cold glares. This wasn't the first argument we had gotten into and it wouldn't be the last. It was just another sign that the rot was beginning to set in.


	180. The Fools In The Trees

To me, objects are not the meaning of life, but they do hold memories. I don't need a house full of expensive items in order to be happy. I do need notebooks with signatures of all of my old friends in them, or the first gift Molly ever gave me. I keep memories in my head and reminders in the objects around me.

"Christ, Lia," Paul shook his head, "You're a natural born hoarder, you are."

I scoffed, "Am not. I only keep things that have sentimental value."

"A broken watch has sentimental value?"

He held up a pocket watch. It was old, the glass was cracked beyond repair, and a hand and a half were missing. The chain was rusted and nearly broken. I quickly snatched it from him and held it close to my heart, "It's the first gift Molly ever gave me."

Paul glanced at it and sighed, "Alright, that one has sentimental value. The rest of this doesn't."

He was determined to help me get rid of some of the 'useless clutter' as he put it. Really, he wanted me to get rid of things that dragged me down. Stuff that only added to my stress, especially things that reminded me of my grief.

We started with the upstairs closet. This flat had more closets than rooms, and I had managed to fill up each and every one of them. One was filled with nothing but instruments and music sheets, including Molly's first guitar and the case Janice used when she first joined Revolution. The closet Paul chose to start with was the one I called the junk closest. Anything that didn't have a place found itself in a bin tucked away in that closet. Stuff in there never got looked at. In reality, I could have gotten rid of that entire closet, but I have attachment issues. That's why Paul was there with three large trash bags, a cardboard box, and a whole lot of determination. 

"I don't see why we're cleaning out this closet," I muttered.

Paul pulled out a bin filled with various pins and crumbled papers, "Because, Lia, you need to get rid of some of the clutter in your life. It's only draggin' you down."

"Since when were you Mister Non-materialistic?"

"Since I opened your closet door and got avalanched."

I rolled my eyes, "That never happened."

"It did! You were there!"

"Did not!"

Paul shook his head, "Nevertheless, we're getting rid of some of your clutter."

"Fine."

I crouched down next to him and pulled out a bin. It would be nice to have fewer things to clean and worry about. Clutter was a main source of stress and, while you couldn't see my clutter unless you knew where to look, I could feel it. Paul was right when he said I needed to get rid of it, but I just couldn't find the heart.

The bin I opened was filled with old books and record sleeves minus the record. Some of the books were ripped and taped only to be ripped again. I tossed the record sleeves and the broken books. The few that weren't broken found a place on the bookshelf where they rightfully belonged.

One book, in particular, caught my eye. Really, it wasn't a book at all, rather, a notebook. It was an old school composition notebook, one I had never taken notes in but saved for other uses. On the front was several stickers and doodles. Only half the doodles were mine. The rest were flowers, peace signs, and psychedelic colors that only Janice would draw. I even saw a big-headed creature signature only to John Lennon taking over the back cover. 

The first page nearly brought a tear to my eye. The title was 'Amelia's Songbook: 1959-1963'. It was signed by me, Paul, John, George, Stuart, Ringo, Janice, and Molly. Molly's signature was so close to mine, they were practically overlapping.

I opened it to find some of my very first songs. A few of them were terrible, as they should be for a first try. The songs near the end of the book weren't bad, I could even record them now. I could still remember writing Moonlight Through The Curtains. That was back when I was living in The Mackenzie household. I was up all night and saw Molly sleeping with the moonlight perfectly reflecting against her. That was when I was in love with her without even realizing it.

The past me didn't know it, but most of the songs I wrote were about Molly. I loved her before I even knew it, but my subconscious did. I wrote love songs to her before I even knew what love was.

One song in that book stood out among the rest. It was right in the middle, from the end of 1960. Each line was a different person's handwriting, and each handwriting was off slightly. As if the person was drunk when they wrote it, or on their first dose of a distantly familiar drug. I had completely forgotten about that song for seven years.

"Hang it all," I muttered, "Paulie, look at this."

He glanced up from his bin, "What's that?"

I handed him the notebook. He began to read the song, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. When he finished reading, he glanced at me, "Fools In the Trees?"

"Don't you remember?" I took the notebook from him and pointed at the signatures on the bottom, "It's from Hamburg. We wrote it on our first night taking Preludin. We climbed that tree, remember?"

Paul glanced at the signatures and his face slowly lit up, "Bloody hell, I didn't know we wrote it down."

"I forgot it existed," I grinned, "Look, it has all of our signatures. Yours, mine, John's, George's, and Stuart's."

"Stuart helped write this," Paul muttered.

I grinned, "And we're going to finish it."

"We are?"

"Of course we are, Paul, this is brilliant!" I exclaimed, "It's the stupidest song ever written, and, because of that, it'll reach number one in an instant! And we'll dedicate it to our mate Stuart Sutcliffe."

Paul smiled, "Let's bloody finish it, then."

We abandoned our earlier project and went downstairs. Vera was there playing with Martha in the living room. She watched as Paul and I fell to kneel next to the coffee table with a pen each.

"What're you doin'?" the toddler asked.

Paul ruffled her hair, "What we do best, Bee, make music."

A running trend with us was our excessive use of nicknames. Everybody seemed to have at least three, sometimes more. Vera was no different, as soon as she joined the family, she had a nickname. It took awhile for one to stick. For me, Junior stuck. Paul took longer. Only when he walked in one day to see her running around and buzzing, yelling that she was a bee because she had a black and yellow sweater on, did the nickname finally stick.

"Do ya think we should call John?" I asked.

Paul wrinkled his nose, "Why would we call John?"

"Cause he was Stu's mate too," I replied, "And George. Maybe they ought to help with this."

Paul thought about it for a moment before smiling, "Yeah-I think they'd like that."

"I'll ring them up."

I left Paul with Vera on one knee and Martha's head on the other. A tradition of mine was to always have the house phone on a table in the front hall. I'm not entirely sure how it started, but it's lasted since I first moved out on my own.

"Hello?" Cynthia answered.

"'Ello, Cyn!" I exclaimed, "Lovely to hear your voice again."

"You too, Amelia. Is everything alright?"

I grinned, "Everything's dandy, Cyn. Say, is Johnny there?"

"He's in the living room with Julian."

"Mind putting him on? I've got somethin' I need to ask him."

"Alright, hang on."

I heard her place the phone on the table. For a few minutes, I waited. The wait was over as quickly as it began whenever John answered with, "Mel?"

"'Ello, Johnny Boy," I grinned, "You busy?"

"Course not, bored as hell, I am."

"Good. Come to my place, we need your help with somethin'."

I could almost hear John cock his head, "With what?"

"A song, of course, what else?" I replied, "Just get your arse over here, I'm callin' Georgie too."

"And Macca?"

"He's already here. Just come on."

"Alright, Christ, don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Just hurry up!"

"I'm on my way!"

With that, he hung up. I replaced the phone on the receiver before raising it to my ear again. I quickly dialed George's number and he answered after four rings.

"Hello?"

"Georgie!" I exclaimed.

"Mel?"

"Who else?" I grinned, "Look, are you busy?"

"Just tending the garden."

"Good, I need you to come to my place."

"Why?"

I shook my head, "I need your help with somethin'."

"What?"

"You really like questions," I laughed, "A song. Paulie's already here and Johnny's on his way."

"Why do you need me then?"

I rolled my eyes, "Cause you're my mate, Georgie."

"But-"

"No buts! This is a team effort, and you're a part of the team."

Had I been standing in front of him, I would have seen him smiling. During that time, George was really blossoming as a songwriter, but was too deep in the shadows of Lennon-McCartney for anyone to realize. It wasn't often he was called for help on a song. To me, there wasn't anyone else I'd rather call. He chuckled, "Alright, I'll be right over."

"Good. See you then."

I hung up the phone and sped back into the living room. Nobody had moved since I left, but Paul did have the notebook in his hands. He was smiling at it wistfully.

"They're on their way," I announced, "We'll finish this song in no time."

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "Who'll record it?"

"Who knows, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

John and George arrived together just twenty minutes later. I opened the door and grinned, "It took you long enough!"

"I told you not to get your knickers in a twist," John smirked.

"Too late for that, come ed!"

I grab their wrists and dragged them into the living room. John cackled while George simply rolled his eyes. They knew how I could get when I was excited, honestly, they should have seen this coming.

"What's so important that we had to speed over here?" John asked.

Paul held up the notebook, "A song."

"Got that part."

"Not just any old song, mates," I took the notebook and waved it in the air, "Our very first drug-infused song."

John and George exchanged glances. All of us were so high that night, we had little to no memories. This song had opened a door in my mind that had been locked for so long, it became a part of the wall.

"From when?" George asked.

"1960, Hamburg, Germany," I replied, "The night we all took Preludin for the first time and got so high we climbed a tree."

John's face lit up, "I remember, you fell off!"

"Only cause George pushed me."

"I did no such thing," George's smirk said otherwise.

"Oh, now you remember."

George laughed. John took the notebook from me and lifted an eyebrow, "So you yelled at us on the phone all because you found a song?"

"First of all, I didn't yell at you," I replied.

George shook his head, "You did."

"You get yelly when you get excited," Paul smiled slightly, "I could hear you from in here."

"That's only because you have exceptional hearing. I was talking like a normal person."

"You're yelling now," John stated.

I frowned, "That's besides the point. I brought you lads here so we could finish the bloody song."

"Finish it?" George asked.

"Yes, George, finish it, aren't you listening? We'll finish the song and we'll dedicate it to Stuart," I reached over John's shoulder and tapped Stuart's signature.

John followed my point and softened. For a moment, I saw the John he hardly ever allowed out in the open. I saw the John that was soft, or, in his definition, weak. I saw the pure love he had for his mates. He saw it as weakness, but I saw it as strength. It takes a certain level of courage to display your love out in the open, I should know. One day, John would learn.

"I'm game," John said, "It's bloody ridiculous, but I'm game."

Paul laughed, "Course it's ridiculous, Johnny Boy, we wrote it on drugs."

"Georgie?" I asked.

George stared at me for a moment before he broke into a smile, "Course I'm game."

The song was already halfway finished. All we need was a chorus, a beat, a few extra lines, and the thing would be complete. John held up the notebook and cleared his throat. In his best movie announcer voice, he began to read.

"The fools in the trees, they do as they please. Hidden in the leaves, they love all the bees," Paul ruffled Vera's hair, causing her to giggle, "They dance and sing to the beat of a tangerine. They kiss and shout to the tune of a trout. Here comes the fools, they're a bunch of tools. A jolly bunch of lads, loved everything they had. They sing ballads of trees and compose symphonies of leaves."

At the end of the song, all of us were laughing. John almost couldn't read it because he was laughing so hard. Even Vera was giggling, though she didn't know why we were all doubled over with tears falling from our eyes. George wiped a tear from his cheek and said, "Bloody ridiculous."

"That's what makes it great, Georgie," I grinned.

John dropped the notebook, "We need instruments. Got any spare guitars, Mel?"

"You knew you were coming to write a song and you didn't bring your bloody guitar?"

"Knew you'd have a spare."

I rolled my eyes, "Of course I have a spare."

Paul went over to his place to grab a guitar for him and George. I grabbed Molly's acoustic and my old bongos. Both were sitting side by side in the upstairs closet. I grabbed each and ran back downstairs, handing John the guitar.

"This looks familiar," he flung the strap across his shoulders, "You use this on stage?"

I shook my head, "It's Molly's."

John glanced between the guitar and me. A small smile crossed his face, "I should've known."

I chuckled. Paul returned a few moments later with his bass and an acoustic for George. All of us sat on the floor with the notebook in the middle.

Our knees were touching whenever we closed in our circle. Each guitar neck went in the same direction, except for Paul's. His nearly poked into John's side. John and George nearly had a sword fight with their guitar necks. John's was back just enough to where it didn't touch George's. I sat between Paul and George with the bongos on my lap. It wasn't a drum set, but it was enough to get the general beat going.

The music itself was easy. George played a few notes on his guitar and we went from there. What we came up with was something that could be the relative of both Yellow Submarine and Love You To. We even found a use for George's sitar as a background instrument. In the end, we had three guitars, a sitar, drums, and a panpipe thrown into the song. By the time we finished the lyrics, it could be compared to one of John's questionable later songs in their ridiculousness. 

"The fools in the trees, they're the bees knees," I giggled, "Up down, left right, they sing along to the moonlight. Life only comes, just once in a lifetime," I was interrupted by a round of laughter, "The fools in the trees, know how to live fine. Some may move on, some may leave. But, there's always a song, for the fools in the trees."

John clapped, "Bloody brilliant!"

"Bloody ridiculous," Paul chuckled.

"And that, Macca, is what makes it brilliant."

George grinned, "Who's gonna record it?"

"Why not all of us?" I asked.

Everybody exchanged glances. We were faced with two different bands recording one song together, which, back then, was unheard of. Songs could be given away to other bands, but they couldn't be recorded together. Two bands couldn't go on the same credits for the same song.

Songs shouldn't be ridiculous either. They were supposed to have meaning, but ours did not. We had already broken one rule of the music business, why not break another? What was stopping us?

"That's a bit much, don'tcha think?" Paul asked.

I shook my head, "Not if we only use a band and a half."

"You're loosin' us, Mel," John said.

"This song, it doesn't have to be published, yet," I explained, "We could record it just for us. If we do it just for us we have no boundaries. We'll call in Ringo and Linda and have a full on jam session."

The lads were quiet for a moment. They glanced at each other, having a silent conversation. I never seemed to be a part of these silent conversations, try as I might, I simply couldn't understand. It was John who first started laughing.

"I think it's a brilliant idea!" he exclaimed, "For once, let's have fun with it, yeah?"

Paul grinned, "Let's have fun with it!"

"Martin won't like it," George added.

"If we're keepin' it a secret, we can't record at EMI," Paul sighed, "We'll get caught by The Apple Scruffs and the news'll be all over."

For a moment, we fell silent. A small smile crossed my lips as a lightbulb went off, "The answer is simple, laddies, we'll record at Aubergine studios."

"Don't the fans know you record there?" George asked.

"Yeah, but they know you don't," I replied, "Besides, it's Sunday, we never record on Sunday's. We'll sneak in no problem."

John grinned, "Sounds brilliant."

"I'll ring Ringo," Paul said, heading towards his flat.

"And I'll call Lindy and Mitch," I nodded, "We'll record this in no time."

***

The street Aubergine Studios was on was completely empty, which was perfect to sneak in three famous lads. We all filed out of Paul's car and rushed into the studio just in case someone were to spot us. Luckily, we made it in with no problem.

"I don't think I've ever seen your recording studio," John poked one of Mitch's lava lamps, "Your producer likes lava lamps, eh?"

"You could say that," I replied.

Mitch walked in a few moments later. She was always in, whether she was recording or not. I made sure she was already in the studio before I asked if we could record, just so I wouldn't spoil her day off. She carried a hot mug of tea and a kind smile, "Your call was a surprise, Amelia."

"I'm chalked full of those," I winked, "Thanks for doin' this, Mitch."

"Always a pleasure."

Paul stepped forward and nodded at her, "Lovely to see you again, Michelle."

"Call me Mitch. Always a pleasure, Paul," she nodded at George, "And you, George."

George nodded back. I gestured to John, "This is John."

"Pleasure."

"The pleasure's all mine," John winked.

I rolled my eyes, "Is Linda here?"

"In the studio. Your other friend arrived as well."

"Good, the gang's all here!"

Linda and Ringo were sitting on the couch talking whenever we walked in. Linda had Heather, but Ringo was free from children. He was also free from a sense of fashion. His lime green jacket clashed severely with his bright purple pants. To top it all off, he wore a blue silk scarf.

"Ringo, do you know what fashion is?" I asked him.

Ringo glanced down at himself, "Course I do, I'm as fashionable as a hip."

"A what?"

George chuckled, "He means he's hip."

"Course he does."

The entire room chuckled. Ringo seemed confused, but he shrugged it off and laughed as well. Heather jumped off of her Mum's lap and hurried over to Vera. She dragged the toddler to the nearest beanbag and they both sat down, with Heather showing Vera her latest book. Both kids were infatuated. Linda was the first to ask, "What are we doing here?"

"We are here, Lindy dear, because we're mates," I threw and arm around her shoulders, "And as mates, we're going to record a very special song together."

Linda lifted an eyebrow. John groaned, "Get to the point, Mel."

"We found a song from our Hamburg days," I showed Linda and Ringo the notebook, "It was written by friends and it's going to be recorded by friends for friends."

"And, it'll be dedicated to Stuart Sutcliffe," Paul added.

Linda lifted an eyebrow, but I waved her off, saying I would explain later. Ringo clapped his hands, "I'm game."

"Figured you were, since you're here," John elbowed him.

Ringo rolled his eyes. Paul grinned, "Right, so, we've got it all worked out. I'll play the bass, John'll play the lead, Lia'll play rhythm guitar. Ringo, you're on drums and Linda's on piano and also panpipes for the third section. George will be on sitar."

Ringo and Linda exchanged glances. Instantly, Ringo nodded and headed towards the drums. He was used to odd compositions, but nothing quite this odd. Yet, being Ringo, he went along with every step.

"You're all so-odd," Linda shook her head.

Paul winked at her, "That's what makes us memorable, love."

Linda blushed. I gagged, "Excuse me while I go throw up."

"Lia, you git!"

"Look who's talking!"

We all took our places. It was a bit odd for me not to be behind the drums, but I felt better every time I looked back and saw Ringo's bright smile. I sat on the floor with a lowered microphone and the rhythm guitar in my lap. Paul and John shared a microphone while George sat on the floor with his sitar. We had to stop by his house for that, and it nearly took up the whole backseat. It was long, awkward, and oddly shaped. Yet, the sound it made paired well with our usual tone.

Linda glanced at me from her place on the piano stool. The panpipes were set up in a contraption to keep them to her mouth, it was similar to the one John used for his harmonica. That way, she could play both instruments at the same time.

"Don't you think Tabitha and Minerva will be upset when they find out we recorded without them?" she asked.

"Tabitha gets upset no matter what," I shrugged, "They shouldn't be, it's not like we're recording as Storms Over London."

Linda frowned, "I guess, it just seems a bit inconsiderate."

"Had we showed them the song, Tabitha wouldn't have liked it and we would've gotten into another argument."

"Like a couple of children," Linda shook her head, "I'm working with children."

I laughed, "I'm only a year and a half younger than you."

"Feels like twenty."

"Oh, bugger off."

Linda laughed. John turned to us and grinned, "Ready, ladies?"

"Ready, Johnny," I grinned.

Linda nodded, "Ready."

"I was talking to you too, Macca."

"Bugger off, you wanker," Paul rolled his eyes at his best mate, "I'm ready."

George and Ringo both nodded. The light switched on, telling us Mitch had started the tape. The song itself started with Linda's piano solo. It was only a few chords made to sound whimsical, like the intro to a dream sequence of a movie. Soon, Paul, John, and I joined in with our guitars. Ringo started the beat and George began to pluck his sitar.

"The fools in the trees, they do as they please," John, Paul, George, and I all harmonized.

Linda provided backup vocals and panpipes. The song only lasted a few minutes, just long enough to fill the front side of a single. Whenever we finished, all of us glanced at each other and burst into laughter.

"Bloody ridiculous," I mumbled.

John grinned at me, "That's what makes it memorable."

In the end, we never did publish that song professionally. It can only be found on The Beatles Anthology, after a little explanation from Ringo, Paul, George, and me. Mitch copied it onto five records, one for each Beatle and one for me. Most got lost or broken, but Ringo's copy remained intact until the early 1990's when it was put on The Anthology. Just like we all imagined it, and as John would have wanted it, the song was dedicated to Stuart Sutcliffe. Only after the 1980's was it dedicated to John Lennon as well.


	181. Being Selfish Fear. My Embarrassed Friends

When you think 1960's, you think psychedelic hippies, great music, drugs, and Eastern Spirituality. Everyone had suddenly become infatuated with the mystic Eastern ways. They thought spiritualism was the way even when the person they chose to lead spouted absolute rubbish. Things like chakras and inner peace never made any sense to me. As the sixties grew more spiritual, I found myself being dragged along whether I liked it or not.

Pattie was the one to start the ball rolling. She had heard of some mystic guru who could do anything, as she was told. From the description she gave me, we were going to see a wizard rather than a guru.

"Will he have a wand?" I asked, "A robe?"

Ringo lifted an eyebrow, "Why would he have a wand?"

"Cause he's a bloody wizard, apparently."

"He's not a wizard, he's a guru," Pattie explained for the thousandth time, "The Maharishi Mahesh Yogi is an expert in transcendental meditation."

"That sounds like a witch's spell."

Paul groaned, "If you don't like it, why'd you come?"

"Peer pressure, Paul, that's why."

Paul rolled his eyes as John snickered. We were all packed into one train cabin heading towards Wales for this magical experience. Everybody was looking forward to it, except for me. They all came willingly, but I was pressured into it by George, John, and Paul. Even Pattie had pressured me into it.

I was a bit interested in what he had to say. While meditation and spirituality seemed like a load of rubbish to me, I was curious how he would explain it to make all of these people believe him. I wasn't interested in the idea, rather, how it was done.

Vera was fast asleep on my lap. Applebaum dangled from her hands and nearly fell on the floor, but Cynthia caught it. I gave her a smile of appreciation.

Each man had brought their girls and I had brought a baby. I had juggled with the idea of a babysitter, Linda even said she'd watch Vera for the time I was away. That idea washed away whenever I told Vera I was leaving and she broke down in tears. She had been with me so much, she had grown overly attached. The thought of me leaving for a weekend terrified her so much, she began to sob. My heart broke at the sight and I instantly decided to bring her with me. I also decided to enroll her in a daycare or preschool after her second birthday, so that she could spend some time with other people.

The train pulled into the station in Wales just a few minutes later. We all filed out with me in the back. My arms were filled with a sleeping baby and overly large teddy bear. Jane took Vera's baby bag, to which I thanked her heavily.

We each had our own cars to take us to our hotel. It was difficult to fit so many people into one car, so we got three. John and Cynthia took the first, while George, Pattie, Ringo, and Maureen took the second. Paul loaded the luggage as Jane helped me put in Vera's car seat.

"Ta, Jane," I whispered, "It's a pain to load her alone."

Jane smiled, "My pleasure."

"Oi," Paul came up behind me, "Are you flirtin' with Jane again?"

Jane blushed as I rolled my eyes, "I only do that when you're watchin', Paulie."

"It's bloody annoying."

"That's why I do it."

Both of us laughed. I buckled Vera in her car seat just as Paul slid into the car. I was about to slide in when we heard a volley of shouts. My hand was on the door as my gaze went to the end of the street. Just a few meters from us was a large group of reporters and a few fans. They were all shouting, a few were screaming. The most common shout was, "Paul! Paul McCartney, over here!"

They were after Paul. Nothing stayed a secret from the press for long and, when it wasn't a secret from the press, it wasn't a secret from the fans. No matter what we did, they would find out.

We were trapped. They would be on us in a second, all to get to Paul. Jane had gone inside to grab three bottles of water from the vending machine, she was trapped. There was no time to get all of us to safety, but that was enough time to get two people to safety.

"Lia-" Paul began, fully knowing what I was doing before I did it.

"Keep an eye on Vera, will you?" I asked, "I've got Jane."

"Lia, don't!"

I slammed the door shut, "Go!"

The cabbie sped off. Paul turned to watch out the back window. I didn't spare any time to wave at him, the mob was almost on top of me. I had to get Jane and get somewhere safe before we were trampled, or worse, interviewed.

I sprinted into the building. The mob was just a few steps behind, which was all I needed. Just being a second faster than them gave me a second to hide. I darted into the building and quickly sprinted to where I knew the vending machines were.

Jane was only just standing up with three bottles of water in her grip. I skidded to a stop in front of her and grabbed her wrist. Without a single word, I dragged her from the machines and through the station.

"What're you doing?" she asked, "I dropped the water!"

"No time, we're bein' chased!"

"What?!"

She glanced behind us to see the mob. It had grown by about ten people, all were teens that had gotten off the nearest train. The screams combined with the snapping of camera shutters and shouts of reporters was giving me an all too familiar headache.

We were trapped in the station. The only way out was going through the mob, and that wouldn't end well. I had to find a place for us to hide until they went away.

Our saving grace came in the form of a broom closet. We had gained a few seconds on the mob. Just as I spun the corner, I saw the door and the sign. Quicker than lightning, I flung open the door and pushed Jane in, diving in after her. I shut the door just as the mob rounded the corner and rushed past.

"Amelia, what just happened?" Jane asked, out of breath.

The broom closet was dark. I couldn't see her, but I could feel her. It was a small closet that was halfway filled with shelves and cleaning supplies. Jane and I were forced to press up against each other or fall into a pile of mops. I could feel Jane's hot breath billow across my face and the warmth of her body spread into mine. I didn't realize how cold I was before I felt Jane's warmth. Had the lights been on, she would have seen every inch of my body turn bright red.

"They found us," I sighed, "Again. Bloody hell, can't a person have a nice vacation for once?"

"They could if they didn't vacation with Beatles," Jane replied.

"Rubbish."

Jane shrugged, "They're the most famous band in the world, it's only natural."

"Still rubbish."

Jane giggled. Her laughs were like music she wrote just by being happy. Her smiles were contagious and her laughter was the cure for dark days. Times like this, I could see why Paul fell in love with her, and I could see why I was following.

"How long do you think we have to stay here?" Jane asked.

I shrugged, "Give it twenty minutes, then we'll try to sneak out."

"Twenty minutes? That's a long time."

"That's nothin'," I scoffed, "Once, the lads and I had to hide in a tent for two hours."

Jane giggled, "Remember when we were in Greece and had to hide in that dumpster?"

"I smelled like garbage for weeks!"

We both fell silent when we heard hurried footsteps go past the door. Hopefully, that was the mob deciding to leave. I released the breath I had been holding when the last echo vanished.

"What do you think about all this rubbish?" I asked.

Jane cocked her head, "What rubbish?"

"This whole Yogi business," I replied, "Meditation and spiritualism, a load of rubbish, if you ask me."

"I think it's interesting. It could be worth something," Jane answered.

"Or nothing."

"Or everything," Jane tapped my nose, "You've got to learn to look on the bright side, El."

I smiled wistfully, "You know, that nickname is starting to grow on me."

"Is it?"

I nodded. Even though I couldn't see her smile, I could feel it. The entire room seemed to get warmer, though that could have just been me. Being in such an intimate position with Jane was both wonderful and terrible all at the same time.

"Jane, can I ask you a question?" I asked before I even thought of it.

"Of course you can."

I smiled slightly, "What made you fall for Paul?"

"What?"

"You're in love with him aren't you?" she nodded, "What did you fall in love with?"

She thought for a moment, "He's funny. He always manages to make me feel happy no matter what mood I'm in. He's sweet, and I love his voice when he sings. He's poetic, he's tender, he's loving, what girl wouldn't fall for him?"

I smiled. Those traits sounded awfully familiar, though I never saw them in Paul. A few I saw, but the rest were reserved for the eyes of a lover, not a sister. If you were to ask anyone else, they would say those traits run in the family.

"Have you ever been in love?" Jane asked.

It occurred to me that she didn't know about Molly and me. She knew we were close, but not that close. At this point, I didn't think it was important to tell her.

"Once," I sighed, "But, that's long gone now."

"Don't you still love them?"

I smiled, "With all of my heart."

"Why did you stop?"

"They left me," I replied, "They went with someone who they couldn't deny. Someone who wrapped them in his grasp and pulled them away forever."

Jane frowned, "You didn't try to stop him?"

"There was nothing I could do. When it comes to him, there's nothing anybody could do."

Jane fell silent. We both stared at the door in total silence, reveling in our own love stories. I shifted slightly, causing a bucket to fall off a nearby shelf. Jane yelped and buried her face in my chest.

"It's just a bucket, Janie," I rubbed her shoulders, "Nothin' to be afraid of."

"Right-I knew that- it just frightened me, is all."

Her voice was shaking. For a moment, we just stood there. In the darkness, we couldn't see each other, but we could feel each other. I could feel her face pressed into my chest and her arms gripping my stomach. She could feel my arms around her shoulders, protecting her from any bucket that may fall or mob that may chase us.

"Can we-can we go now?" she asked in a small voice.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, "Yeah-I-I think so."

As much as I wanted to stay in that closet with Jane, I knew it wasn't right. She was my brother's girlfriend, I shouldn't be in such an intimate position with her. The only way I could tear myself away was to think of Paul and how heartbroken he would be if he found out.

I looked up and down the hall, giving the all clear. Jane and I stuck close together as we made our way through the station. There was a payphone near the door. That was my destination, there would could call a cab. Luck was with us as we made it to the booth without any trouble.

I called a cab and it arrived in seconds. The cabbie didn't ask questions, he simply drove us towards the hotel. Jane and I rode in silence, both of us still feeling confused after our moment in the closet.

When we arrived at the hotel, I paid the cabbie and we headed towards the lift. A few people stared but nobody stopped us. It could have been out of kindness, but I suspected it was because of Jane. She marched towards the lift like a woman on a mission, her gaze was set and her fists were clenched. Deep down, I knew, she was like that because of me.

Jane hurried to the room she shared with Paul as soon as we arrived on our floor. I sighed through my nose, shoving my hands in my pockets and shuffling to my room. As soon as I opened the door, I was met with a relieved sigh, "Lia!"

Paul rushed forward and wrapped me in a hug. I hugged back. When he released me, he held my shoulders, "Are you alright?"

"Fine, Paulie."

"And Jane?"

"She's in your room," I replied, "She's alright too."

He released another sigh of relief, "Bloody hell, I was so worried. Don't ever do that again!"

"You're welcome, I was protecting you after all," I replied.

"I'm the older one, Lia, I'm supposed to do the protecting."

"You should know me better by now, Paulie," I grinned, "I'm all about breaking the norms."

Paul looked at me for a moment before laughing. I joined in his laughter. We both giggled uncontrollably, both of us high on our relief. Once we caught a breath, I glanced around the room, "Where's Vera?"

"Asleep on your bed," Paul replied, "She didn't even realize you weren't around."

I smiled, "That's a relief. Thanks, Paulie."

"Right back atcha, Lia."

He gave me one last hug before hurrying off to check on Jane. I stood in the doorway for a moment. After shutting the door, I fell onto the couch and released a deep exhale.

"Bloody hell."

***

As it happens, the hotel we were staying in was the same hotel where The Maharishi was giving a lecture. Pattie surely planned it that way, she was always good with planning things.

I knew this entire thing was a hoax, but I hoped it wasn't, for Pattie's sake. She was so excited about this lecture, it would crush her if it turned out to be fake. Even if it was fake enough to seem real to her, it wouldn't matter, so long as Pattie was happy.

Everybody else was excited as well. George nearly flipped whenever Pattie told him. John and Paul were both excited, and Ringo was indifferent. He was neither convinced or unconvinced of the legitimacy of the whole thing. Like me, he was curious.

The lecture was that night. I only had a few hours to get Vera fed, bathed, and dressed, and that turned into less when she woke up late. It was lucky that we jumped out of our room at the same time Paul, Ringo, Jane, and Maureen were walking towards the lift.

"Amelia, you scared me half to death," Maureen clutched her heart.

I exhaled deeply, "Sorry, Mo. Thought I was late."

"So you come jumping out of your room like a bat out of hell?" Paul asked.

I shrugged. I fell into step with them as we made our way to the lift. Vera was on my shoulders, but that didn't last long as soon as she saw her Uncles. Sometimes I wondered who she liked more, me or her Uncles. Her favorite Uncle wasn't obvious to many, except for the one person who spent everyday with her. She loved her Uncle John, Uncle George, and Uncle Paul, but her favorite was her Uncle Ringo. As soon as she saw him, she nearly dove off my shoulders. Ringo took her from me and spun her around.

"Got to ask who she likes more," I shook my head, "Me or her Uncles."

Paul grinned, "Her Uncles, of course, we give her candy."

"I give her candy too."

"We give it to her when you aren't looking."

I rolled my eyes. Maureen patted my shoulder, "She obviously loves you the most, or else she wouldn't have thrown a fit when you said you were leaving."

"Mo, you flatter me."

Maureen giggled. I glanced behind me at Paul and Jane. Jane had her arms protectively wrapped around her middle. Paul had an arm wrapped around her shoulder and a worried look on his face. It was obvious to me that Jane was doing everything she could not to look at me. Most of all, she was doing everything she could to keep Paul from realizing what had happened.

We arrived in the lobby to see John and Cynthia already heading into the lecture hall. In reality, it was a ballroom filled with folding chairs and retrofitted with a stage. I took Vera from Ringo as we walked into the room.

The stage was outfitted with white cloths and flowers. A raised platform waited with pillows and blankets to provide comfort for The Yogi. Three people with microphones sat on the stage waiting for him. They watched everybody file in and sit on the uncomfortable wooden chairs.

I found a spot at the very end sitting right next to Ringo. We all took up an entire row near the front. A few people pointed and whispered, obviously recognizing the lads but making no movements to talk to them. Being recognized was alright, it was when the people decided to confront them that was the problem.

"Lot of people here," Ringo turned to watch more people enter the room.

I shrug, "Not surprising. He's famous, after all."

"He is?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear the lectures Pattie gave us?" I smirked, "The way she said it, he's a god."

Ringo snorted, earning a look from Maureen. Pattie, as if sensing our conversation, leaned forward to smile at us. I offered a smile back to her.

"Think he'll be everything she thinks?" Ringo asked.

"Doubtfully," I replied, "But, I hope so, for her sake."

"She'd be crushed if he wasn't."

"Exactly."

Ringo sighed. The entire hall fell silent as one of the people on the stage stood up. He held a microphone to his lips and said, "Thank you all for coming. The Maharishi asks for complete silence as he completes his lecture. Please hold all questions until the end. And now, introducing, The Maharishi Mahesh Yogi."

The entire theater clapped. I offered a half-hearted clap, but Vera made up for it. She clapped with as much enthusiasm as a Beatles fan.

When The Maharishi stepped onto the stage, I had to do a double take. He looked like a raisin that was accidentally put through the wash. Wrinkles covered his body, but you couldn't tell through the robes that swallowed him. His salt-and-pepper hair was wiry like mouse hair and long as a giraffe neck. Oddly, his beard was fuller and looked softer than his hair. It was pure white, almost like he had dyed it but I knew he didn't. He waddled onto the stage with a grin that exposed his crooked and yellowed teeth. His face was much like a child's, save for a great many wrinkles. The way his eyes lit up and his face lifted along with his smile, it was like a kid in a candy store.

"Hello everybody," he said as he sat down.

His voice was not what you would expect. Looking at him, I expected a deep voice that made one look inside of themselves to truly hear him. I expected a voice that sounded like dark chocolate pours; thick and rich. Instead, I heard a voice higher than Vera's. It was squeaky and high-pitched like an animated mouse. I winced but quickly covered it up with a fake sneeze.

My entire row was already thrilled. Each and every one of my mates was clapping enthusiastically. That right there was enough to prove that he was a wizard. Only a magic spell could make so many people fall in love with a person in under five seconds.

"I am here today to talk to you about Transcendental Meditation," The Maharishi explained, "Transcendental Meditation is more than a hobby, it is a lifestyle. Once you begin, you cannot go back."

As he lectured, his eyes landed on our row. They passed between John, Paul, George, Ringo, and even me. With each lad he passed, his smile grew wider. His eyes sparkled with something I never thought I'd see in someone like The Yogi; greed.

I could have been imagining it. At the time, I blamed it as a trick of the light. The Maharishi was all about anti-materialism, greed would be the one emotion he didn't know how to feel. Whenever he looked at the rest of the audience, his eyes sparkled, but less brightly.

The lecture itself was uninspiring. I listened to it, but all I could think was how it was rubbish. Every word he said sounded like something out of a fantasy book, which only added to my wizard theory.

I was the only person in the room watching The Maharishi as casually as one might watch a movie at the cinema. Everybody else watched with their mouths wider than a canyon and their eyes never blinking. I was worried Paul's eyes would fall out, or John's tongue would go dry. Even Ringo was completely entranced.

Nobody was as entranced as George. I half expected him to run up on stage and give the Maharishi a hug. He was on the edge of his seat, his every muscle dying to hear more. The Maharishi saw this and looked at him the entire lecture as if speaking to George and George alone. George was eating it up.

I was the only one ready for the lecture to end. Whenever The Maharishi left the stage, everybody clapped but their faces were masks of sorrow. I rolled my eyes and picked Vera up, pushing through the crowd to get to the lobby.

"That was bloody brilliant!" George exclaimed, "Did you hear him? He's a genius!"

John grinned, "He's got some great ideas."

"I'd like to know more," Paul said, "When's his next lecture?"

"I don't know, but I can find out," Pattie grinned.

Ringo smiled, "I like this meditation idea."

"It's brilliant, I tell you," George grabbed Ringo's shoulder, "We've got to know more."

I watched them all freak out over an old man in robes. In a way, they were freaking out over a textbook. Everything he told us was a textbook of meditation, except, textbooks have useful information in them.

"What'd you think, Mel?" Ringo asked.

"Rubbish," I muttered, "The lot of it."

Paul rolled his eyes, "Ignore her, she just doesn't get it."

"I think I'm the only one who got it."

They all ignored me. They dove straight into a conversation, conveniently leaving me out of it. Once again, I rolled my eyes. They were being ridiculous and they would see it, eventually.

Just when I was about to interrupt them and say it was time to find some food, one of the men that was on the stage stepped forward. He tapped George's shoulder and gained the attention of the entire group. Everybody recognized him, their faces lighting up even brighter than they were before.

"The Maharishi Mahesh Yogi would like to request your presence in his room," the man said, "He saw your enthusiasm during the lecture and would like to talk to you."

He was obviously lying. The Maharishi definitely said that, but it wasn't what he meant. The Maharishi didn't see four excited lads, he saw four Beatles. He saw the most famous band in the world and knew he could get fame and fortune out of them.

"Lead the way," George said.

The man nodded. He began to lead the lads to the lift. All eight of my companions followed without any trouble, but I stuck back. Something about this seemed fishy. The entire room was just as enthusiastic as the lads, but they didn't get called. I was convinced it was not because they were excited, but because they were Beatles.

"Paul, wait," I grabbed my brother's sleeve.

He turned and shot me an annoyed look, "What is it, Lia? You're gonna make me miss the lift."

"Something smells fishy," I answered, "The entire audience was just as excited as you, why would he single you out?"

"Because he saw us."

"Why didn't he see anyone else?"

"I dunno, Lia-"

"Exactly," I interrupted, "He's not bringin' you up to teach you, he's doing it cause you're Beatles."

"Don't be ridiculous."

My gaze became stern, "Paul, I'm serious."

"You're just upset because you didn't understand the lecture," Paul shook his head, "Come upstairs with us and he'll explain it so you will understand."

I shook my head, "This has nothing to do with understanding a bloody lecture, it has to do with common sense."

"Macca, Mel, come on!" John exclaimed.

Paul turned to me, "Just come with us, yeah? We'll see what he has to say. Maybe he'll change your mind."

"He won't."

"Please?"

I sighed, "Well, I can't very well let you go up there alone."

Paul grinned. I followed him to the lift. When the doors shut, Vera leaned down to my ear, "Where we going?"

"To see the man we just saw on the stage," I replied, "We'll talk to him."

Vera grinned, "He has a funny voice."

"That he does, Junior."

I stifled a laugh. The Maharishi's suite was on the very top floor of the hotel. The man led us all the way through the halls and to the open front door. We were ushered inside where The Maharishi waited on top a throne of pillows.

"Welcome!" he exclaimed, "Welcome! Sit, sit, please."

He gestured to a semi-circle of pillows in front of his throne. There were exactly enough pillows for all of us, including Vera. It was as if he had prepared for this long before he ever saw us in the audience.

"Thank you for coming," the Maharishi bowed his head, "I see you all were very interested in my lecture."

George nodded, "Very. We'd love to know more."

"Allow me to introduce us," Pattie stood, "My name is Pattie Harrison and this is my husband George. This is John Lennon and his wife Cynthia, Richard Starkey and his wife Maureen, Paul McCartney, Jane Asher, and Amelia McCartney."

The Maharishi nodded at everyone when their name was called. When he got to me, his eyes widened. Something in his eyes made me slightly uncomfortable. It looked like a sort of hunger, but not one I was familiar with. Quickly, he moved his gaze to Vera, "And this little one?"

"My daughter, Vera," I wrapped my arms around her.

She waved, "Hiya!"

The way he looked at her made me even more uncomfortable. I wanted to take Vera and get out, but I was already committed. All I could do was keep her close to me and safe.

"Welcome, everyone," The Maharishi smiled, "I sense you are all eager to pursue a path in spirituality and Transcendental Meditation."

Everybody except for me nodded. I glanced at them in confusion. They looked like a bunch of victims falling for the biggest and most obvious con.

"Tell me, have any of you ever meditated?"

George and Pattie were the only ones to nod. The Maharishi smiled, "Meditation is essential to find spiritual enlightenment. It is important to silence the world around you and focus on yourself and the light within."

I snickered. Paul elbowed me and glared, mentally telling me to shut up. He wasn't the only one to notice, The Maharishi noticed as well. He turned to me and smiled, "I sense we have a non-believer."

I glanced behind me as if checking to make sure he was talking to me. It was meant to raise a laugh, but nobody did. Everybody was watching me with passive expressions, all wanting to move on and learn new things.

"Come, my child," The Maharishi beckoned, "Come to me."

For a moment, I simply stared at him. Paul pushed me forward as George beckoned me on. I sighed deeply and handed Vera to Paul. She watched as I moved through the pillows and stood in front of The Maharishi.

Against my will, he grabbed my hands. He held them in his, gently stroking the back of them. It made me severely uncomfortable, but I couldn't move away, the lads would be furious. As is, I already owe them an apology even when I know I'm right.

"I sense that you have recently lost someone dear to you," The Maharishi mused.

Behind me, I heard at least three gasps. The Maharishi's sudden 'sense' proved nothing, all he had to do was read a newspaper from last year. Anybody could know Molly died, and how close we are, if they read the papers. It was obviously a trick, but I went along with it.

"I did," I replied.

"You are grieving," he said, "You must allow yourself to grieve. Do not deny your emotions or else they may fester and become worse."

I could feel the loving looks of the people behind me. What he had said made total sense to them, especially when they knew how I grieved. They thought he had just said the most divine thing, but I knew better. At that moment, I knew he was a fraud.

He tells me to let myself grieve, but that was impossible. I have grieved endlessly for a year and a half, there's no grief left to give. This man was saying something he only thought of for the moment. If he was really some spiritual guru, he would have told me to let myself move on. He would have said the only way to find happiness was to let the past stay in the past and pursue my life as it I want it to be. He would have said I already said my goodbyes, now, it was time to walk away from the past and into the future.

"Thank you," I muttered just to get him to let go.

He smiled, "Remember, let yourself grieve."

"I will."

With that, I returned to my seat. As Paul placed Vera back in my lap, he leaned in and whispered, "He's right, you know."

"Not bloody likely," I whispered, though nobody heard me.


	182. Here Today

TW/Mentions of Suicide

Wales holds both good and bad memories for me. Back in the touring days, we had some pretty good stops there. The audience was nice and the country was beautiful. Even our trip to see The Maharishi wasn't all bad, in fact, I did learn a few things. All light casts a shadow, and Wales has one of the largest shadows I know. I was in Wales when Death and I sat down for another round of tea.

We had tickets for all four Maharishi lectures, and then we even got backstage access. It seemed as if the lads and the girls were in The Maharishi's room more than they were in their own homes. I hardly ever saw them, and I was right across the hall from George and Pattie.

After my last encounter with The Maharishi, I refused to go back up to his room. Paul and George both tried to talk me into it, but I wasn't moving. They were the unstoppable force and I was the unmovable object. Eventually, they would give up and go upstairs, only to return to their pointless endeavour whenever they returned.

I had made up my mind on The Maharishi; he was a fraud. The lads couldn't see it, but I could. I knew before we stepped off the train and my suspicions were confirmed whenever he told me to let myself grieve.

There's only so much grief one can give before it turns to depression and then a rising light. I was almost at the crest of the hill, I could see the light, I just had to reach out and grab it. There was no more grief left for me to give, yet this supposed Guru says that's what I must do. If he truly was 'enlightened' he would have preached moving forward instead of staying put. 

As time wears on, however, I look back and wonder if The Maharishi actually was talking about Molly. 

"Vera, please, eat your food," I pushed the bowl towards the toddler.

She crossed her arms and huffed, "I don't like it!"

"But you love applesauce."

"I don't like it!"

I hung my head and sighed. She had been getting more and more on edge since we'd been here, and that made her act out when she wouldn't usually. We were going home the next day but it couldn't come quickly enough. I needed to get Vera home and calmed down before I strangled her.

"Applebaum likes applesauce," I patted the head of her teddy, "Won't you eat it for him?"

She side-eyed me, "He does?"

"Oh, he loves it, told me just yesterday."

Vera glanced at her bear. Turning to her bowl, she picked up the spoon and ate a tiny bit. I almost sighed in relief. Before I could, she wrinkled her nose and spat the spoonful back into the bowl, "Yucky!"

"Bloody hell," I sighed, "Alright, fine, you don't have to eat it. I'll give you your cereal whenever we get back to the room."

"Goodie."

She pushed her bowl further down the table. Once again, I sighed. We were in a nice restaurant located just across the hall from the ballroom The Maharishi was lecturing in. I thought it would be nice to have something other than room service, but apparently, Vera thought otherwise.

As Vera played with Applebaum, I finished my food. The sandwiches weren't the greatest I'd ever had, but they weren't terrible. Hotel food in general was never good. Even in this fancy restaurant that charged eighteen pounds for a hamburger, the food wasn't great.

It was better than sitting in the room and waiting for the lads and the girls to get back from their talk with The Maharishi. It was boring without them, especially when I couldn't go anywhere for fear of being spotted. I felt like I was on tour again, trapped in the same hotel listening to boring people talk about boring things and hoping I don't get killed.

All I wanted to do was go home. Had the trains not been sold out of tickets, I would have bought one and gone. I regretted going on that stupid trip, and all I wanted was to get home as soon as possible. The circumstances needed to make such a thing happen were less than desirable. Now, I regret wishing that.

My attention was taken away from Vera whenever there was a soft tap on my shoulder. The tap sent shivers down my spine and made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. I felt like I was being touched by the ghost of dangers future. I spun around to see the concierge nervously standing behind me. He was an older man, it was baffling that he was intimidated by me. Usually, it's the older men that put themselves above me even if they weren't. This man seemed to shrink under my very gaze.

"Miss McCartney?" he asked.

I nodded, "What can I do for you, sir?"

"There was a call for you," he explained, "A Mister Paul McCartney asks that you go upstairs as quickly as possible."

I lifted an eyebrow, "Did he say why?"

"No, only that it was urgent."

"Right. Thank you."

The man nodded and hurried away. The hairs on my arms stood on end like some kind of sixth sense alerting me to the danger. Something was wrong, I could feel it even before the man said Paul was calling me.

Vera didn't argue when I lifted her from her highchair and began to speed towards the lift. As I got closer, my nerves got shakier. If it were good news, Paul would have gotten me on his own. The only reason for him to send someone to fetch me was that he couldn't do it himself, and that terrified me.

As soon as we arrived on our floor, I sped to Paul and Jane's room. The hall was silent. It was always silent, but this silent seemed abnormal. Something dark hung in the air that I couldn't quite identify but I knew from the past.

Paul's door was cracked open and waiting for me. I didn't hesitate in pushing it open. As soon as I did, I saw Paul sitting on the bed with his head buried in his hands. His body trembled and his white shirt had dark splotches of water.

Behind him, Jane was hurriedly packing their things. She was unnaturally pale and looked on the verge of tears. Her eyes were bright red and her lips quivered. As soon as I saw them, I knew something had happened.

"Paul-?" I whispered.

Paul glanced up and met my eyes. Instantly, I felt a wave of intense grief wash over me. This grief was very familiar to me, but not to Paul. It wasn't an expected grief like when Mum died. We all knew the cancer was getting worse, and we all knew what the end looked like. The grief Paul showed was mixed with shock. A grief you can see coming is always remedied easier than the grief that comes like a thief in the night. First comes the shock, then the grief weighs down on you like a thousand elephants.

"Got a call from Mal," Paul sniffled, "He said-he said-he-"

Paul couldn't finish his sentence, but he didn't need too. I knew what had happened without him having to say it. All blood seemingly drained from my body as I felt like my knees were going to give out.

"Brian," I mumbled.

Paul nodded, "Found dead this morning. Overdose. They don't know if it was an accident or on purpose, but-"

Paul broke down in tears. Jane hurried to comfort him while all I could do was stand there. The pure shock of the thing was enough to keep me frozen.

I could barely believe Brian was dead, but, at the same time, I knew it to be true. He had been steadily going downhill ever since The Beatles stopped touring, all of us knew something was going to happen. We tried to help him, to assure him that we still loved him, but it wasn't enough. Subconsciously, I had been dreading this day without even realizing it was a possibility. His death was the shock we all saw coming. 

"The trains are all booked up, so we rented a car," Jane explained, "It's downstairs."

"We're leaving?"

"Right now."

Her voice was wobbling but she managed to hold firm. I left her holding Paul as I hurried down the hall. All of my stuff was halfway packed, I never saw the point of unpacking when we would be leaving in a few days. All I had to do was throw Vera's stuff together and we were off.

Jane, Paul, Vera, and I met George, Ringo, Pattie, and Maureen at the car. This car was large enough to carry us all. It was more like a van than a car, with long seats and an extra large back. Jane, Paul, and I took the very back seat, right behind George, Ringo, and Pattie. Maureen sat in the front seat with John and Cynthia. Nobody said a word as the car left the hotel at speeds quicker than the laws allowed.

To this day, one of the greatest mysteries of my life is The Death of Brian Epstein. All we know was that he was found in his bed with several papers and open pill bottles around him. Officially, it was ruled as an overdose, but those of us who knew him wondered otherwise.

He had attempted suicide before. Attempted being the key word, he never got beyond a single night in the hospital. Once, he had to have his stomach pumped, but nobody knew that until years later when a close friend of his admitted it. I believe in prior attempts he started to take the pills but got scared when he was just a few under the lethal limit. It was just enough to make him sick but not enough to kill him.

None of us knew what to think. There was a strong chance he did this on purpose, but there was also an equally strong chance it was an accident. Nobody could ever know what went down on that August night in London. Nobody except Brian Epstein himself.

I don't know how long the drive from Wales to London took. All of us were still shocked, we could barely register anything around us. Sometimes, I forgot to breathe. All I could do was stare out the window and watch the world go by.

When we did arrive in London, the lads all sped off towards Brian's house. There was no way they could get in, but that didn't stop them. I was left at the stoop of my building, watching them speed away and wondering what they were going to do.

Going up into my flat was completely out of the question. The last thing I wanted was to be alone. I needed company, more so, I needed the company of someone who I could call my best mate. There was so much I needed to let go of, so many tears I needed to shed and problems I needed to address, I needed someone to hold me up. There was only one person I could think of that could do that.

"Amelia?"

"Linda."

I rushed forward and buried my face in her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around me hesitantly. To have me show up at her door in tears was not a good sign, and Linda knew it. Just in the way she hugged me, I could tell she knew it.

"What's wrong?" Linda asked.

"Everything, everything's wrong," I mumbled, "Brian's dead."

Linda's grip tightened as tears leaked out of my eyes and onto Linda's shirt. She held me, staring off at the wall, unsure of what she felt. Linda was the smartest woman I ever met, and she knew exactly what to do despite the shock blurring all of our senses. Grabbing Vera's carrier, she began to guide me into the house. She pushed me onto the couch and took the sleeping Vera upstairs to her room. I could hear Heather playing in her room. Whenever Linda sat next to me, we were the only two people in the room.

She wrapped her arms around me and held me as I cried. I released every ounce of emotion I had, pouring it into my tears and letting it flow out of my body. Eventually, my eyes dried up but my despair was far from gone.

"There's so much happening," I mumbled, "It's all too much, Linda, I can't take it anymore. I just-I don't want to be here anymore."

"What do you mean?" Linda whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut, "I'm sick of life. I'm sick of having people taken away from me, I'm sick of being unable to go outside, I'm sick of being pressured, I'm sick of falling in love, I'm sick of it all! I don't want to die but I don't want to keep living either. I just-I want to stop existing. All together. Like I was never here."

"Don't talk like that," Linda hugged me tighter, "If you weren't here, the world would be so much darker. Little girls around the world wouldn't have the strength to stand up if it weren't for you. If it weren't for you, I'd still be behind a desk somewhere in Arizona."

"That doesn't make the pain go away."

Linda shook her head, "It doesn't, nothing will, but trust me when I say, that's a good thing. You don't want the pain to go away because, as soon as you feel no pain, you feel no life. Life is about getting through everything put in front of you. Every loss, every heartache, and every moment where you feel like you can't go on.

"Death comes for so many people in my life," I mumbled, "When will he come for me too?"

"Hopefully a long time from now. You have so many people who love you, Amelia. Vera, Paul, John, George, Ringo, me; we all love you."

"We loved Brian too but-"

"But he didn't know it," Linda replied, "I won't let you live your life without knowing how much you're loved."

A small smile crossed my lips, "I love you too, Lindy."

The most common symptom of grief is wanting to follow your loved one. You want to die too just so you could be with them again. For months after Molly's death, I wanted to die just to see her again. After Brian died, I wanted to see him again too, but I knew there were more reasons to keep living.

"I think it's safe to say, this was the worst vacation ever," I mumbled, "The Maharishi's a fraud, I drunk spoiled milk, Vera almost threw a tantrum more than once, and Brian died."

Linda sighed, "The next one will be better."

"I dunno, after this, I'm turned off vacations."

"Until you get to go to The Alps."

"Got me there."


	183. A Drink to A Lost Friend

We weren't allowed to go to Brian's funeral. John, Paul, George, and Ringo were some of his closest friends and they weren't allowed at his funeral. It was messed up, but it made sense. They were asked not to come by Brian's brother specifically because they are them. The Epstein Family wanted a private and relaxed funeral, without the effects of Beatlemania. They couldn't have a private funeral if even one Beatle showed up, let alone four. So, the lads stayed home, left to wallow in their grief within the confines of their houses.

In theory, I could have gone without them, but I knew I shouldn't. I was known around the world and would attract a certain amount of fans. Not near the amount The Beatles would, but enough to disrupt the service. So, I was left at home, but I was far from alone.

"Thought you could use some company," Linda smiled.

She stood in my doorway with a bag and a toddler dressed in her pajamas. Heather instantly pushed past me and hurried to Vera. I glanced at Linda, "I would love some."

"Mind if we stay the night?" Linda asked, "It's almost Heather's bedtime."

"I would love it."

The last thing I wanted was to be alone. Linda was the perfect person to keep me company. Besides the lads, I considered her my best friend. She had I had grown close during our time with Revolution, and even closer after Molly died.

Heather slept in Vera's room on a cot on the floor. Once the two toddlers were put down, Linda and I retreated to the living room. She sat on the couch while I crouched in front of our liquor cabinet.

"I'm feelin' something hard," I grinned, "Somethin' that'll make me forget everything for a little bit."

Linda shook her head, "We have two children asleep upstairs."

"Exactly, they're asleep. We can have one drink."

"Just don't get too drunk," Linda sighed, "And get another glass, we've got one more coming."

I lifted an eyebrow, "We do?"

Linda didn't reply. As I poured the drinks, the doorbell rang. Linda answered it. Whenever she returned, she had Ellen in tow. 

The woman was a complete disaster. Ellen was the most organized person I knew, she never even let a single hair get out of line. Her clothes were always pressed without a wrinkle in sight, and she used the best hair products to force her hair into line. The woman that followed Linda into the house was unlike the Ellen I knew. Her hair was sticking up and tangled like she had been running her fingers through it. The dress she wore looked like it had gotten into a fight with the dryer and lost. For the first time since I met her, she wasn't wearing lipstick. 

"Elly, a pleasure as always," I grinned at her.

Ellen offered a weak smile, "You're too kind."

"Come ed, sit down, have a drink. I've got the good stuff."

I thrust a glass in her direction. I fully expected her to turn it down and stick to her prudeness, but she took it. Within seconds, she downed it, sighing deeply once she finished. Linda and I had barely gotten a sip in by the time Ellen had drained her glass. I stared at her in shock. It was as if I was looking at a new woman, not the Ellen I knew who turned down every drink offered to her.

"Bloody hell, Elly," I mumbled, "Thought you didn't drink."

Ellen cracked a smile, "Only behind closed doors."

"Why'd you stop us all those times?"

"Image, Amelia. I didn't want to make an impression."

I placed the bottle in the middle of the coffee table so anyone could get themselves a refill. Linda and Ellen both sat on the couch while I made a spot on the fuzzy rug beneath the table. We had our own little pow-wow of grief. Grieving with friends is often the greatest medicine of all.

"Did you go to the funeral?" I asked after our third drink.

Ellen nodded, "I came straight from the funeral to here."

Before then, I didn't notice her formal dress. She wore a long black dress with black tights beneath it. She even had a black hat, which she had abandoned on the armchair. Ellen enjoyed dark colors, it complimented her appearance, but not black. Usually very dark gray or navy blue, but not black. She only ever wore black on dark occasions. I often wondered if people wore black so they could camouflage in their dark grief.

"They wouldn't allow flowers," Ellen mumbled, "Jewish funerals don't allow flowers. But, I snuck one in his grave for all of you."

I smiled sadly, "Thanks, Elly."

We all poured ourselves another drink. Linda didn't stop us, in fact, she did the pouring. I half expected her to keep us responsible, but she didn't. Perhaps she sensed our grief and our incredible need to wash it away.

I raised my glass high above my head, "I propose a toast. To Brian."

"To Brian," Linda and Ellen echoed.

We all downed our glass. Ellen and I finished at the same time. Linda was only a few sips behind, choosing to savor her drink instead of drinking it for the sensation like we were. Ellen and I wanted to feel the burn, to feel anything. Grief caused numbness, especially when the death was was as unexpected as Brian's. All I wanted was to feel again and, eventually, forget to feel anything at all. Alcohol was the only way to do that.

I had to get a new bottle because was had emptied the first. That bottle was depleted just as quickly. As I went for the third bottle, I began to feel the effects of the drink. My vision was becoming blurred and my movements were wobbly. I couldn't tell which way was up, down, left, right, or if I was even on the same plane of existence anymore. Slowly, the world was washing away into a puddle of booze.

"It's bullshit," Ellen spat, "All of it. Bullshit!"

Even in my drunken state, I was taken aback. In all the time I've known her, I only ever heard Ellen say one cuss word. This was so uncharacteristically Ellen, I knew she was completely plastered. I wasn't far behind.

"It's just gotta lil bit of a sour taste," Linda swished her glass, "It's not ba-it's not bad."

She hiccuped. From the glaze in her eyes and the slur in her words, I knew she was drunk as well. Both women were completely sloshed and I was only just beginning to grow tipsy. Having grown up with four avid drinkers, I've built a tolerance.

"Not the drink," Ellen mumbled, "Bullshit. The-him. The him. Bullshit."

I cocked my head, "Brian?"

"Death."

"Death is a him?"

"I dunno."

I shrugged. Ellen downed another glass and hiccuped, "I met Brian-I met him when I first came to-to-where are we?"

"England?" I asked.

"Yeah, England," Ellen slurred, "I met him when I first came to England. I didn't speak English, but he knew Hindi. He taught me and he was my first friend. He was my best friend. Bullshit!"

She slammed her glass on the table and began to sob. Before that day, I never realized the depth of Brian and Ellen's relationship. I knew they met in school, but I didn't know the rest of it. Their story was complex, deep, and meaningful. It was more meaningful than any of us had ever realized. The relationship between Brian Epstein and Ellen Marie was one of the most beautiful friendships of the 1960's, and it created two of the most influential bands. Without that relationship, Ellen and Brian wouldn't have had a friend with the same dreams as them motivating them to follow it. That relationship indirectly brought The Beatles and Revolution out of The Cavern Club. 

"I loved him," Ellen admitted, "He was my best friend and I loved him."

Linda and I looked at each other. We could identify with that because we felt it towards each other. There are two types of love in this world; the love for a lover and the love for a friend. Sometimes, the love for a friend runs deeper than the love for a lover ever could.

"You can still love him even when he isn't here," Linda muttered.

I nodded, "Just cause he's gone doesn't mean you stopped loving him."

"I miss him," Ellen mumbled, "It's been four days, and I miss him like hell."

"So do we, Elly."

I don't remember how many drinks we had that night, but I assume it was a lot. The next morning, I woke up without any memories of the night before. I barely remembered Ellen arriving, let alone drinking.

The first thing I registered was someone poking my cheek. As my consciousness began to rise, I heard a crying baby and felt the hard floor beneath me. Each cry sent flaring pain down my skull. I had spent enough nights drinking twice my body weight in liquor to know what a hangover felt like. 

"Auntie Melly, Mommy won't wake up," Heather sniffled.

The five-year-old was crouched next to me with her finger buried in my cheek. Slowly, I reached up to pull her hand away. Every part of me ached and my head hurt so bad, I nearly blacked out. Her poking only accelerated my pain. What I needed what a hot shower and a hotter meal, but Heather looked like she was about to start sobbing and Vera already was. 

"Try again," I mumbled.

"Auntie Melly."

I sighed, "Fine, alright, I'm up. Just-go talk to Vera, yeah? I'll get your Mum."

Heather sped up the stairs to the crying baby. Slowly, I pushed myself up. It felt like a feat worthy of The Olympics, or, at least, some kind of trophy. When I was finally upright, I looked around the room.

We had fallen asleep in the living room. Ellen was on the couch while Linda was sprawled out on the coffee table. Three empty glasses and several empty bottles littered the floor. All of us looked like we had just come out of a nasty spin cycle without the soap.

"Bloody hell," I held my pounding head.

As if she heard me, Linda's eyes snapped open. She groaned loudly and looked around, "Wha happened?"

"We got plastered," I mumbled, "Everything hurts."

"Where's Hefer?"

Linda was still slurring. Her words were almost incomprehensible, but, in my hungover state, I understood them perfectly. Jerking my thumb to the stairs, I said, "Upstairs talkin' to Vera."

"Shif."

"My feelings exactly."

We both looked at Ellen. She was sound asleep, a trickle of drool connecting her to the cushion. A bottle of whiskey still hung from her hand, the bottom resting on the carpet beneath her. She looked like a corpse and sounded like she couldn't breathe. Her snores echoed through the room, giving me an even worse headache.

When I glanced back at Linda, I saw she had fallen back asleep. My body yearned to do the same thing, but I knew two children needed help. Groaning, I stood. This wasn't the first nor the last time I had a hangover. Over time, I had picked up a few tricks, mostly one's John and Ringo taught me.

I shuffled to the kitchen and grabbed two dry slices of bread. It took a lot not to vomit as I ate. Once I finished the bread, I up-ended an entire glass of water and waited for nausea to pass. When it did, I took two Tylenol's and headed upstairs.

After the food, water, and Tylenol, I felt at least semi-human. My head didn't hurt as badly and my muscles were willing to function. I could function at a weak level, but functioning was functioning no matter what.

Vera was still in her bed, but she wasn't crying anymore. Heather sat next to her and was in the middle of telling her a story whenever I walked in. Both children fell silent to watch as I shuffled to the bedside.

"Mummy?" Vera mumbled.

I rubbed my head, "Mummy's got a bit of a headache, Vera."

"Did my Mommy wake up?" Heather asked.

"She's still asleep," I sighed, "But, you got me."

Vera reached up. I lifted her into my arms and she hugged my neck. Smiling, I hugged back, "I feel better already."

"Wait! I wanna hug too!" Heather shouted.

She practically jumped into my arms. I held her with one arm and Vera with the other. Smiling at them, I asked, "How about some brekkie?"


	184. The Fool in London

"Lia, I need you to come to the studio with me."

I stared at him. Paul had shown up at my door at eight o'clock in the morning, still dressed in his pajamas with a dress coat flung over his t-shirt, and one green slipper and one pink one that barely fit over his foot. He seemed to have just jumped out of bed. Even his hair was messed up.

"Bloody hell, Paul, you look like you had a wrestling match with your pillow," I said.

Paul waved me off, "Doesn't matter. I had an idea and I need your help."

"With what?"

"Building a rocketship," Paul sarcastically replied, "We're goin' to the studio, Lia, what do you think?"

I glared at him, "If you want my help, you're not going to get it by being a cheeky git."

"I need your lips."

"Did you drink too much?" I wrinkled my nose, "You're making no sense."

Paul took a deep breath. I already knew what was wrong. Occasionally, he would have an idea during a dream and wake up in a frazzled state. It would take him several cups of coffee to level out.

"I've been workin' on a new song for ages," Paul explained, "I couldn't figure the bloody thing out, but, I had a dream about it."

"Knew it."

Paul grinned, "It needs a flute!"

"Again with the bloody flute," I chuckled, "You lads need to learn."

"Ah, but why learn when we have you?" he grinned broadly.

I shook my head, "Alright, you've won me over. I'll help you."

"Brilliant! We'll leave right now!"

"Don't you want to change?"

He looked down at himself, "Right. Wait a moment."

He vanished into his room. I chuckled, shaking my head as I did so. Whenever he was gone, I returned to the living room to pick up Vera.

She had finished her cereal and was playing with the new toy guitar George had gotten her for her second birthday. Of all the toys she had gotten, that was her favorite. She was singing to Applebaum, who sat, upside down, on the couch.

"Ey, Junior," I squatted next to her, "Care to go on an adventure?"

Vera's face lit up, "Where?!"

"To Uncle Paulie's work. We'll see him record a song."

"I wanna go!"

"Go put on your shoes and we'll go."

Vera flopped onto the ground in the front hall and began to stuff her feet in her boots. I grabbed her coat as well as mine from the hall closet. For October, it was cold, like winter had arrived early.

Once we were both dressed, I stepped out into the hall and locked the door. Paul met us at the lift with a bright smile. He took Vera from me and said, "It's a wonderful idea, Little Bee."

"What idea, Uncle Paulie?" Vera asked.

"A flute solo," Paul replied, "Two, maybe even three."

"You didn't say it was a solo," I said.

Paul shrugged, "Bit of both?"

"Didja call the other lads?"

"They'll meet us there," Paul grinned, "It's bloody brilliant, Lia, I tell you!"

We climbed into Paul's car as he raved about this song. Vera sat in my lap the entire trip, since I had forgotten to grab her car seat. As is, I almost forgot the flute, only remembering just as we were stepping out. It sat in the back as we sped down the road.

"Care to tell me what it's called?" I inquired.

"The Fool on The Hill," Paul beamed, "It'll be bloody brilliant, you know. The entire bloody album is brilliant."

I grinned, "Doesn't surprise me. Everything you lads have made is bloody brilliant."

"Lia, you flatter me," Paul winked at me, "What's better, it's going to be a movie."

"I thought you lot had sworn off movies?"

"Only when someone else is making it. We'll write it, produce it, film it, direct it, and publish it. We'll even act in it!"

I shook my head, "This sounds like an accident waiting to happen."

"Or the greatest thing anyone has ever seen!"

"Christ, Paulie, calm down," I held up my hands, "Have you written a script yet?"

Paul grinned, "That's the best part, there is no script. It's completely improvised."

I stared at him for a moment before sighing deeply. This entire thing was destined to be a trainwreck, but there was no talking him out of it. They were all eager to get something done, or just to do something, after Brian's death. To make matters worse, the first thing they did would largely be considered the worst they ever made.

It was only bad because Brian wasn't there. He couldn't organize the script, the producers, the directors, the editors, the actors, or even the places to stay. Nothing was organized, meaning chaos ran rampant. Brian brought order to the chaos and, without him, all that was left was the chaos of John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

"It was my idea," Paul boasted, "I came up with it. I thought, we needed to do something, a big comeback and what better comeback than a movie based off of our new album?"

I shrugged, "Literally anything else."

"Come off it, Lia, it's a great idea!"

"There's no talking you out of this, is there?"

"Course not."

I shook my head. Paul grinned, "I want you and Bee to be in it as passengers on the bus."

"It's on a bus, is it?"

"Course. It's a Magical Mystery Tour afterall."

"Oh, bloody hell."

Magical Mystery Tours were a popular thing in England. It was something to do when there was nothing left. Something to keep the kids occupied while the parents took a breather. Really, all you did was sit in a sweaty bus for three hours while you were driven to insignificant places and told some made up story about why they were significant. Dad had taken us on a few as kids and I absolutely hated them.

When we arrived at the studio, we didn't hesitate in going inside. The Apple Scruffs tried to get our attention, but we only waved. Once we were inside, we were met with an empty lobby. Paul hurried into the studio with me close behind. Whenever he flung open the door, he exclaimed, "I got it!"

"Bloody hell, Macca, it's too early for this," John rubbed his temples.

Paul grinned, "It's never too early for brilliance, Johnny Boy."

"What got you so excited?" George asked.

"I finally figured out the song!" Paul exclaimed, "The Fool on The Hill, it didn't sound right because it needs this!"

He gestured furiously to me. I stood still, holding the flute case in one hand and Vera in the other. John glanced at me, "It needs a baby?"

"No, John, you git, the flute!"

John face brightened, "Brilliant."

"Brilliant!"

"And you say I'm too loud," I stated.

I sat Vera down on the couch and handed her the book she had been playing with. She took it and began to read as I pulled my flute out of the case. Paul had fallen to sit at the piano with a wide grin across his lips. John was just behind him while George sat in a nearby chair. As usual, Ringo was behind the drums.

"We'll need the harmonica, the Jews harp, and the maracas again," Paul said, "Already got the piano and the acoustic."

John nodded, "We've got those down. What about the flute?"

"Something like this?"

Paul played a few notes on the piano. John listened, nodding along. When Paul was done, John shook his head, "Bit too long, maybe shorten it, like this."

He played the same notes minus four. The two began to branch off of each other, talking and arguing through the song. Sighing, I fell into a chair next to George, "Are they always like this?"

"All the time," George nodded, "At least they're not yellin' at each other."

Ringo chuckled, "Or throwin' things."

"They've thrown things at each other?"

"John once threw his harmonica at Paul," George grinned, "They've thrown guitar picks, pieces of papers, clothing."

"I don't want to know."

Both boys laughed. Finally, Paul hit the piano and shouted, "Lia! We've got it!"

"Alright, let me hear it."

He played several notes on the piano. It sounded somewhat like a child's tune, but that was what they were aiming for. It was like a child's song, it even sounded straight out of a television program. Only Paul would write something like this. After he played it a second time, I translated it into the flute.

"Perfect," John grinned.

Paul nodded, "Let's record it then, yeah?"

Everybody got into position. Later, they would need to do some overdubs with the harmonica, a couple of guitars, and the recorder. For the time being, we all had one instrument. I sat on the floor with my flute, my back resting against the couch Vera sat on. George was on acoustic while John was on the Jew's harp. Ringo was classically behind the drums while Paul sat at the piano.

It started with the flute. I had the same notes throughout the entire song, looped constantly until the end of the song. It was timed just right to where the solos began at the beginning of a new loop.

"Day after day," Paul sang, "Alone on a hill. The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still."

After the first round, I was out of breath. It had been quite some time since I last picked up the flute, and my lungs were not accustomed to it. I began to take deep breaths just as George Martin played it over.

Paul shook his head, "It's not right. Let's try again."

"What's wrong with it?" John asked.

"It's off-key. The piano was slow and the flute wasn't loud enough. The harp was too slow too."

John looked like he was about to say something but George cleared his throat. John shut his mouth. We started the song over again. I barely had my breath back, doing it again was difficult. By the end, I felt like I was going to faint.

"One more time," Paul said after George Martin played it over.

John frowned, "I think it's good."

"It's my song, John, I think we need to do it again."

"Last I checked, it was Lennon-McCartney, not McCartney-McCartney."

"You-"

"John, Paul, not now," George interrupted, "Can't you be civilized for once?"

It wasn't like George to cut into their arguments. I knew he was doing it for my sake, as is, I was about to pass out. Had I had a breath, I would have given both of them an earful. Perhaps George was doing it more for John and Paul's sake, as he knew exactly how I could shut them up. 

"Fine, we'll do it one more time but that's it," John glared at Paul.

Paul shortly nodded, "Alright, one more time."

By the time we went through it again, I was completely out of breath. The song ended with me doing my best to hold back a gasp. Once the recording equipment was off, I dropped my flute and began to gasp for air.

"Mel, you alright?" Ringo asked.

I waved him off, "Just-rusty-is all."

I coughed loudly. Paul looked at me worriedly, but I waved him off as well. Spots danced around my vision as each lad became blurrier by the second. It seemed like I was losing breath rather than regaining it. I placed my hands on my hips and took steady breaths. Eventually, the world began to look normal. Just as George Martin finished playing it over, I was back to steady breathing.

"I like it," Paul grinned, "We'll have to add a few overdubs, but I like it."

John grinned, "It's about bloody time."


	185. Roll Up! Roll Up!

"Well, this is off to a good start."

"Shut up, Amelia."

John, George, Ringo, Paul, Mal, and I all stood in a row at the end of a bridge. A bus painted in bright hues of blue and yellow was stuck on the thin brick bridge. Any person with common sense would have known the bus was too big to go through, but not our driver. He drove through thinking the fat bus could fit through the skinny bridge. Now, it was stuck tighter than a paper on glue.

We had only just started filming an hour before. We got the intro sequence, and that was it. We still had forty odd minutes to fill and the bus was stuck.

"What the bloody fuck do we do?" John asked.

Paul shrugged, "Push it?"

"How do you expect us to push a several ton bus?"

Paul shrugged again. Ringo glanced at the bus and cocked his head, "What if we got some butter?"

"Fancy some toast?" I smirked.

"Got me hand stuck in a jar once," Ringo explained, "Mum used butter to get it out."

"How'd you get your hand stuck?"

"Can we stick to the problem at hand?" Paul interrupted.

"I think Ringo's got the right idea, let's get some butter," John grinned.

Paul sighed, "Butter isn't going to get the bus out, John."

"Nah, but we can make some toast while we wait."

"Wait for what? The bus isn't going to unstick itself!"

Mal glanced at his watch, "I could call a towing service. It could be here in an hour."

"That's too long. We only have three days to film."

"And only forty minutes to fill," John leaned on Paul's shoulder, "Relax, Macca, everything will work out fine."

"Yeah, we can work it out," I smiled.

Ringo grinned, "It's getting better all the time."

"We'll just get some help," George added.

"Until then, we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, man," John said, "And then we'll drive off here, there and everywhere."

Paul rubbed his temples, "You're all a bunch of gits."

"Come off it, Macca, we just need a little help from our friends," John winked.

"Just another day in the life," I shook my head.

"I hate the lot of you."

We all laughed. Just then, the bus roared. The engine shrieked louder than ever before and the bus lurched forward. A few bricks dropped into the creek below and the sides were scratched, but the bus was free.

"She's loose!" John exclaimed.

Paul grinned, "Jolly good. Come ed, we've got a movie to film."

"And the trainwreck continues," I whispered, following the lads onto the bus, "Or, should I say, bus wreck."

The bus was mostly filled with people plucked off the streets. The lads had tried to round up and all-star cast but, like me, they knew this would be a train wreck. The only people they could round up was Michael, Mal, me, and several unknown extras. We were a sorry excuse whenever the lads were intending to invite people like The Rolling Stones.

They wanted famous faces and famous bands, but the only person they could scrounge up was me. Linda was sick, or else she might have come as well. Tabitha and Minerva were not invited, to which Minerva nearly collapsed with relief. Tabitha, on the other hand, was raving mad. She vowed never to play a Beatles song again. That night, I made sure we covered four, just to spite her. 

The film crew consisted of five people, and four of those people were Beatles. The other was a lone cameraman the lads had picked up from one of their many promotional videos. He had a seat at the very front of the bus, often moving around and filming people.

"That could have ended badly," Michael said.

I plopped down on the aisle seat. Vera crawled from Michael's lap to mine, dragging her bear behind her. I took a deep breath, "This entire thing is going to end badly."

"Might not be that bad."

"Mikey, please," I rolled my head to gaze up at him, "Paul, John, George, and Ringo are the entire crew and most of the cast."

"You never know."

"Mikey."

"It could go well."

"Mikey."

"There's always a chance."

"Mikey."

"What?"

"Shut up."

The bus ride itself was less than spectacular. Most of it was us getting from place to place with the occasional bout of filming. There wasn't any particular place we were going, we just drove until a spot seemed right. With barely any script, everybody was free to do as they pleased. It was a recipe for chaos.

The only part that was scripted was the part with Victor Spinetti. Paul and John had told me about him, they had enlisted him to play some army sergeant or something. He was in the other two Beatles movies, it seemed only fitting that he should be in this one. That scene was planned for a few hours from now, so we had to find something to fill in the blanks.

Four scenes had been filmed the day before. Paul and I filmed The Fool on The Hill sequence in the hill country. He ran around like a lunatic while I sat on a rock and mimed to the flute. At the end, the two of us are galloping off into the sunset like we had smoked one too many joints, which Paul had

They had also filmed a video for Blue Jay Way, I Am The Walrus, and Your Mother Should Know. I was only present for Your Mother Should Know as one of the cast members to run off during the end credits. Otherwise, the lads did everything by themselves.

The entire thing was setup to be a trainwreck. The only script they had was a piece of paper with a circle on it. Paul would point in the middle and say we're here, but we have to get to the edge. They filled it as we went along and that was our script.

It was a trainwreck, but it was fun. There wasn't a single moment where I wasn't having fun, whether it be laughing at a stuck train or giggling whenever Paul fell asleep and nearly swallowed his cigarette. Sometimes, chaos was fun.

The cameraman was filming a few people on the bus. His lens was trained on Paul and the woman he was sitting next to. They seemed to be deep in a conversation. Vera saw Paul and wiggled out of my grasp. I clawed for her and whisper-shouted, "Vera!"

She rushed down the aisle and practically collided with Paul's seat. He glanced down and grinned, "'Ello, Bee."

"Uncle Paulie!"

He lifted her into his lap and laughed. The entire bus was smiling at the little girl. Michael pushed me back in my seat, "She's alright."

"Good, she was sittin' on my bladder," I sighed, "I've got to use the loo."

"We could always pull over. There's a nice bush over there."

"Mikey, I'm a girl, you know that, right?"

Michael grinned, "It's easy to forget."

"I'm not sure how to feel about that."

"There! That field, pullover!" John suddenly exclaimed.

The bus quickly turned, nearly sending me into Michael's lap. We pulled into a field where a long stretch of abandoned road stood. The few cars that were following us, carrying extra equipment, pulled in after us.

"What're we doin' here?" Michael asked.

John grinned, "Let's have a race."

"Brilliant," Paul grinned, "The Magical Mystery Race!"

"Ridiculous," I shook my head.

Michael laughed and flung an arm around my shoulder as we stepped out of the bus. Paul put Vera down and allowed her to toddle over to me so he could set about directing the actors. As I lifted Vera, I glanced at my brother, "I bet a fiver I can beat both you and Paul."

"With your short legs, I doubt it," Michael grinned.

"Yes, I'm small, but I'm fast. I don't have all those extra limbs weighing me down."

Michael chuckled, "Alright, Lia, you're on."

"Might as well pay up now, save yourself the embarrassment of eating dirt."

Michael laughed. Ringo came up to us and grinned, "Alright, come on, your spot's over here."

"Yes sir, Mister Director, sir," I mock saluted.

Michael copied my motions. Ringo grinned. He led us to a spot right in front of the 'starting line'. Really, it was a line George drew in bright pink chalk. They had a sign for The Magical Mystery Tour standing on it, but that was it. Otherwise, it was just a line.

"What're we supposed to do?" Michael asked.

Ringo shrugged, "Whatever you like, I guess."

"Wow, Ringo, you're such a great director," I rolled my eyes.

"I take that as a compliment."

He beamed and then went off to his place. The camera was just beginning to make its way through the crowd. It would be on us at any moment.

"What should we do?" I glanced up at my baby brother.

Michael grinned, "I've got an idea, but you're not going to like it."

I lifted an eyebrow. Michael took Vera from me and placed her on the ground. As I stood in confusion, he spun around and jammed his shoulder into my middle. The next thing I knew, I was dangling upside down over my younger brother's shoulder.

"Michael, you git!" I shouted, "Put me down!"

"Not until the camera passes."

Vera latched onto his leg. He spun around, causing her to giggle and me to shout a steady string of curses. We were going too fast for me to notice when the camera passed. Even Michael didn't notice, he kept spinning until a familiar voice said, "Bloody hell, Mikey, stop spinning before all three of you hurl."

Michael veered to a stop. Paul was watching us with an amused and impatient expression. Michael stumbled a bit, nearly tripping over Vera whenever she let go of him. My entire world was spinning in a direction it shouldn't. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I fell onto my bum. Paul and Michael laughed as I rubbed my head.

"Wankers," I mumbled.

Michael ruffled my hair, "Family trait."

I pushed him off and sneered just as Vera latched onto my back. She giggled, "Again! Again!"

"No, not again," I winced, "I'm gonna hurl."

"Hurl that way," Paul pointed at a nearby patch of grass.

"I'll hurl on the both of you."

Paul frowned, "Save it for later, we've still got to run a race."

"Paulie, always so bossy."

"I'm the director, I'm supposed to be."

"One of," I replied, "You're also my brother and I can call you bossy."

Michael grinned, "Bossy."

"Gits."

Michael and I laughed as Paul stormed off. The actors were beginning to line up at the start of the race. Michael and I joined them, standing side by side in the very back. Just in front of us was Ringo. He glanced back to see Michael's grin and Vera sitting on my shoulders. I was too short to be seen over the bodies between us. Ringo pushed through them and grinned at me, "I'm goin' for the bus, care to join me?"

"If it means beatin' Paulie and Mikey, I'm in," I grinned, "I've got a fiver in jeopardy."

Ringo chuckled. He went back to his spot just as the camera began rolling. I glanced at Michael, watching him bounce on his heels and follow the camera with his eyes. Sighing, I readied myself.

The race began with a gunshot. All at once, the entire group went running. Some went faster than others, some fell down at the very first. Vera bounced on my shoulders and giggled, shouting encouragements to everyone that passed. My sights were set on Ringo.

Eventually, the two of us fell into step. We raced through the field, his suit jacket billowing up behind him and my white shirt becoming untucked. Both of us were laughing like lunatics.

"I feel like I could fly!" I exclaimed, jumping into the air.

Ringo laughed, "You need wings for that."

"I'll grow some!"

"Bloody grow some, then!"

The bus came into sight. Ringo picked up his pace, sprinting to the door and flinging it open. I jumped in and fell onto the seat behind him. Three other actors got on followed by George.

"Georgie! Glad you could join us," Ringo grinned.

George fell to sit next to me, "Just don't kill us, mate."

"I'm a great driver."

"In a car."

Ringo laughed. The bus lurched forward, nearly sending all of us flying to the back. I gripped the back of Ringo's seat and howled with laughter. The entire bus was laughing so hard, tears were pouring down our faces.

Ringo was a terrible driver. He was good in a car, but a car and a bus are two very different things. Several times, I thought he was going to turn the bus over. We were passed by the two cars that had been following us, but Ringo was hearing none of it. He slammed the gas pedal down and we shot forward.

The finish line was a gazebo in the middle of the field. Several of the 'bus staff' were waiting for us. Ringo passed all of the other cars and runners to brake in the field. I fell out of my seat, Vera tumbled off my shoulders and hit the door. The door bounced open, causing the toddler to fall out.

"Vera!"

"Again!" Vera giggled, "Again!"

She had dirt all over his face and grass stains decorated her clothes, but she was alright. I picked her up and smiled just as everybody else ran to the finish line. We made it to the gazebo before anyone else.

The entire team cheered. I grabbed one of Ringo's hands and one of George's raising them in the air and whooping. They copied until all of us sounded like cranes. We fell down in laughter just as the camera turned off.

"Get a good shot?" Paul asked the cameraman.

He nodded. I glanced around the crowd looking for a certain man. Michael stood in the very back, watching the celebration with an amused smile. I walked up to him and held out my hand, "Pay up."

"You took the bus," Michael argued, "That's cheating."

"You were in the trunk!"

"Which means we both win."

I shook my head, "No, because I made it to the finish line first."

"Only because I was stuck."

"Doesn't matter. Pay up."

Michael grumbled, digging in his pocket and pulling out a fiver. I stuffed it in my pocket and winked, "Pleasure doing business with you, Mikey."

"Bugger off."

I laughed. The celebrations had ended and everybody was loading up. We had a limited amount of time to film a certain about of scenes, and the lads intended to make the most of it. As chaotic as this was, they did do their best to provide a certain amount of organization. They managed their time, directed the scenes as they thought of them, and kept the actors in line. At least this trainwreck has some direction.

"Here we go again," I muttered as I lifted Vera into the bus.

***

I had met Victor Spinetti at the premiere of A Hard Day's Night. He was a nice man and a wonderful actor, sometimes I wondered if he was always acting. Paul told me he was going to be in an army scene, but he didn't say why.

Paul vanished just as we pulled up to the building. The rest of us were left to relax in the bus until we were retrieved by the cameraman. Only John, Ringo, and George had any idea of what was happening and they refused to tell us.

"Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dor may vu, dor may vu," I sang.

Vera clapped her hands, "Jackie!"

"No, Vera, Jacques," I corrected, "Rhymes with chakra."

"Jackie!"

"If the kid wants to say Jackie, let her say Jackie," John said.

He spun around to kneel on his seat and look back at me. I had my legs up on the seat with Vera sitting on them. Glancing up at him, I sighed, "It's not right, though."

"Who're we to say what's right?" John asked, "Maybe she's right."

"She's a baby."

"Don't tell her that."

Both of us laughed. Vera looked confused for a moment but shrugged it off. She began to sing Fairy Jackie again, getting every lyric wrong.

"If she's happy, I suppose that's all that matters," I commented.

"Now you're gettin' it, Mel."

The door to the bus opened and the cameraman stepped in. He nodded, "Alright, it's time. The scene is about to film."

"Bloody hell, finally," I mumbled.

I carried Vera on my hip and followed John out. The two of us were in the middle of a large crowd, all following the cameraman into the building.

We were left in a dark hall while the cameraman went inside to start the film. From the inside of the room, I could hear shouting. A familiar and calm voice said, "Jolly good, Serg."

"I don't like the dark," Vera sniffled.

I frowned, "It'll be over soon, Junior."

"You don't like the dark?" John poked Vera's side, "But the dark is where all the magic happens."

"It is?" the toddler questioned.

"Of course, hasn't your Mummy told you the stories of witches that cast spells in the night? Or fairies that dance through the darkest shadows?"

Vera gasped, "Fairies?"

"The prettiest fairies you ever did see. Look! There goes one now!"

He pointed at the wall. Just as Vera turned her head to look, John took off his glasses and used the lens to catch a bit of the light shining from the crack in the door. It made a tiny spot on the wall which bounced up and down.

"I see her!" Vera exclaimed.

"That's good luck," John grinned, "Nothing can hurt you now that you have a fairy's blessing."

I smiled, "You're really good with kids, you know that, Johnny?"

"I ought to be, I have one of my own."

I laughed. The door opened and we were all ushered inside. The room was decorated like a drafting station. Behind one desk, Paul was sitting dressed in an army uniform. I couldn't see him in any uniform besides the Sgt. Pepper uniforms. I did my best not to laugh, but he saw me covering my mouth. He wrinkled his nose just as we were pushed against a wall.

"Oi!" Victor Spinetti shouted.

He was dressed like an American army Sergeant. His baton was stuck under his arm as he marched up and down the line of people shouting gibberish. Every so often, I could catch a word, but otherwise, it was like he was speaking another language. When he stopped to take a breath, Paul tipped his hat.

"Why?" Ringo asked.

Victor slowly turned to stare at him, "Whuh?"

"Why?"

"Why!"

Victor screamed for what felt like ten minutes. Vera covered her ears and buried her face in my chest. I winced, wanting nothing more than to shut him up with a hard slap. Once Victor stopped, his face was as red as a cherry and he looked like he was going to faint. The cameraman called the cut.

"Jolly good, Vic," Paul winked.

Victor took a deep breath, "Thank you, Paul. I'm a tad bit winded now."

"Bloody hell," I mumbled, "It's like looking at two different people."

Instead of the uptight army sergeant I saw a few seconds ago, I saw the relaxed Victor. It was difficult to believe they were the same man.

"That, Mel, is called acting," John wiggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, "We all could do with a bit more of that."

John laughed. Once again, we were ushered out of the scene and into the next. This one took place right next to the building in an open field. A desk identical to Paul's sat just a meter from a stuffed cow. We all crowded around the cow as Victor took the front. As soon as the camera started rolling, he was screaming again.

"I could really use a drink," I mumbled.

John grinned, "You're in luck, that's the next scene."

"Really?"

"A drunken sing-along."

"You surprise me, planning another scene."

"I'm just full of surprises."

Whenever Victor finished yelling, we all followed 'Jolly Jimmy' back onto the bus. I fell into the seat next to Michael and dropped my forehead on his shoulder, "I'm knackered."

"You wouldn't be if you actually slept," he replied.

"Bugger off."

Michael chuckled. Vera yawned as well, curling up to my stomach and closing her eyes. As the bus took off, both of us were thrown into sleep until the next scene woke us up.


	186. One Failure, One Success

Exactly as I had predicted, Magical Mystery Tour was a complete flop. They aired it in black and white, which didn't help. Ringo called the BBC and made them air it in color, but that didn't change things. Audience and critics alike blasted the film, tearing it apart and leaving it to burn to ashes. Within a week of filming it, the lads were already trying to pretend it didn't exist.

It started with the blame game. John, George, and Ringo all turned on Paul and said it was his fault which, in reality, it was. Magical Mystery Tour was Paul's brainchild, but he won't own up to it. He says he doesn't remember whose idea it was, but he does, he's just lying.

I had to resist the urge to say I told them so. It would only insult to injury. As much as I wanted to, I didn't. They were already in a deep enough hole, I didn't need to dig it deeper.

With every failure comes a success. The next success came for Storms Over London. Our new album had just been released that day with two singles released a week before. None of us had been paying attention to the charts. I didn't feel the need to. I went through a career watching the charts, hoping to see myself on it, and actually seeing my name on it. Now, I just focused on the music. All I cared about was making music, not what spot on the chart we occupied for how long. None of us paid attention to the charts, except for our dutiful manager.

"What would you do if I said today," Minerva sang, "That I wouldn't want life any other way."

She, Linda, and I had worked on that song for three days. Minerva started it about her late sister, but couldn't figure out the third verse. Linda and I helped her and it found a spot on the first side of the first Storms Over London album.

Our album had only been out a week, but it sold as many copies as the last Revolution album. I don't think it has anything to do with the music, rather, two of the people on the cover. Nobody knew Minerva or Tabitha, but they knew Linda and me. We may have cut our ties to Revolution, but our faces still drew a crowd. Our names were defined by our past, and that is something we could never drop.

We all stood and bowed. The entire Sycamore Club clapped, some even whistled and cheered. This crowd knew how to keep their heads, but their enthusiasm was just like the old crowds at The Cavern. Had it not been for the open space and fancy decorations, I might have thought we were back in familiar quarters.

When we were backstage I held up my hands and winced, "I've got blisters on me fingers."

"You wouldn't if you wore the gauze like Ellen said," Linda replied.

I shrugged, "Takes away from the look, you know?"

"What look?" Linda smirked, "I still see the same old Amelia."

"And the same old Amelia doesn't wear gauze."

Linda shook her head, "That's why you always have blisters."

"And I'll wear them proudly, just out of spite."

Linda laughed. We stepped into our dressing room to see Ellen waiting. She stood by the mirror, her face brighter than I had ever seen it before. Clutched in her hand was a rolled up newspaper.

"What's gotten into you?" I asked.

"I am so proud of you girls," Ellen answered, "You are so amazing."

"Thank you, Ellen," Tabitha flipped her hair.

Linda bowed her head, "I think we're pretty great."

"What's with the sudden compliments?" I inquired.

Ellen handed me the paper, "Storms Over London has reached number one."

"We what?!"

I unfolded the paper. That week's billboard was listed, ranking the most popular songs of that period of time. At the very top was Storms Over London with-

"I Met You, I Loved You, I Lost You," I read, "Bloody hell, we reached the top!"

I cheered as Linda grinned. Tabitha jerked the paper away from me, saying, "Let me see that."

"Touchy," I mumbled.

"What rubbish is this?" she asked, "This can't be right, surely we didn't reach the top with that song!"

I crossed my arms and smirked, "You're just jealous cause it's my song and not yours."

"No, I'm logical. That song was terrible!"

"The people disagree."

Tabitha sneered. She crumpled up the paper and threw it at me. I stepped aside just in time for it to fly past and hit the wall. Minerva gasped as Tabitha's face became redder, "Bullshit! It only got to number one because it has the McCartney name attached to it."

"It got to number one because it's a bloody good song," I spat, "The name has nothing to do with it."

"Oh sure, McCartney, it's not like you have the most famous last name in all of music history!"

I sneered, "Oh, don't be an arse about it."

"You're the arse!" Tabitha pointed at me accusingly, "You bloody-"

"Stop this instant!" Ellen suddenly shouted, "I will not tolerate fighting."

I crossed my arms and turned my shoulder to Tabitha. She sneered, shot me the finger, and stormed out of the building. All of us watched her go, me being the only one wishing her, "Good riddance."

"Amelia, please, be the bigger person," Ellen sighed, "You're only making it worse."

"You're adding fuel to the fire," Linda sighed.

I frowned, "I can't help it that she starts the fire!"

"You can put it out," Ellen rested a hand on her shoulder, "Amelia, you've been at this far longer than Tabitha. She's still working things out, she's caught up in the possibility of fame. You have to hold yourself back and give her room to learn."

I sneered, "She started it."

"And it's your job not to participate."

I sighed, "Alright, Elly, I'll try."

"Good," Ellen smiled, "Now, I have arranged a celebration of this momentous occasion for this Saturday night. I expect you all," she sent me a pointed glare, "To be on your best behavior. I'll talk to Tabitha."

"Jolly good, Elly."

Linda, Minerva, and I watched as Ellen left the room. As soon as the door shut, I turned to Linda and asked, "You agree, Tabitha's a bitch, right?"

"I wouldn't say that," Linda replied, "She's only human."

"A really shitty human if you ask me."

Linda shook her head. I gazed at her pointedly. Eventually, she sighed, "She isn't the best."

"That's all I wanted to hear."

***

During our time with Storms Over London, Tabitha and I clashed. Everything we did resulted in a fight, often with one of us storming out. As we aged, however, we learned. Later in life, the two of us reconnected and I'm proud to say she's one of my closest friends. At the time, however, we were anything but.

The party Ellen had arranged took place in the ballroom of a hotel. The whole thing reminded me of our trip to Wales, minus the bad ending. The room was filled with tables covered in white cloth and decorated in crystal vases with obviously fake flowers. Everything about it was so fancy, it didn't fit our rock-and-roll image. Even the food was fancy, tiny sandwiches and some sort of spread on crackers. The spread looked like baby vomit. Needless to say, I didn't try it.

"Were these your choice?" George asked, holding up a sandwich.

I shook my head, "I don't get an opinion."

"That explains the decorations," he jerked his head at our table, "Doesn't really look like you."

"Ellen likes to make things fancy. She forgets that we're twenty-something rockers, not sixty-something politicians."

George nearly choked on his sandwich from laughing. Vera looked up at him worriedly and smiled whenever he started cackling. I patted her head and grinned. 

George decided to ride up with Vera and me after Pattie got called in for a photo shoot with her sister, Jenny. We had been the first people to arrive and were seated at a back table. A few people were still setting up decorations while the three of us watched, eating sandwiches and drinking bubbly water.

"At least she didn't invite politicians this time," I sighed, "The last time, she invited everyone except The Queen herself."

"Who'd she invite this time?" George asked.

I shrugged, "Mostly bands and music people. The Rolling Stones, The Who, Cilla Black, The Beatles," George snorted, "The Kinks, Marianne Faithfull, and a few others."

"Lots of good ones."

"I s'pose," I yawned, "I kinda just wanna go home."

"Am I that boring?"

"Dull as cardboard, Georgie."

George laughed. I grinned, "Nah, I'm just sick of stuff like this."

"Gets borin' after a while," George sighed, "That's why we gave it up. We're all about the music now."

"Some of these things are necessary."

"Some of them."

The guests started arriving just a few minutes later. Linda walked in with Cilla Black, Marianne Faithfull, and The Kinks. She had her camera around her neck and her daughter in her arms. Whenever she saw us, she changed direction and came to our table.

"Wonderful of you to join us, Lindy," I smirked.

"I'm on time," Linda replied, "You two were just early."

George shrugged, "Or we're early and you're late."

"George, you're makin' my head hurt," I rubbed my temples causing my two companions to laugh.

Linda gripped her camera, "Would you mind if Heather sat with you for a while? I'd like to take some photos."

"Course she can, we love the kiddo," I ruffled Heather's hair.

She giggled. Linda pulled out the chair next to Vera's highchair and Heather climbed in. She showed Vera her book, which Vera was instantly captivated with. As Linda walked away, I chuckled, "We don't have to do much babysittin'."

"Lucky us," George replied.

The hall began to fill. Slowly, bands filled the room to the very brim. We were greeted by Mick Jagger, Keith Moon, Keith Richards, Pete Townshend, and many others. Each tipped their heads at us and walked on to the drink table, all ready and willing to drink as much alcohol as humanly possible. That is until their managers stopped them.

Among the last people to arrive were the rest of The Beatles. Ringo walked in first with Maureen hanging off his arm. The two were having a quiet conversation until they saw us. George waved them over to our large table.

"Was wonderin' when you'd show up," George teased.

Ringo rolled his eyes, "We're only a few minutes late."

"Felt like ages," I replied, "Georgie and I got bored waitin' for you."

Ringo chuckled. Maureen sat down as Ringo went to grab their refreshments. Just then, four more people walked up to our table.

"Don't you have your own band to hang around?" John asked me.

Cynthia was latched to his arm, her eyes wandering over the crowd. Paul and Jane stood next to each other without touching. Paul grinned at me while Jane had her eyes anywhere else. She waved once before excusing herself to get a drink.

"Yeah, but they're a bunch of flakes," I replied, "Lindy's off with her camera, and the other two haven't even bothered to show up."

John chuckled. He and Cynthia both found a place at the table. As Ringo returned, Paul vanished without saying where he was going to go.

We all seemed to gravitate towards each other. Every party we ever went to was like that. We would claim a table of our own, or a corner, or a couch. If not that, we could be found following each other around. Like a mob moving through the crowds. None of us ever consciously decided to sit with the rest, it just happened. The mind tends to gravitate towards those it knows best, and I knew those lads and girls better than anyone else in the world.

For about an hour, we sat at that table and talked. Everybody had a grand time just being with friends. Slowly, the group began to disperse. They wandered around the room greeting and talking to everyone. Eventually, I sighed, "I'm gonna go find Paul."

"I wanna find Uncle Paulie," Vera giggled.

Heather raised her hand, "Me too!"

"Last I saw him, he was at the drink table," Maureen gestured to the table in the corner.

I sighed, "Just my luck, he gets plastered at the party for my band."

Maureen and Cynthia laughed. I left the two of them just as Ringo and George were returning. They made funny faces at me, which I returned. I carried one toddler on my hip and held the other's hand. Heather made sure to wave at everybody we passed. Vera wasn't too far behind.

Eventually, we ended up in the corner. I sighed deeply, "How hard is it to find a lad in a sweater vest in a sea of black jackets?"

"Look, there's Mommy!" Heather furiously pointed through the crowd.

Linda stood on the opposite wall talking to the exact lad I wanted to find. Heather ripped from my grasp and ran to her Mum. Linda smiled as Paul picked her up. She nodded at me, but Paul never saw me.

The two were leaning on the back wall together. They were extremely close, one would consider them too close, especially when Paul's girlfriend was somewhere in the crowd. Paul kept smiling at Linda. It wasn't any ordinary smile, it was 'the' smile. The smile that stole hearts around the globe. That smile was his flirting smile, I had seen it time and time again. Every time he had that smile, he had something, or someone, in mind.

"Bloody hell," I mumbled, "Did he forget about his girlfriend?"

Paul scooted closer to Linda. She didn't object, but she didn't have to. I could see the sparkle in her eyes even from across the room. She was absorbed in him even when he wasn't touching her.

It wasn't hard to see the connection between Paul and Linda. There was something there, something I had never seen before. It was something truly remarkable, but something Jane shouldn't see. I knew it would break her heart to see Paul flirting with Linda, and I was determined not to let her feel that pain. Glancing through the crowd, I decided to find her and distract her until Paul remembered she was there.

Jane was standing, all alone, against the wall by the door. She sloshed a glass of champagne in her hand, watching the liquid swirl around as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Whenever I saw her, I had to stop a moment just to make sure that was really Jane.

I'd known Jane since 1963, and I'd like to say I knew her well. I'd seen her face a thousand times, heard her talk thousands of times, but now, it felt like the first time. I looked at her and I saw Jane Asher, but not the same I met in 1963. She had always been beautiful to me, but now, she was something else. Whenever I looked at her, I couldn't help but feel like I was looking at an angel walking the Earth. The way she smiled, making her cheeks puff out in perfect red lumps like cherries, made me smile. The way she always spoke, acted, and even breathed in such confidence, well, it was gorgeous. She was so sure of herself, she knew how beautiful she was but she didn't care. She didn't stand with her butt jutted out or her chest raised high as most girls did. She didn't care about attracting men like the rest of the female population, she just cared about being. That was the most beautiful thing about her.

"You look bored," I commented.

She glanced up at me. Whenever her eyes met mine, I felt my cheeks growing hotter. Her face was already pink, so it was hard to tell if she was blushing or not, but I had a pretty good idea, especially when she hurriedly looked away.

"So do you," she replied.

I shrugged, "I never was one for fancy parties like this."

"Then, why have one?"

"Ellen made me," I answered, "She made me wear the dress too."

Jane giggled, "But you look wonderful."

"And you look beautiful."

She seemed to become even more invested in her drink. I glanced down at Vera. The toddler was staring at the crowd, watching people dance and laugh together. She had one hand on my skirt and the other on Jane's as if she were binding us together. Perhaps she sensed something that neither Jane nor I were completely aware of, or that we didn't want to be.

Ellen stood and tapped her knife against her glass. Instantly, all eyes were on her. She smiled and began her usual speech, "This party marks the first, but not last, number one hit of Storms Over London. The band, which is composed over Amelia McCartney, Linda Eastman, Tabitha Plinkett, and Minerva Lane, have worked tirelessly to create this song and all of the rest. Tonight, we celebrate them."

Everybody clapped, even me. Through the crowd, I could see Minerva standing in the corner doing her best to disappear. Tabitha didn't bother to show up, she was still bitter about my song hitting number one.

I glanced over to see Jane was watching me. Her eyes were sullen, but they held something in them I had never seen before. As soon as she saw me looking at her, she glanced away. She shook her head and began to leave, but Vera still had a grip on her dress. She slingshotted back and stumbled into me, sending us both to the ground.

Our glasses shattered as Jane landed on top of me. Her face landed on mine, with my lips on her cheek. Her arms instinctively wrapped around me. When we were on the ground, we were positioned like two lovers thought to be behind closed doors.

Jane blushed profusely. She noticed the intimate position we were in and jumped up. Straightening her dress, she said, "I have to-I have to go."

"Wait, Jane-"

I didn't get another word in because she spun on her heel and sped off. I was left on the ground, covered in some form of alcohol, and watching my brothers girlfriend rush away. I could still feel the echo of her on top of me, warming my entire body in a way that felt illegal.

Two hands grasped my shoulders. For a moment, I thought Jane had returned. Paul was crouched behind me with a worried look on his face.

"Lia, what happened?" he asked.

I struggled to find the words, "I don't-I don't know. Jane tripped or somethin'."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm covered in alcohol," I winced, "It got into my bloody eyes."

"Come on, I'll take you to the bathroom."

He gripped my elbows and helped me stand. I kept my hands covering my face as if my eyes were burning, but they weren't. Really, I just wanted to hide my growing blush and my panicked eyes.

I had just been in a position with Jane that I had only ever been in with Molly. It was a sort of intimacy shared between lovers. It was an accident, yes, but the symptoms weren't. I was in a lover's position with my brother's girlfriend, and I liked it. No, I loved it. I wanted her to come back because I suddenly felt cold without her.

Paul led me to the bathroom and left me to wash myself off while he went to try and find Jane. I entered the one stall bathroom and opened my eyes. They were bloodshot, but not from the alcohol. My body trembled, my hands couldn't grasp anything, and my breathing was labored. I look at myself in the mirror and whispered, "Fucking hell."

***

After putting Vera to bed, I paced the living room. That's all I could do, pace. I focused on going backward and forwards instead of Jane.

When I fell in love with Molly, I was terrified. I'm terrified now. For the same reasons and more. When I fell in love with Molly, the only boundary we had was society's bounds. Those bounds were still there, but, with Jane, there were even more. She was a girl, specifically, she was my brother's longtime girlfriend. I couldn't fall in love with the girl my brother was in love with, it was insanity!

The knock on the door startled me. I nearly jumped out of my shoes whenever I heard it. For a moment, I hesitated. I was terrified it was Paul. As much as I loved him, he was the last person I wanted to see right then. I would have the compulsion to tell him everything, every tiny detail that would crush him.

The person knocked again. Gulping, I went to answer. When I flung open the door, I breathed a sigh of relief, "Linda."

"Something's wrong," she said.

I ran a hand through her hair, "Always the empathetic one, aren't ya?"

"Tell me."

Something told me not too. The last thing I needed was for this to get back to Paul. He would hate me, maybe even denounce me as his sister.

Yet, something else told me I could tell her. Linda was as kind as she was beautiful if anyone could help me, she could. She was smart, kind, and the greatest friend anyone could ask for. She wouldn't tell a soul, and she wouldn't help me through this. To this day, I swear, I wouldn't have made it through the latter half of the sixties if it hadn't have been for Linda Eastman. 

"Come in, then," I replied, "There's no use standing out in the hall."

Even my voice was shaky. Linda stepped into the flat, watching me with a worried expression. I shut the door and followed her into the living room. As soon as I stepped through the door frame between the living room and front hall, I said, "I have made a huge mistake."

"What?" Linda asked.

"When I lost Molly, I thought I could never love again," I began to pace, "I thought, there's no point in love when it ends with death. Why love when you have to bear the pain of loss? I still love Molly with all my heart, but-"

"But?" Linda egged me on.

I gulped, "I've made a mistake, Lindy."

"What is it?"

"I fell in love again," I mumbled, "I fell in love with a girl I've known since 1963, before we were anything to anyone. I've seen her a thousand times before but, now, it's like I'm looking at her for the first time."

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "I don't see how this is a problem."

"How is this not a problem?! As if being queer wasn't bad enough in the first place, now I have to go and fall in love with my brother's bloody girlfriend!"

That was the first time I said it out loud. For a moment, Linda and I were silent. I stopped pacing and stared at the floor, the full weight of the situation suddenly becoming more of a reality. Everything caved in on me at that moment.

"You're in love with Jane?" Linda asked.

I nodded, "I-I am. I am but I shouldn't be. She's Paul's girlfriend, and I-"

I couldn't finish my sentence. Tears began to leak from my eyes as I stood in silence. Linda stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug, "Amelia, you did nothing wrong."

"I didn't?"

"Of course not," Linda stroked my hair, "Love isn't a mistake, any song or story will tell you that. You fall in love with the people your soul is meant to be with, that isn't a mistake. Love isn't a mistake."

"But-"

"There's no buts. No matter what gender, race, stature, title, or person, love is love no matter what. You're in love with Jane, and that isn't a problem."

I've always been the person who stands against society's norms. Society taught me to believe being queer was bad, but I believe it's beautiful. Society taught me that being a woman means being in the kitchen, so I got on stage. I rebel against society, but this was different. Society wasn't telling me not to fall in love with Jane, I was telling myself. This wasn't a fight against some ideal, this was a fight against myself.

"What do I do?" I mumbled.

Linda shook her head, "There's nothing you can do but live with it. You can't help being in love with Jane, love just happens, you can't control it."

"I can ignore it."

"You can't ignore it either," Linda answered, "It'll be there, in your heart, forever. But, you have to learn to love Jane from afar."

I squeezed my eyes shut, "It hurts, so bad."

"I know," Linda sighed, "I know."

Something told me she knew what I meant all too well.


	187. What Happened to Paul McCartney?

After the party, I did everything I could to avoid Jane and I was sure she was doing the same thing. I would check out the peephole in the door before stepping out, I would always ask Paul if Jane was with him before we got together, and I would purposefully stay out of the house for as long as possible. It's horribly difficult to avoid someone when they live down the hall from you.

I needed a distraction. After the party, I was more invested in music than I ever had been before. Nobody could get through to me, not even Tabitha. Only Linda ever got me to listen, and that was rare. She knew to leave me alone and let me work through my problems with the drum. It was a lot easier to beat your troubles out on a drum than to talk to people. Sometimes, you had to do both.

To this day, I say Linda Eastman is a blessing. She got me through so much, from the death of a love to the growth of another, I'm sure I would be dead without her. She was smart, kind, loving, and loyal. Without The Lovely Linda, I wouldn't be here. She's a saint and I still swear by that.

After a long afternoon show at The Sycamore Club, I was eager to get home. I wanted to get Vera from the babysitter and spend the day watching movies with her. Linda and Heather were supposed to come over later, maybe even staying the night. They had been spending more time over at my flat the past few months.

When I rounded the corner to my building, I was met with a choir of shouts. A mob of reporters was eagerly waiting at the door to the building. They could easily be waiting for Paul, but I knew they were waiting for me. If they wanted Paul, they'd go to EMI as everybody knew he was recording. The only person who would be at home right about now was me. As soon as they saw me, they began to scream, "Amelia! Amelia, over here!"

Within seconds, I was surrounded. Tape recorders, cameras, and notepads were shoved in my face. I gripped my drumsticks to my chest and did my best to hide my fear behind a mask of suavity. Reporters were a lot like rabid bloodhounds, as soon as they caught the scent of a story, they would do anything to get at it, including tear the person apart. You had to act completely calm as if there were no story to tell. I was faced with a pack of bloodthirsty people all waiting to get a nip at me, even though they never touched me.

"Amelia, how is your brother, Beatle Paul McCartney?" one reporter asked.

I lifted an eyebrow, "Er-fine, why wouldn't he be?"

"There is a rumor that he died in a crash late last year," the reporter continued, "They say The Beatles replaced him with a look-a-like."

All of the reporters waited for an answer, but I couldn't find the words. This was the first I was hearing of such a thing, and it was ridiculous. My brain was at a loss for words at such a dumb idea.

There was and always would be only one Paul McCartney. He was irreplaceable, and John, George, Ringo, and I knew that better than anybody. Nobody could be Paul exactly like Paul could be. They couldn't write like him, they couldn't laugh like him, and they couldn't cross their arms and shift their weight to one foot when they were annoyed with me like he could. Nobody could master his puppy dog eyes or his scoff. Nobody could master Paul except for Paul, the fact that these reporters were claiming he was replaced was ridiculous.

"Who said?" I asked.

"The fans," another reporter answered, "They say The Beatles left clues in their last four albums."

"It is also said that it was an inside job and you were aware of it. You made this evident when, back in 1964, you wore socks on the stage without any shoes," another reporter added.

The fact that they remembered that was ridiculous. During one show, I had lost my shoes and Ellen said I could just play in socks, nobody was paying attention. Not only were they paying attention, but they were constructing theories so mad, it seemed like they were on drugs when they made them. Giving the timing, they very well may have been.

I stared at them, "If it is, they got one bloody good actor. He has to be to fool me."

"Are you saying it is true?"

"Of course not, it's a load of rubbish," I chuckled, "The stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"So, you're saying that your brother, Paul McCartney, is, in fact, alive and well?"

I nodded, "That's exactly what I'm saying. Paul was a bit roughed up in that accident, but he's alright now. It's just a rumor."

The reporters all began to ask more questions. I shook my head and pushed through the crowd. I had enough to deal with besides pushy reporters. When I made it to the door, I saluted and escaped into my building.

Interviews weren't terrible, so long as it was one on one. When a mob of reporters had the opportunity to have a go at you, nothing would be left behind. You'd be picked down to the bone just like you had a row with a bunch of vultures. It's especially bad when they're waiting for you outside of your home.

I made it to the door of my flat without meeting any more reporters. Even reporters had limits; they would wait at the steps of my building like flies, but they drew the line when it came to going inside my private home. It was nice to know the dogs had a shred of decency. Sighing in relief, I opened the door. When I made it inside I saw the babysitter was gone and in her place was-

"Paul?"

He sat on the living room couch with his head in his hands. Instantly, I knew something was wrong. His shirt was wrinkled like Da's face in the morning, something which Paul would never allow to happen. His hair looked like he couldn't stop running his fingers through it and he had a glass of liquor in front of him. Whenever he met my eyes, I saw the broken man underneath.

"The babysitter let me in," he slurred, "Vera's asleep."

I cocked my head, "What's wrong?"

"Jane broke up with me."

For a moment, I stared at him. He looked on the verge of tears, but he held them in. He was the sort of lad who wouldn't cry unless someone gave him permission. I sat next to him and wrapped my arms around him, giving him all the permission he didn't really need. He gripped my shirt and shuddered, allowing a few tears to escape his eyes.

"Why?" I asked.

"She said," he sniffled, "She said she can't love me when she loves someone else-someone she sees every time she's with me."

I fell silent. Paul grimaced, "I bet it's John, the wanker. He's always been a flirt."

I said nothing. In that moment of sadness, I felt a little glimmer of hope followed by a wave of guilt. I told myself it was one of the lads, though a tiny voice at the very pit of my stomach hoped otherwise. I swallowed my pain and hugged my brother tighter, "Paulie, I'm so sorry."

For a few minutes, he didn't reply. Sobs threatened to escape his body, I could feel it in the way his muscles trembled, but he held them in. Squeezing him tighter, I muttered, "It's alright to cry, I won't think any less of you."

"I know you won't," he mumbled before he burst into tears.

To this day, I know Paul loved Jane with all his heart and vice versa. The two of them were so in love, it was gag-worthy. They loved each other then and they love each other now, but they have learned. They learned the love they had was different. On that day, two people once in love embarked on a journey to find themselves and their true soulmates. A moment of heartache can lead to a lifetime of happiness, Paul would see, if he could only get through the pain.

"She kicked me out," Paul said once he calmed down slightly, "Can I-?

"You don't have to ask, the guest room is yours," I replied.

"Thanks, Lia."

"Anytime, big brother," I smiled, "Now, how about another drink?"

"I would love to get piss drunk right now."


	188. Knock, Knock, Get The Door, It's Depression

I hated to think that Paul was like this because of me. His longtime girlfriend had broken up with him, and now he wouldn't even get out of bed. There was a strong chance I was wrong, Jane could have easily fallen in love with anybody else, but my sixth sense was tingling. Something told me what I felt wasn't felt in solidarity.

Paul was a wreck. His heart was shattered into so many pieces, only someone with delicate fingers like a pianist could pick them up again. I was not the one who could heal Paul's wounds, but I could bandage them. For the moment, I could provide a distraction.

"Paul," I called, "Paul, get up."

The lump underneath the quilt stirred. It had been two days and he only ever came out of the room for the toilet and to grab something to eat. Each time, I couldn't see him because he kept the quilt tightly wrapped around his body.

"Bloody hell, Paul, get your arse up," I kicked the edge of the mattress.

Paul groaned, "Don't wanna."

"You don't have a choice," I replied, "Come on, get up, we've got places to be and people to see."

"Bugger off."

I sighed deeply. Kneeling at the head of the bed, I lifted the quilt and smiled at him. He opened one groggy eye to glare at me. I grinned, "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey."

"Sleepy sleepy."

"Paul, you better get your arse up before I drag you from the bed."

Paul groaned, "I don't wanna go anywhere."

"Too bloody bad," I replied, "The babysitter's already takin' care of Vera, I've just got to get you out before we're late."

"For what? More disappointment?"

I sighed, "No, Storms Over London is filming a few promos videos in a park and I'm bringing you along."

"I don't wanna go."

"You don't have a choice."

"Sod off."

He pulled the quilt over his head and snuggled deeper. Groaning, I stood, "Honestly, Paul, I am doing this for your own good."

I moved to the end of the bed and jerked the quilt off. Suddenly, Paul's body was exposed to the chill beyond his blankets. His curled into a tighter fetal position and glared at me, "Lia, give it back!"

"No!" I replied, "Listen here, James Paul McCartney, you need to get out of your slump and the only way to do that is to get out and do something."

"I don't wanna."

"I don't give a shit. You're going and that's final."

Paul glared at me, "I'm older."

"I'm wiser."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"You-"

"Don't make me call the others," I interrupted, "I swear, Paul, I will call John, George, and Ringo and they'll help me drag you to the park if necessary."

Paul glared at me, "You wouldn't."

"I would and you know it."

We had a stare down. Both of us glared at each other, unblinking, waiting for the other to cave. In fights that like, the stubborn one always prevailed. Paul and I were equally as stubborn, neither of us ever won those fights, but, at that moment, I was the stronger one.

"Bloody hell, fine," Paul grumbled, "Only so you'll leave me alone."

"Ah, but even then, you can't get rid of me."

"Wanker."

"Git."

I stepped out of the room to let him change. The babysitter, a girl who lived down the hall, was playing in the bedroom with Vera. The door was shut just enough to where Vera couldn't see me and get upset.

Paul met me in the living room with misshapen clothing and a sneer. He was angry with me for the time being but, in the long run, this would be better for him. If I left him here, he wouldn't leave the bed all day, and then where would he be? He'd never get better if he stayed like this, someone had to pull him out. Where we were going would get him out of the house. It was the perfect time and place for him to see a face he'll never forget, one that would help pull him out of his depression.

"Alright, come ed," I grabbed his elbow, "We're already late."

Paul frowned, "I still don't wanna go."

"You still don't have a choice."

I glanced up and down the hall looking for Jane. Paul and I quickly hurried to the lift before there was any chance of the redhead spying us. Though, if she did, I was positive she would try to avoid us as well.

Paul was in no state to drive and I didn't have my license, so we were forced to take the underground. It dropped us off just a block from the park. I had to drag Paul down the street so we could be at least somewhat on time. He was dragging his feet and hanging his head like the world was burning around him but all he could do was sigh.

"You're late," Ellen sighed whenever we walked into the film area.

I smiled sheepishly, "Sorry, Elly, it was difficult to get this one out of bed."

I had called her that morning and explained everything, asking if Paul could join. Ellen agreed, even saying she also thought it would be good for him. Paul glanced up from behind me and frowned, "Forcefully, I might add."

"Well, you wouldn't get up."

"It's fine," Ellen raised her hands, "The equipment is already set up and everybody else is waiting for you."

I nodded, "Ta, Elly. Come on, Paul, time to meet the rest of the band."

I dragged him to the filming spot. Tabitha and Minerva stood with their guitars slung across their backs. Linda had a tiny toy piano, almost too small for a child let alone a grown woman. Next to her, a pair of bongos sat.

"You're late," Tabitha accused.

I sneered, "I'm sorry I have a life that needed to be attended to."

"You bloody-" she began but she noticed Paul falling to sit in a nearby park bench, "What the- McCartney why'd you bring-er-McCartney?!"

"He's having a rough time and I couldn't leave him alone. You won't even know he's there," I retorted.

Linda stood behind me, "He's fine, Tabitha, he's just an observer."

"A very famous observer," Tabitha spat, "I think you should have talked to the rest of us before you brought a bloody Beatle!"

"I don't see why you're so angry at this, Plinkett, it's not like he's a bloody axe murderer!" I exclaimed.

"You little-"

"Is he dead?" Minerva suddenly asked.

We all flung our heads to look at her. I turned to Paul to see him bracing his chin on his chest with his arms tightly crossed over his middle. His legs were crossed and his face was limp. You couldn't see his chest rising and falling, but I knew it was. I pinched the bridge of my nose, "No, he's just pouting. Like a big baby, he is."

"I heard that!" Paul shouted, "Wanker!"

I frowned. Linda placed a hand on my shoulder, "Deep breaths, this isn't him."

"I know, he's got a right to be irritable," I replied, "I did forcefully take him out of the house."

"And he's going through a rough patch."

Tabitha scoffed, "I still don't see why he's here."

"Look way and you won't have too," I spat.

The two of us were about to go at it again, but Ellen stepped between us. She smiled her usual warm smile, but her eyes held a warning, especially when she looked at Tabitha and me.

"Now, girls, I expect you to be on your best behavior," she sounded sweet but her words had a bite, "The director is ready to begin."

We all nodded. Tabitha and I shot each other another glare before moving to our places. There was a row of pedestals meant for statues, but two of the statues had broken and been removed. Linda and I each sat on one of the pedestals while Tabitha and Minerva stood between them. We all began to mime our instruments as Tabitha began to sing.

The first promo video was simple enough. We were in one spot for the entire thing. It was done in a single take. Once the director called cut, we were ushered off the set to make way for the next round of set up.

I moved to sit next to Paul. He had only changed positions for a moment, lifting his head to watch us as we pretended to play our instruments. Now, as I sat next to him, he barely moved.

"Look, Paulie, I'm sorry I dragged you out of the house when you didn't want to," I said, "Thought the sun and the grass would do you good, you know?"

For a moment, Paul didn't reply. I sighed deeply, thinking he was still upset with me. Finally, his small voice said, "I do feel a bit better."

"Then, it was worth it, yeah?"

"Maybe," he glanced up at me, "Didja have to force me out though?"

"At least I didn't kidnap you."

He grinned. It was the first grin I'd seen him produce since Jane broke up with him. I smiled, "It's getting better all the time, yeah?"

"Don't start this again," he groaned.

I laughed, "For once, Paulie, I'll bite my tongue."

"I'm shocked."

We both chuckled. Ellen called me back to set. This next video was for Minerva's song. She was set up in the very front with her acoustic slung across her chest. The rest of us would follow her as we went through a walk in the park, just like in the song.

The walk took us away from Paul. I felt a little nervous leaving him, even though Ellen was just a few steps away. Paul was very capable of taking care of himself, but something about leaving him in his fragile state made my nerves quake. Perhaps it wasn't nerves but dread.

When we returned, we were banished once again so the set for the next song could be set up. I moved to the ice chest Ellen had brought filled with various drinks and a few snacks. I grabbed two cans of pop with intentions of bringing one to Paul. When I spun around, however, my plan changed.

Linda was sitting next to Paul. I could only see her face, but that's all I needed. It was easy to see the sparkle in her eyes even from several meters away. The way she interacted with Paul was unlike anyone else, even her temporary boyfriend she had a year or so before. She and Paul always subconsciously leaned towards each other, smiling no matter what they talked about.

Linda and I were each other's secret keepers. She had told me a few of hers, but not this one. She didn't have to tell me, I could see it in her face. The way she smiled, laughed, and moved her body was natural but very un-Linda. It was the side of Linda nobody had ever seen before because she had never met anyone like Paul. For that matter, Paul had never met anyone like Linda.

I smirked, placing the second can of pop back in the ice chest. The two of them kept scooting closer together, though they didn't realize it. I shook my head.

Ellen was standing near the camera watching as the crew set up the next set. I stepped up behind her and smiled, "Would you say that love can heal all wounds, even those created by a love?"

"What kind of question is that?" Ellen asked.

I glanced over at Paul and Linda, "Just something off the top of my head."

Ellen followed my gaze. For a moment, she was confused, but it slowly dawned on her. A smile crossed her lips as she sighed, "I believe it can."

"It's her hands," I wiggled my fingers for emphasis, "Gotta have delicate hands to mend a broken heart."

Ellen chuckled, "No wonder you're the songwriter."

"Brilliant, yeah?"

Both of us laughed. Once again, we were called to set. I moved to sit on the table they had just moved in. Linda sat behind me, followed by Minerva and Tabitha. Tabitha looked upset by being in the back, but nobody paid her any attention.

Just as we started the song, we heard several squeals. Linda, Tabitha, and Minerva all turned to look in that direction as I felt my blood run cold. I knew that sound, I had heard it many times before, all followed by a boatload of pain.

A mob of teenagers barreled through the bushes. Minerva shrieked as I cursed. I turned to see Ellen grabbing Paul's elbow and pulling him in the other direction. She was smart enough to know who they would attack first.

"Scatter!" I shouted, "Run!"

Linda jumped off the table and began to sprint in the direction Ellen took Paul. Tabitha wasn't far behind, after wrestling free from the grip of three giggling girls. I was about to follow them until I heard Minerva's quiet shouts.

She was buried under a dogpile of fans. They were all high on their glee, they didn't notice the person beneath them wasn't Paul. Minerva was drowning in a sea of bodies and I was the closest person.

It was difficult to save someone underneath a mob of fans when they would just as soon mob you. I bore the McCartney name, which was famous for two reasons, and that would get me trampled. An idea popped into my mind just as I was ready to fight my way in. I hid behind a nearby tree and disguised my voice.

"Oh my God!" I squealed, "There goes Paul McCartney! Oh! And there's the other Beatles too! In the playground!"

The girls all shrieked. They scrambled to get up and run towards the playground, which was across the park. In the process, they left Minerva in a fetal position on the ground. I rushed to her and pulled her up.

"You alright?" I asked.

She struggled for words. In the end, she just nodded. I grinned, "Good. Come ed, we've got to go before they get back."

Everybody else had taken refuge in the van the production crew had used to charter in the equipment. We found Ellen nervously standing at the door. When she found us, she beckoned us in. The two of us practically jumped into the van, landing on a few laps.

"Is everybody alright?" Ellen asked whenever she slid into the front.

Everybody mumbled various answers of yes. Tabitha crossed her arms and huffed, "We barely made it out alive."

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," I rolled my eyes.

"Drama queen?!" Tabitha spun around to glare at me, "This is all your fault, McCartney! You and your big name and even bigger brother! If you hadn't have brought him, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Don't bring Paul into this!" I shouted.

"I will if I bloody well please!"

"You bloody-"

"Amelia! Tabitha!" Ellen interrupted, "Your arguing is only making things worse. Both of you, be quiet."

"But-"

"Quiet."

Tabitha huffed and sulked. I shot her one more glare before crossing my arms and leaning back in the seat. Paul glanced at me, "This was a wonderful distraction."

"Cheeky," I replied, "Let's just go home."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."


	189. I Should've Stayed in Bed

By the beginning of 1968, Paul had bigger issues than his break up with Jane. He didn't quite get out of his dark cloud until a ray of sunshine came piercing through. He didn't move on until a certain blonde beauty came along to push him. Until then, he and I were once again living together.

I expected to loath living with Paul again, but I was actually enjoying it. I didn't realize exactly how lonely the house was without someone else other than a two-year-old. Paul was right around the corner, even more so than when he lived across the hall. I was never lonely with him hovering around. Even when he was recording, I wasn't lonely because I knew he was on the way home.

Vera was lying on the floor watching the record spin around. Chocolate covered her mouth from her ice cream, the spoon hovering above the bowl just in front of her. The ice cream had almost been forgotten in the beauty of the record. I sat next to her with a big smile on my face.

Recently, she had found the record shelf. Specifically the shelf where I kept Beatles, Revolution, and Storms Over London records. She recognized Linda and I on the cover of Liverpool Bop and the lads on Rubber Soul. As soon as she found them, she had to listen to them, so we found ourselves on the living room floor with ice cream, surrounded by records, and an old record playing spinning around.

"I wanna be a singer just like you and Uncle Paulie," Vera suddenly said.

I ruffled her hair, "You'll outdo the lot of us, Junior."

"Really?!"

"Yeah, but you gotta know how to play somethin' else," I replied, "How about the drums?"

Vera wrinkled her nose, "That's silly."

"Where did I go wrong?"

I buried my face in my hands and shook my head. Vera giggled, crawling over to my lap and grabbing my hands. She pulled them apart to where she could see my face, "You drum, I wanna do somethin' so I can play with you."

"Alright, my heart isn't broken," I winked.

I grabbed her and rolled her into my lap. She giggled as I tickled her stomach. She tried to push away, but I had her. I held her to my chest and braced my chin on her head.

"You could learn guitar," I said.

Vera giggled, "I'll be like Uncle Paulie, Uncle Johnny, and Uncle Georgie!"

"Yeah you will, Junior. And they'd be so proud."

"They would?"

"Oh, yes," I turned her to face me, "They would be so proud, they'd cry."

Vera gasped, "All of them?"

"All of them. Even Uncle Ringo and Uncle Mikey."

"I wanna learn guitar!"

I ruffled her hair again, "That only leaves one thing."

"What?"

"We've got to find one your big."

Vera was only two and a half, there was no way she could truly learn the guitar. I could get her a toy guitar and let her pluck the strings, but that was it. She already had one George got her, and it only played one note. Until she got older, that would have to do.

As I began to change the record, the front door opened and slammed shut. Vera and I both looked up to see Paul storm into the room. Martha, who was sleeping in her bed in the corner, woke up and rushed to him. He ignored her, choosing instead to start pacing up and down the living room. He circled Vera and me, stepping over records and mumbling under his breath.

"That bloody git!" he exclaimed, "The arse! I can't bloody believe him!"

I lifted an eyebrow, "Who?"

"Who do you think?!"

"John?"

"Of course it's bloody John!" Paul shouted, "It's always bloody John!"

Vera curled into my stomach, shrinking away from Paul. I wrapped my arms around her and glared at him, "Paul, calm down, you're scaring Vera."

Paul stopped and glanced at his niece. She was watching him with wide eyes and trembling hands. He paused, took a deep breath, and knelt in front of her, "I'm sorry, Bee."

"Why you mad, Uncle Paulie?" Vera asked.

"Your Uncle John is an arse."

"Paul!" I exclaimed.

Vera looked up at me, "What's an arse?"

"A donkey," I answered, "And a very nasty one at that."

Vera frowned. Paul got up and began to pace again, choosing to work his anger out through pacing instead of yelling. I knew that wouldn't last long and I knew Vera would only get more scared. Martha followed me up the stairs as I took Vera to her room. I left her to play with Martha as a guard.

"Now, what happened?" I asked whenever I made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Paul flung up his arms, "It's my bloody song but John won't let me do it the way it should go! He says it's wrong but I say it's right and it's my bloody song!"

He continued to pace. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed deeply, "Isn't it a partnership?"

"Don't you start!" Paul shouted, "Yes, it's a partnership, but that goes both ways! He won't listen to me."

"You won't listen to him either."

"You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Don't bring me into this," I lifted my hands in defense.

Paul groaned deeply, "You're all a bunch of gits."

"I'm just the spectator."

"You're my sister, you're supposed to fight with me!"

I crossed my arms and frowned, "I'm not going to fight a pointless fight."

"Course not," Paul shook his head, "Bloody hell."

He began to storm up to the guest room. I winced when the door slammed. Sighing, I shook my head. Paul felt wildly and vibrantly, he could never quite contain everything he felt. Whenever he was angry, he would lash out, just like he did this time. Given some time to cool down, he would come to his sense and realize everything he said was stupid.

Tensions seemed to be growing thicker between the lads. It could have just been from the outside looking in since I didn't go to the studio with them. We didn't spend time together as much as we used to. Usually, I only see them one at a time and that was rare. As is, it had been a week or so since I'd seen John, George, or Ringo. I missed them dearly. 

I still remember the days when we'd see each other all day every day for months on end. Those were the days, my friends, those were the golden days. Where we'd laugh and sing, where nothing mattered except our having fun. As The Beatles got more popular, the lads became synonymous with royalty. They were loved like The Queen and had equal amounts of responsibility. John, Paul, George, and Ringo carried the world on their shoulders, and that doesn't leave much room for growth. Growth is the essence of life, without it, we're no better than slugs. 

The rot had only just begun to set in, but all I wanted was my best friends back.


	190. How To Fake Divinity

What we needed was a distraction. We needed a place where we could forget about Beatles and Storms, love and loss, anything except what was happening in the moment. We all needed to step away from our lives and take a moment for reflection. What better place to do that then a meditating camp?

John, Paul, George, and Ringo had already reserved places and were planning to go to India. Somebody else dropped out, giving me an open place to jump in. I wasn't too keen on landing back under the thumb of The Maharishi, but, at the time, it was my only option. I didn't want to go anywhere by myself and the lads only had this one vacation for the time being.

"It's warm," Ringo mumbled.

I cracked an eye open to glance at him, "It's the sun."

"The sun is warm."

"Do you know a sun that isn't warm?" Paul asked.

"It's called the moon, son," John tapped the side of his head, "Comes out at night, that's why it's so cold."

"That's not a sun."

"Shush, you're supposed to be meditating," Pattie whispered.

"Right, sorry."

We all leaned back in our chairs and closed our eyes. The Maharishi had said we were supposed to be relaxing and feeling the sun. We were to focus on the warmth of the light, the feel of the breeze, and the hum of the insects around us. He told us to close our eyes and focus on our connection to the universe; how everything moves, how it feels, and how we feel in correlation. It sounded like a load of rubbish to me, but I didn't go there to see the sights of the tents. 

All I could hear was the breathing of the four lads and three girls in the chairs next to me, the wind rustling through the trees, and the conversation of people a few meters away. I could feel the heavy weight of Vera on my chest. She was warm, and her breathing was even. She had been asleep for going on ten minutes and I hoped she would stay asleep longer. With my arms around her, I felt myself wrapped in total comfort.

My focus slowly began to wane. All I could feel was Vera. I couldn't hear anything, feel anything, or know anything besides the toddler sleeping on my stomach. After a few seconds, even she vanished. I thought I had finally reached the transcendental state of meditation until I heard a familiar voice mutter, "Bloody hell, she fell asleep."

"Mummy," someone poked my cheek, "Mummy?"

Slowly, I opened my eyes. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. I rubbed my eyes to try and bring the world into focus. John, Paul, and Vera were leaning over me and blocking my view of everything else. When they backed off, I could see George and Ringo.

"I think I did it, laddies," I grinned.

"You just fell asleep," George frowned, "That's not meditating."

"Isn't meditating quieting your mind? My mind was quiet when I was sleeping."

John chuckled, "She's got a point."

"Not the right point," George argued. 

"A point is a point, mate," I grinned, "My mind was pretty quiet."

George rolled his eyes as Ringo rubbed his stomach, "Let's get some food, I'm starved."

"I can second that."

The lads began to make their way towards the table. Before they left, Ringo grabbed Vera and hoisted her onto his shoulders. Both were laughing like entertained children. I watched them go and yawned.

The idea of meditation was actually not bad, I just couldn't get the hang of it. My mind was always running at several thousand miles per hour, it was impossible to stop it. People like George had a knack for meditation and became masters within seconds. Others took longer, and then there was me. I know plenty of people who meditate daily. To this day, Paul and Ringo meditate every morning and every night, and both have tried to convince me to give it another go. Every time, they were met with the same answer, I hadn't done it since 1967, it didn't work then and it wouldn't work now. 

The camp itself wasn't bad. It was nice, with lush trees and clean bathrooms. Even the sleeping quarters were nice. The Maharishi gave lectures every day and kept us on a tight schedule. Some of the things he said were enlightening, but in the sense where he was glorifying something that one had to figure out themselves. It's like he was telling us we needed to breathe and everybody in the camp thought he preached something deeper than we could ever understand. 

I stood by my idea, The Maharishi is a fraud. The only reason The Beatles were invited to his meditation camp was because they were exactly that, The Beatles. They were the shining jewels of The Maharishi's ever growing collection of famous students. I had seen some of The Beach Boys, Nancy Sinatra, Marianne Faithfull, and several others come through the camp. It was obvious that The Maharishi was doing this for money and power, not to truly teach them.

At least, it was obvious to me.

Everyone else was infatuated with The Maharishi, especially John and George. They thought he walked on water. I could see otherwise, but I bit my tongue. They were enjoying themselves and I wasn't going to take that away from them, not that they would listen to me if I did. They were too absorbed in The Maharishi's divinity to realize he was just as human as the rest of us.

What the lads wanted was something The Maharishi could only pretend to give. They wanted him to show them the way. What way, I wasn't sure, I think they just wanted to be told where to go from here. They weren't touring, Brian was dead, their love lives were either bliss or havoc, and The Beatles were being stretched too thin. Their lives had flipped upside down more than once, and they were looking for a way to deal with that. The Maharishi couldn't tell them how to get through everything they were dealing with, but they needed someone to follow and that's just what he gave them. 

The food was all lined up on a table. It was various hand foods, all made with an Indian flair. I grabbed a few sandwiches and some crackers before going to find a place to sit down.

"Amelia," a high-pitched voice suddenly called.

I stopped just behind Paul. My sights were set on an open seat between him and Ringo, but that wasn't meant to be. All of us spun around to see The Maharishi standing in a nearby tent, his hands laced in front of him and a suspiciously kind smile strung across his lips like a bad stitching job.

"Come, speak with me," he beckoned me, "In my tent. Come."

For a moment, I stared at him. Alarm bells were going off in my head as I analyzed the situation. The Maharishi was known for asking people into his tent for individual reflection, but that was rare. I had only ever known him to invite George, John, and all of the female students into his tent. The alarm bells in my head got even louder as The Maharishi kept beckoning to me, but I never moved. Paul stood and grabbed my plate from me, gently pushing me forward, "Go on." 

"It's gotta be somethin' important," John whispered, "Bloody hell, Mel, why are you just standing there?"

I glanced up at Paul, doing my best to convey my worries through facial expressions alone, but he didn't catch on. Everybody was trying to egg me forward. When I glanced back at the rest of the group, they were all ushering me forward. The only person who met my eyes and saw my worry was Cynthia. She furrowed her eyebrows and whispered something to John. He waved her off and grinned at me, trying to convince me to go.

"Go on," Paul suddenly pushed me.

I stumbled forward to where I was within The Maharishi's reach. He grabbed my wrists and smiled, gently pulling me into the tent. Fear coated my body but there was nothing I could do. I simply smiled and followed him.

He shut the curtains of the tent, leaving us in dim lighting. Candles flickered in the corners but they didn't do much. The Maharishi knelt on a velvet pillow and gestured for me to do the same. Slowly, I knelt on the pillow across from him.

"You have been excelling in your studies," he reached forward to grab my hands.

I had to resist the urge to jerk away, "I have?"

"Oh, yes. When you first came to me, you could not let yourself or your past go. Now, you are learning, and you have come so far. I am very proud."

He began to stroke my hand. Everything inside of me screamed, but I stayed still. His smile was hiding something, I could see it in the way the corners of his lips occasionally jerked. In a matter of seconds, the room became cold as ice.

"If you were to stay here longer, I could teach you even more and take you to a level nobody else can get to," he smiled.

I did my best not to show suspicion. It was obviously a lie, anybody else could do better than me, even Ringo. If anyone were to reach the level he was talking about, it would be George, not me. Something about this offer smelled wonky. Despite everything inside of me telling me to run, I stayed out of pure curiosity as to what he would say next. 

"I could?" I innocently asked.

The Maharishi nodded, "You have so much potential, we just have to unlock it."

He continued to stroke my hand for an uncomfortable amount of time. There was nothing I could say or do besides sit there. I thought, maybe this was another part of the training. He was showing me to be affectionate towards others because I don't know how long I have them, or some other truckload of rubbish. I thought this was a part of the lessons until he reached forward and began to rub my leg, slowly inching higher.

"Bloody hell!" I kicked him away, "Get off of me, you dirty old man!"

I jumped up. The Maharishi was taken aback and nearly flung off his pillows. He placed a hand over his heart and glanced up at me, "Whatever is the matter?"

"You bloody well know what's wrong!" I shouted, "We came here to learn from you, and you're making a move on me! I knew you were a bloody fraud, Christ!"

I stormed out of the tent. The Maharishi struggled to follow me, but he was slower. I flung open the curtains and stormed out into the courtyard. John, Paul, George, and Ringo were all looking concerned at the tent. Whenever they saw me, they were confused. Only Cynthia and Maureen understood what had happened. They looked into my eyes and they knew.

"You look a state," Paul commented.

I stomped over to Ringo and held out my hands, "Come on, Vera, we're leaving."

The Maharishi had come out of the tent now. He stood in the doorway with a placid expression, as if nothing had happened at all. He could try and turn this on me, but I wouldn't let him. Vera crawled into my arms, hesitantly, as if she didn't want to leave her Uncle Ringo.

"We just got here," John argued.

Paul grabbed my elbow, "Lia, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong is your so called teacher is a bloody creep!" I exclaimed, "He made a move on me like the dirty old man he is!"

The Maharishi shook his head, "I was simply showing my affection for a favorite student."

"Don't you try to turn this on me, you fraud," I spat.

"Lia, calm down," Paul held my elbows, "What happened?"

"We were sitting on the pillows and he said I made improvement, which I haven't, and then he rubbed my leg."

"How is that bad?"

"How is it not bad?!"

Cynthia came up behind Paul, "Did he stop?"

"Only when I pushed the bugger off."

"Lia, I don't think-" Paul began.

"That's the problem!" I exclaimed, "You don't believe me, fine, but I'm not staying here. I'm taking my daughter and we're leaving."

"Lia-"

"Paul, let her go," Cynthia placed a hand on his shoulder before glancing at me, "Go on, Amelia."

"Thank you, Cyn. I'll see you lads in London."

With that, I spun on my heel and retreated to our tent to gather our stuff. When we arrived, I set Vera on the bed, making sure to keep the curtains wide open. The last thing I needed was The Maharishi sneaking in through the cracks in the curtains.

"Mummy, why we leaving?" Vera asked.

"Mummy can't stay here any longer," I sighed, "We're gonna go home and we're gonna see Auntie Linda."

"We are?"

"First thing."

Vera clapped. I glanced up at her just in time to see her look past me and to the door. She giggled, "Uncle Ringo! Auntie Mo!"

I spun around. Ringo and Maureen were standing in the doorway, both looking a little sheepish. Maureen stepped forward and crouched in front of me, "Are you alright?"

"Fine, just bloody pissed is all," I replied.

"He didn't do anything else?" Maureen asked, "He didn't hurt you?"

"I didn't give him the chance."

Ringo shook his head, "I can't bloody believe it."

"Wait-you believe me?"

"Course," Ringo grinned, "You're me mate, Mel, course I'd believe you."

"Thanks, Ringo."

"I wasn't sold on him anyways. Plus the food here is rubbish."

"Out of everything, that's what you're complaining about?" I asked.

Ringo shrugged. Maureen stood back up, "Mind if we hitch a ride with you?"

"Always a pleasure."

The two vanished to gather their belongings. Once I had Vera and my stuff together and ready, I went out into the courtyard. There, I was met with Maureen, Ringo, and Paul. Paul hurried to meet me before we could get into earshot of anyone else.

"Here to defend him some more?" I accused.

Paul shook his head, "Here to apologize."

"Really?"

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you," Paul sighed, "I s'pose they never believe the victim."

I smirked, "You're a git, Paul."

"I deserved that."

"Yeah, but I love you anyways."

He gave me a side hug. When we pulled apart, he smiled, "See you in jolly old London, then."

"I'll give it all your love."

"Maybe not all of it."

We both laughed. I gave him one more hug before waving goodbye. Ringo had called a cab, which was waiting at the only road in the area. We all piled in and headed to the airport, leaving behind friends and frauds.

***

"And then he rubbed my leg," I explained, "I almost hit the bugger, that'd give him something to preach about."

"But you didn't, right?" Linda asked.

"I have some decency, Lindy."

Linda smiled. As soon as we stepped off the plane, I headed to Linda's house. Ringo and Maureen were desperately missing their kids and hurried back to their house. Linda was ready as if she had been waiting for me.

"Sounds terrible," she slowly sipped her tea.

I rolled my head on the back of the couch, "Horrible, truly. It's probably good you didn't go."

"It didn't seem very interesting to me," she replied.

I chuckled, "It wasn't."

Linda smiled. From upstairs, we could hear Heather talking in her sleep. Vera was fast asleep in her carrier on the other side of the room and wouldn't wake up until the morning. I glanced at Linda.

"So, Lindy dear, how's life been in jolly old London?" I asked.

Linda shrugged, "Same as ever."

"Anything interesting happen to you?"

"Oh, you know," she smiled and sipped her tea, "I took some neat photographs, had a lovely sandwich, Paul asked me to move in with him, I thought of a new piano tune, and-"

"Wait just a bloody second," I held up my hands, "What did you say?"

"I thought of a new piano tune."

"No, the other thing."

"I took some neat photographs."

"No, Lindy, the other thing!"

"Paul asked me to move in with him," she sheepishly answered.

For a moment, I stared at her. She looked like she was ready for me to start yelling at her, but I broke out into a grin, "It's about bloody time."

"Wait-what?"

"You two are so busy making lovey-dovey eyes at each other all the bloody time," I sighed, "Honestly, it makes me want to gag."

Linda blushed. I grinned, "It's just like Paul, too. Bloody hell, I'm so happy for you, Lindy."

"Thanks. I thought you'd be upset."

"You did?"

"He's your brother and all-"

"Yeah, and you're my best mate," I grinned, "My best mate and my brother getting together at last, it's like a dream come true. Hell, maybe you will be my sister after all."

Linda blushed deeper, "That's getting a bit ahead of ourselves, don't you think?"

"That's what I do, Lindy."


	191. Nothing You Can do That Can't Be Done

Things were changing. They were always changing but, as of late, they were going much faster. Paul was moving in with Linda, Jane was completely removed from my life, and Vera was getting ready to start preschool. The friendships I had still stood strong, but they didn't linger like they used to. I didn't spend everyday with my best friends. Things were changing and I wasn't sure if I liked it.

I wasn't looking forward to the future. There were so many things I was terrified of. I was scared to wake up in the morning and face a day where someone could die, I was scared to face the future where I would inevitably lose someone else. Most of all, I was terrified to face the problems the future brought with it.

The Beatles had started work on their next album, as did Storms Over London. Neither album was going well. Paul always came back to tell me he got into another fight or one of the lads didn't show up at all. Tensions were high, not only in The Beatles but in everyone else they touched.

Storms Over London was straining. Tabitha and I were always at each other's throats, our differences were too great for us to see how much we had in common. Minerva was always on the verge of fainting. She was much worse than Janice ever was, and I had to catch her several times. The only person I knew I could rely on, and did, was Linda.

Things were changing and it terrified me. Perhaps things weren't changing as badly as I thought they were. It was only natural that we would get into fights, that's what people did. When you were stuck in a room with three other people for hours on end for years, you were bound to get on each others nerves.

"By golly, Miss Molly, things have gone so far South they're going North again," I mumbled.

It was my birthday, the first birthday which I had celebrated alone. Paul and Linda were wrapped up in moving, George had gone back to India, Ringo was sick, and John was off with some artsy fartsy woman he had just met. I had gotten calls from each of them, George and John even sent cards with classic drawings, but it wasn't the same. I was all alone on the day that dragged me down the most.

There was only one place for me to go. I hopped on the fastest train to Edinburgh and went to the tiny graveyard tucked away where most people forgot about it. It was the first time I had visited Molly's grave since the year she died.

Vera wanted to go, but I needed some time alone. The babysitter was willing to sit with her all day, so long as I came back before midnight. That gave me enough time to sit in the grass next to the gravestone I remembered putting down.

Molly would always be there for me even when she was no longer breathing. Even if she wasn't there, I could pretend she was. I could close my eyes and imagine her sitting next to me, telling me what to do. If I focused hard enough, I could even smell strawberries. 

"I'm scared they're gonna leave me," I admitted, "Christ, I'm scared of so many things, Molly. I'm scared the lads are gonna leave me, and leave each other. I'm scared the band is going to break up, and I'm scared that I'm in love with someone who broke my brother's heart and vanished from my life."

I rubbed my temples. At the moment, it always feels like the end of the world no matter how mediocre your problems may seem. I felt like my entire world came crashing down, and it would, but not yet. Somehow, talking to an empty patch of grass made things seem not as bad. 

"I know what you would say," I mumbled, "John, Paul, George, Ringo, and I are too good of mates to leave each other. The bond we have will last forever and on and on and on. Christ, Molly, you really have a way with words."

I chuckled and shook my head. In a way, Molly never really died, because she was still inside of me. I could still hear her voice and know exactly what she would say. She was guiding me long after her death.

"The thing is, I've already lost so much. I lost you, I lost Mum, Janice, Stu, so many people have come and gone from my life, I don't think I can take much more," I sighed deeply, "I'm terrified, Mols, and I don't know how to move forward when I'm scared of where I'm going."

The future should not be feared, it took me years to learn that. The future isn't something to be afraid of, rather, to embrace. You have to be ready for anything, the good and the bad, the ups and the downs. The future is terrifying but it is also beautiful. Sometimes, the most beautiful things are the scariest.

Instead of fearing the future, I needed to focus on the now. As I sat at that grave, I could almost hear Molly telling me to focus on the present. I smiled, "I gotta focus on the now, yeah? The now where Vera is about to go to school. The now where the lads are still close. The now where Linda and I have a band to run right to the top. The now where I can be in love again and face the future with someone at my side."

I hadn't seen Jane in one month and two weeks. It wasn't hard to keep track because every morning I woke up longing to see her but knowing I couldn't. She was gone but I still felt the tug in my heart where it was trying to follow her.

"I don't know if I can," I ran my hands through my hair, "I miss you, Mols, more than you can believe. I don't think I can learn to love again."

Tears began to rise in my eyes, giving way to a flood. I buried my face in my hands and allowed to tears to flow freely and slowly. Everything was caving in on me all at once and all I wanted to do was curl up under the dirt and forget the world existed.

For a moment, the world became warmer. At the end of April, it felt like July. I was embraced by a warmth unknown to the Spring population. With it came the smell of strawberries. I was overcome with the sensation of being loved, I felt as if I had a fleet of a thousand angels at my back. The warmth of a hug rushed over me, and I felt, deep in my heart, that Molly was telling me to move on. She loves me, and she's waiting for me, but, in the meantime, it's time for me to find someone else to make me happy.

It was time to move on.

"By golly, Miss Molly, you always know what to say," I shakily stood, "Guess I should go talk to her, eh?"

The strawberries vanished, leaving me with the chill of April wind. A small smile crossed my lips, "Love you too, Mols. See you later."

With that, I spun on my heel and left the graveyard.

***

The train seemed to be running extra slow that day. I sat in my cabin, my forehead pressed against the window as my eyes watched the countryside pass by. London was just a few minutes away and, with each meter we gained, my anxiety grew stronger.

I was going to talk to Jane. I didn't know where she was, but I knew how to find her. All I needed was someone close to her, and that would be her brother. Jane and Peter were just like Paul and me, he would know where she was. I would go over to his place but, first, I had to get Vera.

This idea could either go very right or very wrong. Jane could break down and confess that she broke up with Paul because she loves me, or she could accuse me of being queer and call the police. Either tonight would end with a kiss or an electric shock.

I knew I had no choice. There was no way I could live with myself without telling Jane. Something like this couldn't be denied or ignored. I had to tell her no matter the risks.

Even so, my anxiety was running away with me. I felt like I was going to scream before I ever made it to Jane. Every part of me told me this was a terrible idea, but, I went along with it anyway. I had an unhealthy dose of courage so blinding it could be called stupidity. 

The train finally pulled into Kings Cross Station. I slapped on my hat and stepped out, swimming through the crowds with my head down and my breath held. Even when I got in the cab, I was still holding my breath. By the time I made it to my building, I was nearly blue.

I paid the cabbie and went inside. The walls were a familiar friend, but, now, I felt like they were strangling me. Everything was trying to stop me or kill me, whichever came first. Yet, I pushed on.

The lift dinged for my floor. That ding sent painful shocks through my mind. Everything was hurting, like a sensory overload. All I wanted was to curl up under my blankets and block out everything.

When I arrived at my flat, I paid the babysitter. Vera ran out from her bedroom shouting, "Mummy!"

"'Ello, Junior," I grinned, "Miss me?"

"Yeah!"

She practically jumped into my arms. I pulled her up just as the babysitter left. Grinning, I pushed back her hair and asked, "How about a visit to Jane?"

"Auntie Jane?" Vera asked.

"If this goes well, she won't be your Auntie any longer," I mumbled, "How 'bout it?"

"Yeah!"


	192. Nowhere You Can Be That Isn't Where You're Meant To Be

Love doesn't see human boundaries. It doesn't see gender, race, sex, or corners of the world. Love is a limitless fire that will burn the hearts of anyone it touches. Love doesn't care for boundaries, which is why I had fallen head over heels in love with Jane. 

Women should not fall in love with women, but I had already broken that boundary twice. Women shouldn't fall in love with women, and they shouldn't fall in love with their brother's ex-girlfriend. Paul was the biggest thing holding me back. It felt like the premise of a young adult novel and not a very good one. I fell in love with Jane, and now, I have to face it even if Paul will hate me forever.

I think I've always loved her in some sort of way. The very first time I saw her, I thought she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen in my life. I still think that. Her laugh always made a bad day good, and her smile was like the sun had finally come to Earth. The love of a friend doesn't make you feel like your walking on a cloud every time you see her, or not seeing her feels like the rain clouds rolled in. There is a difference between the love of a friend and the love of a lover, and it took me years to finally figure that out. 

Jane and I came together in our own times, but, first, we had a lot of love and loss we had to experience. I wouldn't trade my time with Molly for anything in the world. To this day, I still love her with all that I am and I still believe she is the love of my life. It took me a long time to realize you can have more than one love. Life goes on, bad things happen, and you can lose the ones you loved more than anything. Yet, that shouldn't hold you back. Love can come more than once and you can still love both people just the same. My love for Molly is in no way influenced by my love for Jane, and my love for Jane is in no way influenced by my love for Molly. 

Vera held my hand as I knocked on the door of The Asher residence. There was a chance Jane was there. Even if she wasn't, there was someone who would know where I could find her. As it happens, that very someone opened the door.

"Amelia?" Peter Asher asked.

I had met him several times before. His music duo, Peter and Gordon, had opened for Revolution and The Beatles more than once. He and I had never quite gotten along, but we tolerated each other. He thought I was too cocky, I thought he wasn't cocky enough, and we ended up trying to outwit each other constantly.

"Is Jane here?" I asked, "I need to talk to her."

"Did Paul send you here? I swear, if he did, I'll kick that bugger right in the-"

"He didn't. He doesn't know I'm here," I interrupted.

Peter paused, "Then, why are you here?"

"I need to talk to Jane as Amelia, not Paul. Can you tell me where she is?"

Peter hesitated. He watched my eyes as if searching for any sign of a lie. Finally, he sighed, "She's upstairs. Come on."

He stepped aside and let me in. Vera and I followed him up the stairs. At the top, we were met with a winding staircase that led to the attic. Paul had lived there with Jane during the early days of The Beatles career. I remembered visiting him there on several occasions and drinking Mrs. Asher's famous tea. Just stepping into the house brought the familiar taste of sweet lemon tea to my lips. 

"She's up there," he jerked his thumb at the stairs, "If you're lyin'-"

"I'm not lyin', Peter, don't get your knickers in a twist," I retorted, "I just wanna talk to Jane."

"Go on, then."

"Ta."

With that, Vera and I made our way up the stairs. With every step I took, my feet began to feel heavier. I felt like my skin was turning to lead as I climbed those metal stairs. At any moment, I would chicken out and run home, forever forgetting about Jane Asher.

Vera tugged me along. If it weren't for her, I would have turned back. I would have run away and never looked back, but Vera pulled me up the stairs. She pulled me into the room and we stalled.

Jane was sitting on the couch with a book open in her lap. Her hair was unbrushed, a look which was usually considered untidy but Jane make it look royal. Her bare feet were tucked underneath her and she was tugging at her lip. Her eyes were the only part of her that moved to read, the rest of her head kept still. Whenever she heard us come up the stairs, she glanced up, jerking her head up whenever she realized who had walked in.

"A-Amelia," Jane breathed, "What're-what are you doing here?"

She dropped her book and scrambled to cover herself with her skirt better. It had previously been haphazardly thrown around, exposing most of her legs. I chuckled and shook my breath, "Aw, Janie, you don't have to get all prettied up for me. I think you're pretty as you are."

Jane began to blush, "That doesn't answer my question."

"I-" I hesitated.

Jane stared at me. Our eyes were locked together across the room. We couldn't touch, but we didn't have to, our eyes did it all. She may have been several feet away, but it felt like we were already pressed up against each other. 

"You?" Jane pressed on.

"I wanted to tell you somethin'," I replied, "Something important."

Jane cocked her head, "And that is?"

I struggled to find the right words. Words were my specialty, they were my best friend. Words and I danced hand in hand to create moving poetry. Yet, when I needed them most, they vanished. I found myself tongue-tied in front of the woman I had come to confess my love to. The one time I truly needed poetry, it all escaped me. 

"Amelia?" Jane asked.

"Why did you break up with Paul?" my mouth asked without my permission.

Jane's face clouded over, "Is that why you're here? Paul sent you?"

"No-I sent me."

Jane glanced up at me, "I love Paul, I do, I still love him with all my heart, but, he's not everything. He gets angry whenever I want to follow my dreams, he cheats whenever I'm not around, but I still love him."

"Is that why you broke up with him? Because you love him?"

"Yes," Jane replied, "Because I love him, I broke up with him. Because I love someone else, I left him."

I cocked my head, "You love someone else?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

Jane hesitated. She refused to meet my eyes. That in itself gave me all the confidence I needed to move forward. I stepped closer, my smile growing wider by the second. I clasped my hands behind my back like an innocent child and leaned towards her, "Janie, love."

"Oh, don't start that," she crossed her arms.

"Start what?"

"The flirting!" she exclaimed, "Years of relentless flirting all for the sake of a joke! It's not real, and it hurts!"

I cocked my head and smiled, "Whoever said it wasn't real?"

"You always flirted with me to get a rise out of Paul, but I'm sick of it."

She crossed her arms and turned her back to me. I shook my head, "Everyone who knows me knows I can't keep up a joke for that long."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe I started out flirting with you for a joke," I smiled, "But, I didn't stop."

She glanced over her shoulder at me, "Is that what you came here to tell me?"

"I almost didn't come," I replied, "I've been struggling with this for so long, I thought it'd be best to ignore it. A wise woman once told me, you can't ignore your feelings. Feelings aren't fake, and you can't ignore them."

She spun around to face me, "What are you getting at?"

"Janie, love, I think you and I both know," I smiled, "You broke up with Paul because you fell in love with someone you saw every time you were with him. Who was it?"

She and I both knew the answer. It wasn't someone she physically saw whenever she was with Paul, but someone she saw in him. Someone who was identical to him, but as different to him as the sun was to the moon. Someone who had some of the same traits she fell in love with in Paul, but others she didn't even know she wanted.

I didn't have everything she loved about Paul. There would always be those few traits that lingered with Paul. I was Amelia, and I could never be Paul, but that was exactly what Jane was drawn too. She loved Paul, she would always love Paul, but the two were so drastically different it never would have worked.

"You," Jane mumbled, "It was you."

I took another step forward to where the two of us were practically on top of each other, "Janie, love, it's always been you."

"You're such a bloody flirt," she mumbled before grabbing my collar and pulling my lips to meet hers.

Kissing Jane was nothing like kissing Molly. She gave me a new sensation I had never known but fell in love with immediately. I could taste her cherry chap stick and feel her smoother than velvet lips underneath my chapped ones. She brought to life a part of me that had been dead for the past three years.

"This time, I mean it for real," I smiled, "Janie, love, I love you so."

Jane smiled, "I love you too. Can't tell you how long I've wanted to say that."

"You don't have to, I've been waiting just as long."

She kissed me once again. Once we pulled apart, she wrapped her arms around my stomach and braced her chin on my shoulder. I smiled. Everything seemed peaceful for a moment before Jane sighed, "There's only one problem."

"Can we put it off? I'm enjoying the moment," I replied.

Jane giggled, "We've got to tell Paul."

"I'll get to that," I kissed her forehead, "Let's just enjoy the moment, forgetting all about brothers and laws."

"Fuck the laws."

"You cuss?"

"You've got a lot to learn."

The two of us laughed. I had almost forgotten I brought Vera with me. She toddled forward, moving to tug at Jane's pants. Jane and I both looked down to see her confused face.

"Are you going to be my other mummy now?" she asked.

Jane and I laughed. I ruffled Vera's hair and grinned, "Let's just take a step back, eh, Junior?"

"I disagree," Jane replied, "I can't wait to take the next step forward, now that it's not alone."

I flung an arm around her shoulders and winked, "Janie, love, you'll never be alone again."

"And I couldn't be happier."


	193. It's Easy

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Jane asked, "It might be easier if you're not alone."

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, "As much as I want you there, it's better if I go alone. That way, if he has to hate anyone, it'll be me."

"He won't hate you."

"Strongly dislike."

"He'll love you anyway," Jane placed her hands on my shoulders, "Paul will be angry at first, but he'll come around. He's Paul, and if there's one thing he can't live without, it's his sister."

Paul and I had been through Hell and back together. Whatever troubles faced us in our lives, the other was right there with us. Paul was my best friend, my strongest ally, and now I had to tell him something which had the potential to break that bond. I found myself trembling with worry. A million worst-case scenarios ran through my head as I stood in front of Jane contemplating whether or not Paul really needed to know. 

Jane was ever the helpful sort. She knew exactly what to say and how to say it in order to calm my nerves. She gave me the exact confidence boost I needed. If I didn't tell Paul, we couldn't continue. In order to love Jane, I had to tell Paul, and that was just enough to get me going. I'd do anything for her, anything at all. 

I smiled, "Janie, love, you always know what to say."

"I'm an actress, El, it's my job."

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek, "Until tonight, then. Hopefully, I'll come home all in one piece."

"You will," Jane smiled, "Just- try not to hit back, will you?"

"I have some restraint."

"Sometimes I question."

I gasped, "And here I thought you had faith in me."

"I do, just, be careful," Jane said.

"I will."

She kissed my cheek and I left. She and Vera both waved me off, watching as I stepped out into the hall and towards the lift. As soon as the doors shut, all of my momentary confidence had vanished. I felt myself deflate like an old balloon.

Paul was a very understanding person, in time. He would always jump to the first emotion that crossed his mind and stick with it until that tiny voice in the back of his head got a microphone. Before I even made it to his door, I knew the first thing he would feel was anger.

It was an unspoken rule, you don't go for your sibling's ex-girlfriend. That's not how it works. It was against the unspoken sibling code. I was born to break the rules, and this was no different. Against my own will, I broke the code and, possibly, just made my brother forever hate me.

Unless I could get him to listen. If I could tell him in just the right way, things wouldn't be so bad. I knew Paul, and I knew exactly what he would do. He would blow up at me, maybe even kicking me out of the house. Eventually, he would come to his senses and realize this wasn't as bad as it seems.

Jane was his ex-girlfriend, ex being the key part. He had cheated on her several times and she had fallen out of love with him. The two were not meant to be, it wasn't written in the stars. I just had to get him to understand.

When I arrived at Paul's house, I went right through the gate. The fans had yet to find his house but, given time, it would become impossible to waltz through those gates unimpeded. For now, however, I was able to walk right up to the front door.

"Amelia," Linda smiled whenever she opened the door.

I breathed a sigh of relief, "Lindy, I was hoping you'd be here."

"I live here," Linda replied, "Why wouldn't I be here?"

"I don't know, but, listen, I did something and I need to talk to Paul about it."

Linda cocked her head to the side, "Did what?"

"I followed your advice."

Linda furrowed her eyebrows. At first, she didn't understand. She looked at me through a mask of confusion before it finally clicked. Her face brightened and she leaned closer to whisper, "You talked to Jane?"

"I did," I replied, "And, you were right. Now I have to tell Paul."

Linda smiled, "He's inside. I'll be right behind you the entire time."

"I'm countin' on it, Lindy."

She stepped aside and let me walk into the house on Cavendish Avenue. With Linda at my back, I felt a confidence I didn't have. She filled me with a bravery that was foreign to me but desperately needed. Whenever I felt like running away, I just glanced back at Linda and took in her smile. That gave me the courage to continue.

Paul was in the living room playing the piano. He was running through a new song with Martha at his feet. The room was filled with a light beyond that of the sun, but one created by Paul and Linda. The two of them together were so bright, it almost hurt to look at. They were something so spectacular, to this day, I remember the feeling of stepping into their home. It was unlike anything else. You felt loved even when coming to tell them something that might get you banished.

"Lia, I didn't know you were coming over," Paul smiled.

I wrung my hands together, "Would've called, but where's the fun in that?"

"You never call."

"That's true," I grinned.

Paul cocked his head, "What's the matter?"

"I've got to tell you something."

Paul furrowed his brow. I could almost feel Linda pushing me forward, telling me to rip the bandaid off. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as I thought it would be. At the same time, I could almost hear myself telling her it could be so much worse. We seemed to have a mental argument which I later realized was my anxiety battling my sanity. 

"Did something happen? Is it Vera?" Paul asked.

He stood and closed the piano. His eyebrows were furrowed together as they always were when he was worried. Already, I knew I had made a mistake. I had him worried when he shouldn't be, and that might be enough to make him become angry when I actually broke the news. I shook my head, "No, Vera's fine. It's good news, technically. Depending on who you ask, I s'pose."

"Get on with it, then."

"Paul, I love you very much," I said, "Hell, you're my brother but you're so much more than that. And, I love you, you know?"

Paul furrowed his eyebrows, "Lia, you're scaring me."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was just like ripping off a bandaid, it would hurt for a while but then everything would be better. All I had to do was take the leap and I'd get to the otherside. A leap of faith was all it took, just like ripping off a bandaid. 

"I'm in love with Jane."

All of a sudden, the words came tumbling out. Like a mudslide, they left my mouth and were out in the open. I opened my eyes to see Paul staring at me. That's all he did, stare at me.

For what felt like years, we stood there, staring at each other. Part of me wanted him to start yelling just so I could get a reaction. Anything was better than this stone cold silence. I didn't know what was running through his mind, or if anything was.

"Paul?" I tried.

"You-" Paul hesitated, "You're in love with Jane?"

I nodded, "Yes, and I have been for a long time, but I tried to ignore it. Turns out, it was me."

I didn't have to clarify for Paul to know what I meant. When he realized I was one of the reasons Jane broke up with him, his face turned bright red. Had it been possible, steam would have come out of his ears. I had seen him that angry before, but it was never directed at me. For the first time, I was the person facing the Jeckyll to his Hyde.

"What the bloody fuck, Amelia?!" Paul shouted, "You can't do that!"

His use of my full name made my wince. He never called me Amelia, except when he was angry. It felt like he was slapping me.

"There's no law against falling in love with her, Paul," I replied.

Paul threw up his hands, "She's my ex-girlfriend, that's against all sibling rules!"

"There are no sibling rules! Nobody ever said I can't fall in love with someone who you've been separated from for almost a year!"

"Nobody should have to say that, it should be common sense!" Paul shouted.

"It should also be common sense not to cheat on your girlfriend, but you did, didn't you?!"

"That is beside the point!"

"There is no point!"

The best way to defuse his anger would have been to react nonchalantly. It's difficult for a person to remain angry when the person they are angry at shows no signs of frustration whatsoever. However, that was impossible for me. As soon as Paul started yelling, I started yelling louder. 

Paul balled his fists, "There is, and you know it. You're dating my ex-girlfriend, Amelia, what the bloody fuck?!"

"I never said I was dating her!"

"I guessed!"

"Why do you care?" I asked, "You have Linda. You're in love with Linda, I'm in love with Jane, why is this such a problem?"

"Because you didn't ask me!"

I crossed my arms, "I shouldn't have to. You can't ask to fall in love, Paul, that's not how it works and you know it."

"You still could have-"

"Could have what?" I asked, "If I could choose who to fall in love with, trust me, I would. I'd choose someone who I could love out in the open without having to fear getting thrown in jail, an asylum, or worse."

Paul stared at me. The two of us locked eyes and we weren't backing down. It was the world famous McCartney Stare Down, where the most stubborn won. Or, in this case, the right one.

Paul blinked. He glanced at Linda, the floor, and then at me. For a moment, he simply blinked, because that's all he could do. The tension in the room slowly diminished, vanishing completely whenever Paul dropped his arms and sighed.

"Why the bloody hell am I angry at this?" Paul asked.

I scoffed, "I was hoping you could tell me."

"I can't," Paul sighed, "Bloody hell, I'm sorry, Lia."

"Are you really?"

Paul glanced up and met my eyes, "Yeah, I am. You're right, you know, I did cheat on her. She and I- we were something, but not the right something. I was just waiting for the right person to come along, and, she did."

He smiled at Linda. I glanced back at the blonde to see her blushing ever so slightly. Whenever I turned back to Paul, I saw he had stepped closer.

"Lia, you're my sister, and all I want is for you to be happy. If you and Jane are happy together, then I'm happy for you," Paul smiled.

I returned the smile, "I knew you'd come around, eventually."

"Then, why'd you shout at me?"

"You shouted first, you can't expect me not to shout back."

Paul laughed. I grinned and pulled him into a hug. He hugged back, smiling the entire time. For a moment, everything felt right with the world. My brother didn't hate me, my best friend might become my sister, and I was in love again. Both of us momentarily forgot about all the troubles plaguing our tiny slice of paradise, instead focusing on the love we all had in that moment. Paul and I had a bond deeper than a canyon, and I'll value that until my dying day. 

"If it helps anything, I give you my blessing," Paul said.

I chuckled, "I'll take it."

"You better, there's no returning it."

"What if I find it unsatisfactory?"

"Git."

"Wanker."

The two of us laughed. Paul ruffled my hair, causing me to push him away. Everything was finally clicking into place. My loneliness had vanished, replaced with a love I never thought I could have again. With it came the love of a brother I thought would abandon me. Everything was so perfect, I thought it could never go wrong again.

Of course, with every up came a down. The higher the bliss, the harder the fall.


	194. Storms Over Sanity

A large part of being a band is appearances. You make appearances in public places of interest, showing your face in all the places that matter. You appear on stage and, to my great dismay, on screen.

I have never hated going on television, but it was never my favorite. I preferred live shows in front of an audience that reacted, or, better still, quiet moments in the studio with just the music. Appearing on television gave us the opportunity to look back at ourselves. While that would be good for future generations, it wasn't good for the moment. It suddenly made me aware of every tiny flaw I possessed and even some I didn't. 

"I bloody hate television performances," I mumbled.

Ellen glanced at me, "Since when? You used to love them."

"I tolerated them," I replied, "Now, I'm older and wiser and I hate them."

"It's only been two years since our last TV appearance," Linda retorted.

"And I've had two years to get smarter."

Tabitha scoffed, "You'll need more than that."

Linda sighed deeply as I slowly turned to look at Tabitha. Ellen pinched the bridge of her nose, fully knowing what was coming and doing her best to maintain her last thread of sanity. Even I could feel myself groaning at the argument bound to come.

"Maybe so, but I'll need less than you," I spat.

Tabitha glared at me, "You're already old, but you're far from wise."

"Smarter than you."

"Mel, Tabitha, please," Linda interjected, "Not now."

She glanced at the two children sitting on the couch. Heather and Vera were playing with their dolls, some elaborate game about a band and a prince. They didn't notice us, but that could change as soon as we started yelling. I took a deep breath, "Right. We are here on business and we must be respectable British ladies."

"That's a first for you," Tabitha whispered.

I glared at her, "I've got one up on you."

"Mel."

"She started it."

"Mel!"

"Sorry."

Tabitha chuckled. I glared at her, earning another glare back. Linda grabbed my wrist and shook her head. She pulled me away from Tabitha slightly as if placing herself between us would stop our incessant fighting. Tabitha and I were born to fight, our personalities were so drastically similar they clashed. Had I met her in any other way, I would have seen that she was basically my twin.

"Now, you need a set list of four songs," Ellen pulled out a clipboard, "You'll start with Moonlight Through The Curtains and move into What Would You Say. Then, after a short break, you'll perform Why Why and, finally, I Met You, I Loved You, I Lost You."

"Hold on just a bloody minute, how come McCartney's song goes last?" Tabitha demanded.

Usually, the argument would be over which song went first, just like it was on the record. For live shows, the place of triumph was always the last number. It was the grand finale, the greatest song of the set used to close the entire show. It was the place of honor, with the first song taking a close second. For this set, the song Linda and I wrote went first and then I closed the show.

Ellen gazed at the girl, "Because that is your number one hit."

"You always save the best for last," I explained, "And, the audience thinks that's the best."

"Well, I don't! I'm sick of McCartney always getting the special treatment. It's bullshit!" Tabitha stomped her foot.

I rolled my eyes, "You forget, darling, I've been at this a lot longer than you."

"That doesn't mean you get special treatment."

"It's not special treatment, it's show business," I retorted, "The fans pick what songs go to the top and what songs close the set. Simple as that."

"It is not, it's biased! Your song only got to the top because it says McCartney on it!"

"Girls please," Ellen sighed, though we completely ignored her.

I sneered, "Will you stop using my own name against me? It doesn't do anything!"

"Really? Cause you're having one hell of a reaction!"

"Only because you're yelling at me!"

"You yelled first!"

"I did not, you wanker!"

Tabitha wrinkled her nose, "Your song is shit. I think my song, Why Why, should close the set."

"That load of rubbish?"

"It's brilliant, people just have a hard time seeing it through the larger than life McCartney name."

"Why do you hate my name so much?"

"Why do you think?!" Tabitha shouted, "McCartney is famous, and it doesn't always pertain to you! You're related to a Beatle, for fuck's sake, your name casts a shadow on us all! We can't get past it because you and your bug brother have built up your name higher than Everest!"

"Enough!" Ellen shouted, "Honestly, you girls are acting so unprofessional. I expected more."

She glared at me and Tabitha individually. I crossed my arms and scoffed. Tabitha wasn't wrong, the McCartney name was world famous, mostly because of Paul. He had brought it to the light with the famous collaborations of Lennon-McCartney. Anybody who worked with a McCartney knew they couldn't get past the name. So long as the name was anywhere near theirs, it would be overshadowed. That's why Tabitha never got the credit she deserved, just like George and Ringo. George especially had been dealing with two larger than life names blocking out his, even though his name was just as brilliant as theirs. The McCartney name was a blessing and a curse, mostly to those around them.

"It's not my fault. I can't choose my last name," I replied.

Tabitha sneered, "You don't have to play it up either!"

"I'm not playing it up!"

"You are!" she shouted, "Half the songs on the album are McCartney!"

"And the other half is Plinkett! There's only one Lane, and Eastman's only with a hyphen! You get just as many songs as I do, Plinkett."

"But they don't get heard because of you!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"You-"

We were interrupted by a loud thud. Tabitha and I both flung our heads at the source of the noise. Minerva had collapsed in a heap in the corner, the stress finally getting to her. Our argument had only made things worse, causing her to faint. Ellen hurried to kneel next to the girl and roll her over.

"Minnie?" I asked.

"She's fine," Ellen shot a glare at me, "You two should be ashamed of yourselves. You scared Minerva so much she fainted."

I rubbed the back of my neck, "Christ, I'm sorry, Elly."

"If you're sorry, you shouldn't have started the argument," Tabitha spat.

"You and I both know you started it, Plinkett."

"And what proof do you have, McCartney?"

"Enough! Both of you, stop it, I don't want to hear another word," Ellen sneered.

Both of us fell silent under Ellen's stern glare. Ellen was a single woman, but she had six children. Molly, Janice, Linda, Minerva, Tabitha, and I had all become like her children and she treated us justly. Nobody could get us to be quiet like Ellen could.

"Mel," Linda grabbed my shoulder, "Where are the girls?"

I followed her gaze to the empty couch. Dolls were scattered across the cushions but there wasn't a toddler in sight. Instantly, my blood ran cold.

"They were here just a second ago," I said, rushing to look behind the couch.

Linda opened the cupboards, "They aren't here."

"Where could they have gone?"

"They must have run during your argument," Linda spun around to face me, "They could be anywhere."

"We have to find them."

"You take backstage I'll take upstairs and the lobby."

"Right oh."

We both spun around. Ellen was trying to take care of Minerva and Tabitha had already vanished. Linda and I nodded at Ellen before rushing out to find our kids.

I hurried through the crowd backstage. The show was supposed to start in twenty minutes, and we had to be on stage five minutes early. There wasn't much time to find two little toddlers hidden in the large studio. They could be anywhere, they could have even left the building.

Mentally, I slapped myself. I let my moment of anger overcome me and, because of that, my daughter was missing. I should have kept myself calm, if not for the rest of the room, then for Vera. She never did well with raised voices, let alone shouting. This was all my fault.

"Junior?" I called, "Kiddo? Vera? Heather?"

I ran through the halls, looking in every place a toddler could hide. Panic filled my body. Every worst case scenario ran through my mind, from a kidnapping to the two toddlers somehow ending up in Mexico. Logic told me they had to be there somewhere, but pure panic told me otherwise. Now I know how Mum felt when Paul, Michael, and I would run away from her in the store.

When I made it to the costume room, I was met with rows of clothing. The room was silent except for a quiet sniffle. That sniffle was familiar, I had heard it many times in the night after Vera woke up from a nightmare. Smiling, I knelt on the floor, "Junior?"

There was no response. I began to walk through the racks of clothing on my knees, pushing through the clothes until my eyes landed on two heads of golden blonde hair. Smiling, I pushed the clothes away, "There you are."

Heather pulled Vera closer. She was trying to protect her baby sister, even against me. Despite that, I had to smile at the sweet scene.

"You two had me worried," I rocked back on my heels, "Running away like that."

Heather frowned, "You were yelling, and it scared Eara."

Vera curled closer to Heather, sniffling the entire time. I smiled sadly, "I know, and I'm sorry, Junior. That was a very bad thing I did."

"Are you gonna keep yelling?"

"No, I think I got it all out," I chuckled, "I promise, I'll be quiet from now on."

Vera pulled her head from Heather's chest just enough to look at me with one watery eye, "Really?"

"Really really. I'll be quieter than a mouse."

I made sure to keep my voice low throughout this entire conversation. Heather and Vera were both scared, a soothing voice was the only thing that could coax them out. Slowly, Vera pulled away from Heather. She crawled under the hanging dresses and right into my lap. I held her into my chest as she gripped my shirt in her fists.

"I don't like it when you yell," she mumbled.

I squeezed her, "I know, I'm sorry. Sometimes, I just get a bit carried away."

"You won't yell anymore?"

"Not anymore, promise."

Vera curled tighter into my chest. Heather crawled over and latched to my side, allowing me to wrap one arm around her and one arm around Vera. For a few minutes, we embraced.

"How about we go find your Mum, yeah?" I asked Heather.

She nodded. With Heather on one hip and Vera on the other, I began to make my way back to the dressing room. Just as I passed the entrance to the stage, Linda appeared. She pushed past the curtain and nearly ran into us, but sighed deeply whenever she realized it was us.

"Heather, thank God," she took her daughter from me, "You scared me half to death."

Heather hugged her, "Sorry, Mommy."

"Don't do it again."

"Well, this is a happy reunion," I smiled, "But, I think it's time for us to go on stage."

Linda glanced at the watch on my wrist and nodded. We both returned to the dressing room. Minerva was sitting on the couch with a glass of water and Tabitha was standing in the corner. When we walked in, she turned her back, focusing on her guitar. Ellen sighed, "Right on time."

"As always," I grinned, placing Vera on the couch, "I would never miss a show in my life."

"Except that one time you overslept," Linda commented.

"And I still made it. Barely, but I made it."

Ellen shook her head, "It's time to go on."

We all grabbed our instruments. I held my lucky drumsticks as we stepped onto the stage. The curtain was still down, but I could hear the announcer talking. At any moment he would introduce us. We all took our places and readied ourselves. I poised my sticks over the drums and waited for our cue.

"Without further adieu," the announcer laughed, "I give you, the newest old act to hit the record shelves, Storms Over London!"


	195. The Artsy Fartsy Woman He Loves

The flat had gotten so much warmer in the past month. Jane was almost always over, whenever she was in town, that is. Even when she wasn't there, I knew she would be coming back, so the warmth never left. She brought back a feeling I never thought I could have again.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Jane smiled.

I blinked, realizing I was staring at her. She was brushing her hair in the front hall mirror before heading off to a rehearsal for a play. I grinned, "To think of it, I just might."

"Always a cheeky one," she smiled.

"Makes me endearing."

She chuckled, "There's so much more to you than you think."

I smiled at her. She turned back to the mirror to where all I saw was her back. Seeing her to the everyday things filled me with joy. I saw her be so ordinary that it had become extraordinary.

"I never thought I could be this happy again," I told her.

She glanced at me in the mirror, "And what made you change your mind?"

"You, of course," I chuckled, "Janie, love, you really are something."

"A good something?"

"Have to be to meet my high standards."

She spun around and rolled her eyes, "You don't even know what standards are."

"Course I do," I replied, "I've got the highest standards known to man."

Jane chuckled. I grinned and took a step closer, "You missed a spot."

She touched the hair I was pointing to to find it perfect. Laughing, she playfully pushed my shoulder, "Oh, you git."

"And you called me cheeky," I winked.

"What am I getting myself into?" she buried her face in her hands.

I wrapped my arms around her, "Something good."

"Maybe so," she glanced up at me, "Or maybe it's all rubbish and I've made the biggest mistake of my life."

"Have you now?"

She wrapped her arms around my neck, "I hate to break it to you, El, but you are rubbish."

"You wound me."

"But you're my rubbish," she kissed my cheek.

I smiled, "Alright, I'll accept that."

She laughed and pulled me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around her stomach, savoring every moment. With Jane, I felt alive again. She had brought back a part of me that had been dead since 1966. She made me feel whole again in a world I thought had gone empty.

"Say, Janie, where'd you ever come up with that nickname?" I asked, "El doesn't really fit Amelia."

Jane blushed, "I didn't get it from Amelia."

"Where'd you get it from?"

"Eleanor."

She glanced up at me sheepishly as if awaiting some sort of backlash. I cocked my head, "Nobody ever uses my first name."

"You don't like it?"

"I love it," I grinned, "If anyone else were to call me that, I'd probably break their nose."

"Ah, but I'm special," she tapped the tip of my nose.

I smiled, "Course you are. You're the bread to my butter, Janie, don't you ever forget that."

"I don't want to."

She kissed me, sending fire through my body. It felt right kissing Jane just like it felt right kissing Molly. It was like my entire life had led up to her. I spent twenty-five years trying to find where I belonged, and I finally found it. Behind the drums, behind the microphone, with the lads, and with Jane. That was where I was meant to be and that was where I intended to stay.

"Bloody hell," Jane grabbed my wrist to look at my watch, "I'm late!"

"You better hurry before the ole wanker gets angry," I grinned.

Jane chuckled. Her boss was a mean old man, especially to Jane and the other female members of the cast. I had offered to go with her and hit him, but she denied. She had a bit of decency whereas I was willing to drop my reputation in a second.

Jane kissed my cheek before hurrying out of the flat. I waved goodbye. Whenever she was gone, I sighed deeply. The flat felt empty when she wasn't around, but it wasn't the sort of emptiness that couldn't be filled like it used to be. Now, it was only temporary, and I knew it.

"Junior!" I called.

Vera appeared at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in a sparkling suit much like the ones Elvis made famous. A Beatle wig was haphazardly shoved on her head and she held the toy guitar George had gotten her. I giggled, "Playing dress up?"

"I'm putting on a show!" she exclaimed.

"Need a drummer?"

"Yeah!"

I chuckled and hurried up the stairs. Grabbing my bongos from my bedroom, I crossed the hall into Vera's. She had all of her dolls and stuffed animals set up like an audience. Applebaum held a paper microphone taped to his paw and her favorite barbie doll held a paper guitar.

"What're we playing?" I asked.

Vera giggled, "The friend song."

"Oh, I know that one."

Once Vera had found our records, she had fallen in love with music. Her favorite was a song that I told her her Uncle Ringo sang. She held her guitar and began to sing.

"What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me?"

I tapped out the ever familiar beat on the bongos. Vera sang the entire song, only missing one verse and getting a few words wrong. When she finished, she was out of breath.

"You're a natural, Junior," I ruffled her hair, "You'll be famous before you know it."

"I will?" her eyes sparkled.

"Definitley. You'll put me to shame, you will."

"Will you do it with me?" she crawled forward to grip my wrist.

I grinned, "If you want me too."

"I do! You can be the drummer and I'll be the guitar player!"

"Sounds like the perfect set up to me."

Vera giggled, "We'll get Uncle Paulie too! And Auntie Linda! And Uncle Johnny and Uncle Georgie and Uncle Ringo! We'll be the bestest band ever!"

"That we will," I smiled.

Vera began to enthuse about band names. As she did, I glanced at my watch. John had asked me to come and visit them at the studio that day. Of course I accepted, I would take any chance I could to visit the lads. Whenever we were all together, it was just like old times.

"Ey, Junior, how's about a visit to your uncles?" I asked.

Vera grinned, "Are they gonna play?"

"If you ask them nicely."

"Yay! Let's go!"

She hurried to her closet to grab her shoes. I cocked my head, "Don't you want to change?"

"No, I wanna show them my stage clothes!"

"They're gonna get a laugh outta that," I grinned, "Alright, come on."

I lifted her onto my shoulders and we made our way downstairs. Instead of calling a cab, I decided to take a bus. It was a nice day, the perfect day to sit on top of the London famous double decker buses.

Vera loved those buses. She could lean against the railing, with me gripping her pants, and tell each passerby hello. She was the friendliest child I had ever met, and she made sure everyone who passed knew it. Most people waved back at her while others simply sneered. She ignored them instead focusing on the people who waved back.

I carried Vera on my shoulders across that zebra striped crosswalk. None of us knew that, in a little over a year, that crosswalk would be made world famous. I crossed it like any old crosswalk and straight into EMI Studios.

The main lobby was empty. George Martin usually had a throng of assistants and other engineers, but, today, it was empty. The entire building seemed eerie, but I blamed it on the flickering light and ticking clock.

Vera and I made our way through the familiar halls and to the main recording studio. The door was shut, but the production room was wide open. I stepped in to see George Martin and a few of his engineers with headphones on, playing with a switchboard.

"What're they doing?" Vera asked.

I shrugged, "Technical stuff. Load of rubbish to me."

"Can I hit a button?"

"Probably not a good idea."

George Martin glanced up from the switchboard. He smiled and removed his headphones, "Amelia, for once, I knew you were coming."

"Don't get used to it, George," I winked, "I'm still unpredictable."

"Of course. The boys are downstairs waiting for you."

"Cheers."

George Martin nodded as Vera and I made our way to the other door. I opened it and stepped in. As soon as we entered the room, both of us slunk back. The tension was undeniable, as were the flames of anger.

The very first thing I saw was Paul. He was sitting on a chair with his legs crossed unnaturally tight and his arms locked around his middle. His face was passive, like he was trying to pass for cool but failing miserably. His eyes were on fire. The very hairs in his head trembled with his anger.

George sat near Paul. He couldn't have cared less about the situation before him. People have visited the studio time and time again, George didn't think much of it. He had his focus on his guitar.

Ringo was ever the friendly fellow. He was smiling and laughing just like he always did. It was Ringo who noticed us first, waving and shouting, "'Ello, Mel! 'Ello, Vera!"

"Uncle Ringo!"

I placed Vera on the floor so she could run and greet him. My eyes were set on John and the head of black hair standing next to him. His face was brighter than the sun, with every facial feature lifted in an infinite smile. He had his arm around the much shorter person next to him.

"Mel, right on time!" John laughed.

I chuckled, "As always, Johnny Boy."

"You're always late," George pointed out.

"I'm earlier than you."

"Oh, stuff it, the both of you," John waved us off, "Mel, there's someone I want you to meet."

The person spun around. I was met with a woman who was shorter than everyone, including me. She was very pretty, with delicate features and intelligent eyes. Her bushy black hair took up ninety percent of her body mass, the rest was all skin and bones. Her smile held real emotion but a lack of empathy. She extended her hand to shake as was the customary greeting. I shook it, noticing that her hand almost couldn't wrap around mine.

"Mel, meet Yoko Ono," John grinned, "She's an artist."

Why he felt like that was an important piece of information, I still don't know. Technically we were all artists, she wasn't special. As soon as I touched her, I knew something was wrong. I could sense a sort of distain, but I couldn't tell if it was from her. It could be from the furious brother of mine sulking in the corner.

"Hello," Yoko smiled.

Her voice was high pitched and grating. I did my best to smile politely, "'Ello, the name's Amelia McCartney."

"Oh, I've heard a lot about you," her eyes became dark.

I cocked my head and smiled shakily, "Er-all good things, I hope."

"You could say that," she glanced at John.

John laughed, "Just a few bad things, yeah?"

"Oh, bugger off."

All of us laughed, me a bit uneasily. Yoko was staring at me. She seemed nice and all, but a bit rough around the edges, just the sort of person John would like. I shook myself and remember Ellen telling me not to judge a book by its cover. First impressions weren't to be trusted.

"So, what kind of art do you do?" I asked.

"Avant-garde," Yoko replied, "Intellectual stuff. You wouldn't understand."

Her comment stung, but I did my best to look past it. Behind them, I could see Paul and George both watching me. Paul wanted me to bite back, George warned me to stay quiet. Luckily, John spoke so I didn't have to.

John nodded, "Oh, she's a genius, she is. Her last exhibit was her sitting on the stage and letting people come up and slowly cut off her clothing piece by piece."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes, it was very insightful," Yoko replied, "Very symbolic."

"Genius, yeah?" John grinned.

I awkwardly smiled, "Yeah-um-genius."

"I thought we were going to record a song," Paul suddenly interjected.

John spun around. He was too wrapped up in Yoko to hear the bite in Paul's tone. He smiled, "Course, Macca."

Yoko shuffled over to sit on the couch. The way she moved around was like she owned the place, as if she had prepared for this. Part of me wondered if she would ever leave.

Vera and I sat on the opposite end of the couch than Yoko. Vera moved to sit between us, looking up at the woman, "Hiya, I'm Vera."

"Hello," Yoko smiled at her, "My name's Yoko."

"You have very pretty hair."

"So do you."

Yoko smiled at Vera. It was a genuine smile, one that didn't seem to be hiding something. Her eyes sparkled when she talked to the toddler. I loosened up a bit. If she was this nice to Vera, how bad could she be?

The lads began to do a run through of their song. From our spot on the couch, we were out of reach of the microphones. The lads couldn't hear us through their headphones, giving us enough leeway to hold a conversation.

"John says you have known him a very long time," Yoko said.

I nodded, "Since we were teens. What about you?"

"I met him last year," she smiled, "He came to my art exhibit. We've been sending each other letters ever since."

"Ah, he's always been into that kind of thing."

Yoko glanced over at John, "Yes, he took a lot from my exhibit."

"Maybe I'll come and see your next one," I grinned, "Never could understand art."

"It's not about understanding, it's about feeling. You have to feel or else you'll never see," Yoko looked me right in the eye.

I did my best to hide my discomfort, "I thought you weren't supposed to touch the artwork?"

"You don't have to touch it to feel it. You have to feel it in your spirit."

She poked my chest for emphasis. I frowned, "Never was one for that spiritual rubbish."

"You'll learn."

She leaned back in her chair with a knowing smile. For a moment, I watched her, confusion coating my every sense. Yoko was a puzzling woman, but she was smart. Sometimes I wonder if she saw our future at that moment and just decided not to tell me. To this day, she still won't tell me.

The lads ran through their song eight times before they called it a night. In the end, they still didn't get it right. As they began to put up their equipment, Paul came over to me, "Linda's makin' pasta, care to join?"

"Love to," I replied, "Better than TV dinner."

"You really need to learn how to cook," Paul chuckled.

"Look who's talking."

"Bugger off."

I chuckled and stood. Vera waved goodbye to Yoko before climbing up on my back and yawning. Paul chuckled, "Tired, Bee?"

"Mhm," Vera mumbled, her eyes shutting.

"Just wait," I grinned, "Heather'll change that right up."

Paul laughed. Yoko stood and extended her hand, "It was wonderful meeting you, Paul."

Paul's face clouded over. He smiled, but I could tell it wasn't real. For the sake of appearing respectable, he shook her hand, "It was a pleasure."

"See ya tomorrow, Macca," John clapped his back, "Come on, darlin'."

He wrapped his arm around Yoko and the two left. I glanced up at Paul, "Darling?"

"Don't ask."

We said goodbye to George and Ringo before heading to Paul's car. As soon as we were out of sight of everyone, his face became a mask of anger. He crossed his arms and grumbled, "That git."

"She wasn't that bad," I replied, "She seemed kinda nice."

"Whether she was nice or not is not the point! We've always said no wives or girlfriends in the studio during recording, and John goes and brings her!" he said her as if he was talking about some snake.

I shrugged, "It was just a one-time thing. He just wanted you lads to meet her."

"I have a feeling it wasn't just one time," Paul frowned, "Bloody hell, he's head over heels in love with her."

"He is?! What about Cynthia?"

Paul shook his head, "It's not hard to see. He talks about Yoko all the bloody time. Sometimes, I think he forgets he has a wife and kid at home."

"Bloody hell, John," I mumbled as we got into the car.

Deep down, I knew this wasn't the last I'd be seeing of Yoko Ono.


	196. Her Majesty's A Really Nice Girl

There are very few places on Earth where I haven't played. Whether it be in the largest stadium in America, or in a concert hall in front of The Royal Family, I've played it all. Revolution played twice in front of The Royal Family, and now, it was Storms Over London's turn.

"I can't find my pick," Minerva mumbled, "Where's my pick?"

"Minerva, calm down, it's in your guitar case," I placed a hand on her shoulder.

She gulped, "I-I looked there."

"Look again."

I opened the lid to expose a pile of picks where the guitar should be. Minerva picked one up before she gasped, "Where's my guitar?!"

"Oh, bloody hell," I mumbled.

Minerva was like Janice on steroids. Janice may have had anxiety, but Minerva had a chronic case of petrifying fear. Every time we were about to go on stage, Minerva found something to worry about. She made problems where there were none, but I suppose that is a symptom of anxiety. As much as I wanted to help her, there were bigger things to worry about at that moment. 

"It's on the couch, Minerva," Linda smiled sweetly, "So is your strap."

"Thank God."

Tabitha scoffed, "Forget about that, we need to figure out the setlist."

"It's the same setlist we always play," I replied.

"We're playing for The Royal Family, we ought to change it up a bit!"

Tabitha had been getting on my nerves more often lately, and I didn't think that was possible. It was like every word she said was nails on a chalkboard, set up just to annoy me. She counteracted everything I said just to spite me and did everything she could to get under my skin. Perhaps the worst part was she was actually succeeding. If it weren't for the Lovely Linda, I can't say what could have happened. 

Linda shook her head, "We did, we shortened it."

"And we did fewer covers. We're only covering three songs now," I said. 

Tabitha flung up her hands, "And they're rubbish!"

I rubbed my temples, "Alright, listen-"

"Amelia, why don't you go to the canteen and get a drink of water?" Linda asked, "Let me handle this."

When I looked in her eyes, I saw it wasn't a suggestion. I nodded, "Alright, Lindy, whatever you say."

This show was stressful for all of us. Not only because we were playing in front of The Royal Family, but because we were doing it without a manager. Ellen had fallen gravely ill this morning, leaving us to manage ourselves. That responsibility fell onto Linda and I. I could barely look at Tabitha without yelling at her, let alone managing her. This entire thing was doomed from the start.

On my way to the canteen, I was met with four familiar faces. This show was an important show with important people in the audience besides The Royal Family. British dignitaries, politicians, and celebrities all filled the theater. Among them were notable musicians such as The Rolling Stones, Gerry and The Pacemakers, Marianne Faithfull, and, last but definitley not the least, The Beatles.

"Mel, fancy running into you here," John winked at me.

I laughed, "It's only my show."

"It's a bit odd, sittin' in the audience," Paul shook his head, "Usually we're waitin' to go on after you."

"It's nice though, ain't it, Macca? We can sit back and relax while Mel and the other birds do all the work," John wiggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, "You're a bunch of gits."

They all laughed. A few stagehands pushed past us, all turning to gaze at The Beatles. Paul grinned at me, "Covering any of our songs tonight?"

"Oh, but of course, who else would we cover?" I asked, "Three."

"Which ones."

I counted off on my fingers, "With A Little Help From My Friends, Eleanor Rigby, and Please Please Me."

"I'm flattered," Ringo grinned.

Paul chuckled, "Always with Eleanor Rigby."

"Of course. It is about me, how could we not play it?"

"Didja have to choose Please Please Me?" John asked, "It's old, it's rubbish."

"It was your first number one."

"That was before they knew the good stuff."

I rolled my eyes, "Doesn't matter, they'll get the really good stuff in all our music."

"Cheeky," John replied.

We all laughed. A stagehand rushed up to me and whispered, "Five minutes to curtain."

"Jolly good," I tipped my head, "Gotta go, lads, duty calls."

"Break a leg!" Ringo called.

I winked, "For you lads, I'll break em both."

They laughed as I hurried back to the dressing room. I expected to arrive back to the same chaotic room I left, but, instead, I was met with the exact opposite. The room I had left in a flurry of chaotic frustration was now orderly and in line. 

"Bloody hell," I mumbled.

Tabitha was tuning her guitar in one corner while Minerva drank a bottle of water in the next. Both girls were calm and quiet, a huge difference from how I left them. Linda stood in the middle with a proud smile.

"Christ, Lindy, you a wizard or something?" I asked.

Linda shook her head, "Not at all."

"I'm not sure if I believe you."

Linda laughed. A stagehand appeared and said, "You're needed on stage."

"And the time has come," I grinned.

I grabbed my lucky drumsticks and followed the other three girls towards the stage. Those drumsticks had been with me since 1960. They still had faded doodles Janice had drawn along with a few signatures. Playing a show without them felt like a failed show to me.

We all took our positions behind the velvet curtain. On the other side, I could hear people clapping. A few claps, in particular, seemed louder than the rest, and I knew exactly who they came from. The show would begin at any moment, we just had to be ready.

I glanced at Linda and lifted an eyebrow. She gave me a thumbs up and nodded. I grinned, turning my attention to Minerva. Any day now, I expected her to collapse on stage. Janice, at least, was stage confident. Minerva was a ball of anxiety wherever she went. She would be a great studio musician, but live performances were bound to catch up with her sometime. I just had to hope it wouldn't be now.

The curtains rose and bright spotlights shone on us. I had to blink for a moment before my eyes came into focus. We began playing to the claps and cheers of the crowd. From the front row, I heard a shrill whistle.

The front row was completely overtaken by my mates. John, Paul, George, and Ringo all occupied half the row. With them came Maureen, Pattie, and, to my surprise, Yoko. I had hoped John would bring Cynthia, but it was easy to see where his priorities lied. Looking back on it, I can't say if I was truly surprised or not. Really, I was surprised that I didn't expect to see Yoko looking up at me from the crowd.

We played on. It was difficult to see anyone past the front row due to the lights, but I didn't want to. To see the people meant feeling the people, and that was the first step to stage anxiety. Playing on stage and playing in a club were two different things. Playing in a club was intimate, the crowd was just as much a part of you as you were of them. In a concert hall, everyone was too far apart to truly feel the presence of the rest. All you could feel was their eyes and that caused every self-conscious thought to rise to the service.

Throughout the entire show, I kept glancing at Minerva. At any moment, I expected her to faint. Her hands were wobbly, but she managed to hold a tune. We had purposefully left out any song where she had to sing. She could barely talk let alone sing, it was a wonder she managed to stay upright.

Tabitha kept throwing angry glares at me. I half expected her to start shouting at me, but she remained civilized. Even so, the glares cut like ice. I did my best to smile back, but, somehow, it always turned into a sneer.

That show was one of the worst I had ever experienced, besides the ones affected with Beatlemania. Between worrying about Minerva, being angry with Tabitha, and worrying about myself, it was all too much. I felt like I might go into a panic attack before Minerva ever did. To make matters even worse, halfway through the show, my lucky drumsticks broke.

They snapped right in the middle of Tabitha's song. The snap could be heard throughout the hall, rising several gasps and winces of sympathy. From the front row, I could see Ringo actively cringe. The rest of the lads all gasped and shook their heads. They knew better than anyone what those drumsticks meant to me.

The wood from the sticks dug into my hands. We still had half a show to go, and I couldn't play with one stick. I made a split second decision and flipped the stick around in my hand. Playing with half a drumstick was odd, I had to reach further than before and the sound wasn't quite right. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. So long as I ignored the splinters going into my fingers, it worked. The splinters hurt, but the lose was much worse. Those sticks were the embodiment of a life I left behind and longed for more than anything in the entire world. They were my last reminder, and now, they were gone. 

When the show was over, we all stood and bowed. The crowd cheered louder than ever. All four of us linked hands, bowed once more, and stepped backstage. As soon as we were out of sight of the crowd, Tabitha jerked her hand from mine and stomped off. I sighed, "She's still pissed over the setlist."

"At least she played," Linda said.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Minerva held her head.

I grabbed her shoulders, "Alright, Minnie, deep breaths."

"What if I messed up? Bloody hell, the Queen was watching, I might have just messed up in front of the Queen!"

"You did brilliant, Minerva, honest."

She wouldn't listen. Linda and I got her to the dressing room where she promptly fell on the couch. She buried her head beneath a pillow and began to take deep breaths.

"That went well," Linda commented, watching Minerva come down from her panic attack.

"It's a bloody miracle!" I exclaimed, "Christ, that went so much better than I expected."

"You're expectations are too low."

I glanced at her, "Lindy, as I've learned, if you start out with low expectations you can't be disappointed."

"What if it goes well?"

"Then, you're overjoyed."

I fell to sit in one of the armchairs. Linda sat on the arm, "Think we'll ever do that again?"

"Bloody hell, I hope not."

Linda chuckled. I held up the half of my drumstick and whimpered, "My lucky drumsticks."

"We can get you new ones," Linda replied.

"Lindy, you don't understand," I gazed up at her, "These are my lucky sticks, I've had them since Hamburg. They had lucky doodles. All the lads, Janice, and Molly even signed them. I can't play without them."

Linda leaned forward and took the splintered drumstick from my hand. I felt like I might cry. It was like losing a loved one, except, I was mourning drumsticks. Linda inspected the stick and smiled, "Once, my favorite dollhouse broke. Dad used wood glue to fix it and it never broke again."

"Think it'll work on my sticks?"

"It's worth a shot," Linda grinned, "We'll fix them up no problem."

"Lindy, you're a saint."


	197. When In Doubt, Drink

"Tired?" I smiled.

Jane lifted her head from the kitchen bar. Dark bags hung underneath her eyes and her entire body hung limply, like a deflated balloon. She had a glass of water next to her but it was untouched. She looked like she was about to collapse.

She had been working herself ragged on this new play of hers. It seemed that they had a show every night and a rehearsal every day. Part of me began to understand what Paul meant when he said Here, There, and Everywhere. I missed her terribly when she was gone, but I was also proud of her. She was out there making a name for herself, I just wish it wouldn't cost her sanity. 

"I'm wide awake," she mumbled, "Just a little..."

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

I chuckled and put the dish I was drying next to the sink. I leaned on the bar and gently took the glass of water away from her, "Janie, love, you're about to drop everything."

"Am not."

"Stand up, then."

She glanced at me and wrinkled her nose. Her spitefulness usually could take precedence, but sometimes even the stubborn ones have to step down. Whenever she stood, she nearly lost her footing, grabbing onto the counter for balance. I chuckled, "How about you go to bed?"

"But-"

"No buts. Upstairs, go."

She frowned but listened. I watched her sluggishly go up the stairs. Just after my bedroom door shut, I heard what was only someone flopping onto the mattress followed by a soft rumbling. I shook my head and chuckled.

Not many people would guess, but Jane snored like a freight train. If I could sleep, she'd be keeping me up all night. Oddly, though, I enjoyed her snores. When I heard them, I knew she was there. They broke through the deafening silence that seemed to be getting less and less the longer she was with me. She might have woken Vera up a few times, but I loved her snores. 

The director of the play Jane was in had her working nonstop, day and night. She hadn't gotten home until two in the morning the night before and had to get up and do it all again at five. It was ridiculous, but there was no talking to the boss. He was as stubborn as a board and deaf as a dalmatian.

I turned back to the dishes and continued drying. It was getting late, nearing eleven o'clock. I was getting tired as well. The warmth of the bed called to me, especially when Jane would be sleeping next to me.

She still owned the flat across the hall, but, more often than not, she could be found here. She spent more time with Vera and I than she did in her own home, to my greatest pleasure. She might as well just move in with me and save herself the trouble. In the back of my mind, I knew I would ask her sooner rather than later.

A knock on the door startled me, nearly making me drop the dish. I grimaced, "Bloody hell. Who's knockin' at this time of night?"

By now, one would think I would have learned. When there's a surprising knock at a time where normal people would be asleep, it could be only one of four lads. They always seemed to like to visit me when I least expected it. 

Abandoning the dish on the counter, I hurried to the door. The person hadn't stopped knocking. It sounded like two harmonious knocks, like the chorus of a song. I knew who was knocking before I even opened the door.

"'Ello, Melly Mel," George slouched on the doorframe with a wide grin.

Ringo giggled, "Didn't expect-didn't expect you to be here."

"I live here, you bloody gits," I shook my head, "You two are plastered, aren't ya?"

"Course not. We're fit as fiddles," George grinned.

He stood proudly and puffed out his chest. For a moment, he swayed, nearly falling backward. I caught the front of his shirt and held him upright, "What the bloody fuck are you doin' here?"

"Couldn't find me car," Ringo replied, "Think it-think it got-took."

"You think your car was stolen?"

"Took!"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, "Or you're just drunk."

The two lads giggled like a pair of bubbly schoolgirls. My only theory was that they went to the pub down the street after a recording session. The lads had enjoyed that pub since we first arrived in London, there was no doubt in my mind George and Ringo went there to down several too many drinks.

"You got any drinks?" George asked.

I shook my head, "You're done with drinkin' tonight, George Harrison, you're already plastered enough!"

"Sober, I tell you," Ringo hiccuped, "Sober as a... sober."

"What's a sober, mate?" I asked. 

George grinned, "It's a Harrison and a Starkey."

"Yeah," Ringo grinned, "A Starrison and a Harkey."

"Bloody hell. Come inside before you get yourselves killed," I rolled my eyes. 

They leaned against each other as they stumbled in. I locked the door behind them, following them into the living room to make sure they made it to the couch in one piece. Once they flopped down, I stood in front of them with my arms crossed, "Care to explain how you got here?"

"Didn't your Da give you that talk?" George asked.

"Not that, George," I sighed, "How you got to my door."

Ringo giggled, "We dunno."

"Got here somehow."

"Were you at O'Malley's?" I asked.

George snapped his fingers and pointed at me, "Yeah! Greatest pint in all of Liverpool."

"We're in London."

"New York too, then."

Ringo seemed to think this was the funniest thing in the entire world. He began to giggle and snort, slapping his knee as he did. This made George crack up all while I stood looking at them blankly. 

"Christ," I mumbled, "It's only Wednesday, lads, why'd you have to go and get plastered?"

Ringo belched, "Cause we're bloody pissed is why!"

"I can see that."

"It's those wankers!" George exclaimed, "Those-those gits. The-the-the-"

"The swines!" Ringo shouted.

"Yeah!"

There was no doubt in my mind who they were talking about. Even a blind man could see the tensions building in the band. What surprised me was how Ringo felt about it. Of all the people in the world, I thought he would be the last to get upset. He was so easy going, it took a lot to get Ringo upset. I lifted an eyebrow, "John and Paul?"

"Who else?!" George exclaimed. 

"What did they do this time?"

George leaned forward, "They've got their heads too far up their arses to see they're not the only two people in the band!"

"We work hard too," Ringo mumbled, "They don't-they don't appreciate us."

"Yeah. Think we're dirt beneath their boot."

I shook my head, "John and Paul can be arses sometimes, but they love you lads. I know for a fact that they appreciate you more than you could ever believe."

"Do not," George said.

"Paul said," Ringo hiccuped, "Paul said I'm a shitty drummer. Says I can't do nothin' right. Took my sticks, he did."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The biggest problem here was that John and Paul were perfectionists, especially when it came to their music. Not a single note could be wrong. The drumsticks couldn't be too far to the left and the guitar couldn't be positioned too far from the microphone. Everything had to be just so or else John and Paul would get frustrated. Often, Paul would explode. It wasn't so much that George and Ringo were underappreciated, rather, that they just didn't follow orders. In reality, they shouldn't have to. The band was a team, and a team makes decisions together. John and Paul tended to think themselves each a captain without the other, and that often put George and Ringo down.

"Look, lads," I said, "John and Paul don't mean anything by it. They appreciate you well enough, they love you lads, honest. They're just a bit particular."

George snorted, "A bit."

"A lot bit," Ringo mumbled, "A lotta bits."

"What you lads need is a good night sleep. We'll talk this over when you're sober and, you'll see, it's not all bad."

Ringo glanced up at me, "You gotta be drunk to say that."

"It is all bad," George frowned, "It'll be over soon."

"What does that mean?"

Ringo pointed at a bowl of apples on the table, "The rot."

"The rot," George agreed.

"Bloody hell, you two are plastered," I muttered, "Alright, up to bed. You two can take the guest room, but you'll have to share a bed."

The two grumbled in response. They were getting to the part of being drunk where they blacked out. I wanted to get them to bed before they passed out on the staircase. With George leaning on one side and Ringo on the other, I supported them up the stairs. By some miracle, we made it to the bedroom without either of them passing out. They fell onto the bed and promptly began to snore.

"Gits," I mumbled, "I'll go call Mo and Pattie so they don't think you're bloody dead or somethin'."

As I turned out of the room, I glanced back at them. As much as I didn't want to admit it, a few of the things they had had a ring of truth in them. The Beatles were the greatest band in the world, and the greatest things don't come without a few broken parts. I just hoped they could see the love they had for each other was more important than any album or any tension.


	198. Scotland Farm

The house on Cavendish Avenue didn't last long for Paul and Linda. They still owned the house and spent half their time there, but only when they had business in the city. Both of them loved nature too much to be in the middle of the city. Logically, they would move to a mountain cabin in the middle of nowhere, or even a cabin just outside of somewhere. Paul and Linda, however, never pay any attention to logic. So, they bought a farm.

I never saw either of them as farming people. Paul was one of the most popular musicians in the world, and Linda was a great musician and an even better photographer. The two of them had the world at their feet, so they moved to a place where the world couldn't touch them.

"I can't believe you bought a bloody farm," I shook my head.

Paul shrugged, "Bought it back in sixty-six to protect my money from the taxman."

"The taxman?" I asked, "Is that why George wrote the song?"

"The song kinda inspired me. Linda's the one who had to idea to fix it up."

"How come you never told me?" I asked. 

Paul shrugged, "Seemed unimportant."

I glanced at Paul and chuckled. Really, the farm was amazing. It was situated right next to The Mull of Kintyre and was a large estate where Beatlemania couldn't follow. There, Paul and Linda had much-needed isolation as well as nature they so loved. As an added bonus, Linda was finally able to own a few horses. Sometimes I wonder which she liked more, Paul or horses. 

Paul and I sat on the wooden fence watching Linda, Heather, and Vera. One horse, a chestnut brown by the name of Lucy, trotted alongside Linda. The two children were giggling as they sat on top of the horse. Of course, Linda had her hands on them the entire time, her smile just as wide as theirs. 

It was a bit humid outside, but nothing we couldn't handle. Mid-summer in Scotland was sometimes hot and sometimes mild. The wind was blowing, making any bad heat fly down South. I sucked in a deep breath of flowers, grass, and fresh air.

"It is nice to be away from the city for awhile," I sighed.

Paul laughed, "You wouldn't know what to do without it."

"I'll have you know, I'm a nature girl," I giggled, "Mother Nature and I are good friends. She comes over for tea every so often and we have a grand time."

Paul flung his head back to laugh. We gained the attention of Linda who looked over and waved. Heather and Vera waved as well. Paul and I waved back. It felt nice to have my family together again, all we were missing was Da, Michael, Angela, and Ruth. My family, the people I loved with all my heart and soul, were all in one place and I couldn't be happier. Linda smiled at Vera as she told the girl how to hold the reins of a horse. 

Every time Paul looked at Linda, he became a completely different person. He became more at ease with himself and the world. In a way, he became free. With Linda, he became the boy he was before we ever joined The Quarrymen. I saw the Paul I had grown up with for the first time in years. He wasn't a Beatle, he wasn't the McCartney in Lennon-McCartney, he wasn't even a musician. He was simply Paul, he was himself for the first time in years. 

It took a very special person to give Paul that feeling. Linda took him away from being Beatle Paul and brought him back to being Paul McCartney, just an ordinary lad from Liverpool. She brought back the brother I knew and gave him a freedom he forgot he ever had. That is exactly what love is.

"Do you love her?" I asked.

Paul blinked back to consciousness and glanced at me, "I-what?"

"Do you love her?"

"Linda?"

"No, The Queen of England," I rolled my eyes, "Course Linda, who else?"

Paul glanced at the blonde and smiled. His eyes sparkled in a way only ever seen in cliche romance movies. Part of me expected the two of them to go galavanting off into the sunset like the cheesy couple they didn't believe they were.

"I do," Paul replied, "I've never felt love like this."

I smiled, "I can tell."

"You can?"

"Course, Paulie, I'm your sister. Whenever you look at Linda, you look free."

Paul smiled, "I feel free."

"And that, my dear brother, is exactly what love is."

Paul smiled, slinging an arm around my shoulders and giving me a side hug. I rested my arm along his back. The two of us watched Linda and the two kids ride around the pasture. Vera looked like she was having the time of her life, riding on a horse and singing with Heather.

"You know, Paulie, I'm your sister and Linda is practically mine," I said, "So, on that note, if you hurt her I'll cripple you."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Lia."

I grinned, "Only cause you know I'd win."

"Please. I could take you down in a heartbeat."

"Says the man who shrieks when he sees his own shadow."

"I was two!"

I cackled. Paul playfully pushed me away, nearly making me fall off the fence. I leaned back on my hands and smirked, "Linda is practically my sister."

"You said that."

"When is she going to be my actual sister?"

Had Paul been drinking something, he would have spat it out. He fell off the fence and landed of his feet, bending over to cough. Linda glanced over at him worriedly but I waved her off. He righted himself and glared at me with a cherry red face.

"Bloody hell, Lia," Paul coughed, "Almost gave me a heart attack, you did."

"Well?" I pressed on.

Paul shook his head, "It's a bit early, don't you think?"

"When have you ever cared about timing?"

"Touche," Paul replied, "I dunno, she just got out of a pretty rough marriage, think she'd be ready for another one?"

I leaned forward to where my head was level with his, "Paulie, if it's with you, I think she'd do anything at all."

Paul glanced back at Linda and smiled. He didn't have to say anything, I already knew. Soon enough, I'd be able to call Linda my sister. Nothing in the world could make me happier.

We watched as Linda climbed on behind Heather. She held the two children between her arms as she took a grip of the reins. They began to gallop around the pasture leaving giggles in their wake.

"I think we've finally found them, Lia," Paul grinned.

I glanced up at him, "Found who?"

"Our soulmates."

"Paulie, that's just a load of rubbish," I chuckled, "Old kids tales Mum used to tell us. Soulmates aren't real."

Paul glanced at me, "Explain Linda, then. And Jane. And Molly."

"We can find love without it being soulmates."

"But this is different. Linda is different."

I glanced at the woman in question and sighed, "She is, isn't she?"

Linda was a special soul, like nothing the world had ever seen. She was so down to Earth, and yet she didn't have a problem with being up in the stars as well. Everything about her was so natural, I don't think she could be fake if she tried. Even her smile was genuine. It held all the love and joy in the world, and she easily spread it every time she looked at her friends. 

"So is Jane," Paul looked up at me.

"She's different," I replied, "I love Molly with all my heart, but I love Jane just as much."

"And I love Linda more than I've ever loved anyone else. If that isn't proof of soulmates, I don't know what is."

I ruffled Paul's hair, "You always were a dreamer, Paulie."

"That's how the world goes round, Lia."

The two of us laughed. Paul hoisted himself back on the fence and grinned, "It is funny."

"What, you?"

"Bugger off," he playfully pushed my shoulder, "You and Jane. It's funny, you know?"

"It is?"

Paul nodded, "All those years, you pretended to flirt with her for the running joke of you stealing my girl. And, lo and behold-"

"I steal your girl," I smirked.

We both laughed. Our eyes followed the horse as she galloped along the pasture, taking three of the most important people in our lives along with her. Linda's smile was obvious even from across the field.

At that moment, everything seemed right. There was no band feuds, no pending record deals, and no sudden abandonment. All we had was each other and our steadily growing family. Soon enough, The McCartney family would expand beyond what any of us had expected. Sitting on that fence, I could see the future, and it was bright.


	199. Loneliness Doesn't Last

As I have learned, loneliness is a concept. For each person, it changes, varying upon them and their situation. For me, loneliness is isolation. Coming home to an empty house in an empty life in a half-full world is loneliness. For others, loneliness is being in a room full of people who love you but missing that one person.

"Do you ever brush your hair?" Jane asked.

I shrugged, "I always put it in the same hairstyle."

"It's all tangled."

"Comes with the braid."

Jane chuckled. She wove her fingers into my hair. Her touch was something I missed whenever she was gone and cherished whenever she was with me. With my head in her lap and her fingers in my hair, I swear, I was in heaven.

Vera was fast asleep, leaving Jane and I to ourselves. Originally, we had started to watch the telly, but it slowly faded into background noise. We were too wrapped up in each other to acknowledge the television in the corner.

When the person you love is gone more often than they're not, you begin to cherish every second spent with them as if it were pure gold. Jane was gone so much, every moment I was with her felt like a million years comprised into one minute. I never knew when she would be gone next, so, every second we spent together, I pulled out into years. 

Jane had just gotten home from her play tour the day before, and she had yet to step foot in her flat. She spent more time in mine than she ever did in her own. I loved every second she was with me and I would love to make them more.

"Janie, love, I was thinking," I glanced up at her and smiled.

She looked down at me, her fingers still tangled in my hair, "That's never a good thing."

"You wound me. Truly."

"Oh, come off it, I'm only joking," she kissed my forehead, "I love you and your thoughts."

"Alright, I won't call the divorce lawyer just yet."

Jane chuckled, "Good, I've grown a bit attached to you."

"And I love every second of it," I grinned, "Back to the matter at hand, I was thinking."

"About?"

"Will you move in with me?"

She was silent. I spun around to kneel in front of her, my enthusiasm growing. I grabbed her hands and scooted closer, "You spend so much time here already, why not make it official? Jane, I love you more than you can believe and I know we're meant to last."

She stared at me. For a moment, I was actually afraid she would say no. I began to wonder if this relationship was really as two-sided as I thought it was. Just as I was preparing to blow it all off as a joke, Jane grinned. Her fingers wrapped around mine as she said, "I think that's a brilliant idea."

"You'll do it?"

"I'll do it!"

She lunged forward and fell into my lap. I pulled her to my chest and laughed, kissing the top of her head with a big smile. She squeezed my stomach.

"Asher-McCartney residence," I grinned, "I liked it."

Jane glanced up, "Why not McCartney-Asher?"

"It's alphabetical, my dear."

Jane giggled. She snuggled deeper to my chest, and I held her as if the world depended on it. Night had fallen but the brightness of that moment could bring day back again. The crippling loneliness I was so prone too was soon to be cured for good. 

***

"Bloody hell, Jane, you have so much shit!"

"Says the natural born hoarder."

Our living room was filled with boxes all from the flat across the hall. Jane's stuff littered the room, all searching for somewhere to belong. She had costumes, records, books, magazines, films, etc. Jane liked to collect things. What things, she was never specific, she just collected.

I set to combining our record collections. With that came a multitude of duplicates, especially when it came to The Beatles and Revolution. Jane had every Beatles and Revolution record, as did I. I even had the singles, the special releases, and some that technically didn't exist. With our collections combined, we had the ultimate record collection.

Vera sat inside of a cardboard box with a set of markers. She took the first box we emptied and set to making it her spaceship. She had more color on her than she did on the box, but she was having fun and that was all that mattered. Her smile was worth the fight we would have over a bath later. If there was one thing Vera hated in this world, it was taking a bath. 

Just as I was going through the records and Jane was taking a batch of clothes upstairs, the doorbell rang. I sighed and dropped the records back in the box. Vera flung her head up and asked, "Who is it?"

"I dunno, Junior," I shrugged, "Probably one of your uncles."

Vera cocked her head. She scrambled out of the box to follow me towards the door. Whenever I opened it, I had a multicolored toddler gripping my pants leg.

"You look like shit," John commented.

I rolled my eyes, "I've been moving boxes all day."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Do I ever sleep?"

"Got me there," he laughed.

Vera rushed forward to hug his legs, "Uncle Johnny!"

"'Ello, kiddo," John ruffled her hair, "Thought I'd pop by and pay the newlyweds a visit."

I rolled my eyes, "Come ed, no use standing in the hall."

John laughed. He stepped inside, his hair swishing as he did. He had steadily been growing it out all year and it had only just reached his shoulders. I thought he looked better with long hair than he did short. It completed the look he never knew he had. That with his round glasses started the classic John Lennon look.

The iconic picture of John Lennon was him with his long hair and round, wire-framed, glasses. Whenever anybody saw that image, they knew they were looking at John. That's how everybody identified him, except those who knew him best. I had known him through his teddy boy hair, the famous mop-top era, and even the Sgt. Pepper days with those mustaches. How he looked didn't matter, it was how he smiled. He cheeky grin that held just as much sincerity as it did mischievousness was all that came to mind when I thought of John Lennon. That grin never changed, no matter what his hair looked like or who was standing next to him, he still had the same smile I knew for the majority of my life. 

"Moving's going well then?" John asked.

I nodded, "Turns out Jane has just as much shit as I do."

"Ah, then you're perfect for each other. A hoarder to complete a hoarder."

"As much as I want to argue with you, I've got nothing."

John laughed and slung an arm around my shoulders. I chuckled and crossed my arms. Jane came back down the stairs moments later. She noticed John midway and paused.

"John, what a pleasant surprise," Jane smiled.

John grinned, "Always a pleasure to see you, Jane."

"Don't go flirtin' with my girl, Lennon," I winked at both him and Jane.

Jane almost began to howl in laughter. Neither of us ever forgot how Jane and I came together. If anything, Paul wouldn't let us forget. He constantly brought up the fact that I had been flirting with Jane since '63 and none of us realized there was sincerity to it. John simply chuckled, "Wouldn't think of it. I've got one of my own."

Somehow, I knew he wasn't talking about Cynthia. My smile instantly fell, though I tried to bring it back again. I tried to tell myself all I cared about was John's happiness, but I couldn't erase the fact that Cynthia was my mate too. I'd known her almost as long as I knew John, almost. Jane cleared her throat, "I'll just continue unpacking, then."

"Care for a cuppa?" I asked.

"Love one," John replied, "Got any honey?"

"Course, can't have tea without honey."

John nodded. He followed me into the kitchen where I grabbed three mugs. As I set the kettle to boil, he sat at the island. He leaned his head on his hands and smiled at me, "Mel, can I ask you somethin'?"

"Course, Johnny boy, anything you like," I replied.

"What do you think of Yoko?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. I thought a lot about Yoko, some good and some bad. Some of it I would never tell John, they were deep-seated opinions I picked up from others that would, eventually, go away. In all honesty, I hadn't spent enough time with Yoko to think anything of her. We had only ever been in the same room twice, and only once did I get the chance to speak to her. 

"I think she's alright," I replied, "She's smart. She's pretty. She's artistic."

John nodded, "I think she's simply brilliant."

"Why ask me, then?"

"Paul, George, and Ringo don't like her," John answered, "They've got the wrong idea of her, and they won't look further. If they'd take time to get to know her, they'd see she's an amazing woman."

I cocked my head, "What makes you think they don't like her?"

Really, I knew exactly why. Paul never missed an opportunity to go off on his feelings about Yoko. He tried his best to convince me he disliked her, but really, he was jealous of her. Even a blind man could see that. Ringo and George had let it slip despite trying to remain neutral. I knew three different points of view and none of them were my own. 

"Paul's told me he doesn't like her. George too," John explained.

I crossed my arms, "Did they tell you why?"

"Course not, when have they ever? They told me after a recording session."

"And was Yoko there?"

"Course she was."

"There's your problem."

John lifted an eyebrow, "What're you gettin' at?"

"Maybe it's not Yoko the lads don't like, but the fact that she's always there," I placed my hands on the island, "You've all had a long-standing rule: no wives or girlfriends in the studio. Hell, even I only visit you lads on special occasions. You're breaking that rule by bringing Yoko in."

John frowned deeply. He didn't like what he was hearing, but he was hearing the truth. Perhaps, given time, the lads would have grown to like Yoko. If she wasn't thrust directly into their atmosphere day after day, then maybe they would have liked her. However, with her being at the studio every time they record, it was only natural for the other three Beatles to become upset.

"Rubbish," John snorted, "Linda, Pattie, and Maureen visit all the bloody time."

I snapped my fingers, "Visit. That's the keyword. They visit for a few minutes, maybe an hour or two, but they don't stay. They're not there for each and every recording session like Yoko is."

John scoffed, "And here I thought you'd be on my side."

"Mate, I'm always on your side," I replied, "But, sometimes, even you're in the wrong."

"Not this time. Yoko is a godsend, I tell you, the lads just have to see. One day, they'll love her as much as I do."

I leaned back and crossed my arms, "Really now?"

"Yeah," John replied, "She's a saint, Mel, really. She's shown me things I never thought I could see. Before I met her, I was never loved. Nobody ever loved me. Yoko does."

I gazed at him, "What about Cynthia, then?"

John fell silent. His entire face fell slack at the mere mention of his wife. I leaned forward on my elbows and looked him dead in the eye, "John, you're my mate, always have been and always will be. All I want is for you to be happy, but not at the expense of others. You like Yoko and all, yeah, but you can't forget about Cynthia."

John refused to meet my gaze. His hands were oddly more interesting than the person in front of him. As the kettle began to scream, John stood, "I think I ought to leave."

"But the tea's ready," I replied, already pouring the cups.

"Thanks, Mel, but I've got some business that needs attending to," John tipped his head, "Next time."

"Bye."

With that, John hurried out of the flat. Jane came around the corner with a confused look, "He didn't want to stay for tea?"

"Nah, I pissed him off," I replied.

"How?"

"I didn't agree with him."

She took her tea and shook her head, "Classic John."


	200. Hey, Guys, I'm Really Trying

Shows at The Sycamore Club had become better than our recording sessions. During our shows, all we did was play. We couldn't argue, we couldn't glare, all we could do was play and act like we loved each other. From the moment we step on the stage to the moment we step off, it seemed as if we could actually be a real band. We could make anyone believe we actually loved each other when, as soon as we stepped off the stage, Tabitha and I were at each other's throats.

Tensions were high, mostly because of Tabitha and me. Linda was constantly playing peacekeeper and I could see how it was getting on her nerves. Minerva was always being thrown into panic attacks because of our fighting, but we still couldn't stop. Tabitha and I couldn't stand being in the same room as each other let alone the same band. Yet, we persisted. For the sake of the band and the sake of our sanity's, we persisted.

"I'm bloody knackered," I said as soon as we slipped into the back of the cab.

Linda yawned, "It's not even dark yet."

That day, we had the afternoon show. We should be wide awake, but playing took a lot of energy out of a person. Especially when they were playing under the conditions we were. Just being near Tabitha seemed to suck the life out of me. She was an emotional vampire, and I'm sure she saw me in the same light. 

"Doesn't have to be dark for us to be tired," I replied, "Playing live shows is bloody exhausting."

"Especially when you get backstage and start yelling at each other," Linda gazed at me pointedly.

I sighed, "This time, you have to admit, Tabitha started it."

"You didn't have to carry it on."

"I'm not lettin' her get one up on me that easily."

Tabitha and I were alike in many ways, including our stubborness. Neither of us could win when we were equally as stubborn. We could stay neck-to-neck until someone came to tear us apart. Unfortunately, that person usually ended up being Linda. 

Linda shook her head, "If we're ever going to get anything done, you and Tabitha need to stop your incessant fighting."

"We've got stuff done," I replied, "We've got a whole album, don't we?"

"Only one. We could have had two."

I frowned, "Always got to prove me wrong, don't you, Lindy?"

"It's my job."

I chuckled. The cab pulled up to the house on Cavendish Avenue. A few Beatles fans were waiting outside of the gates, but it wasn't the swarm it usually was. Linda glanced at the crowd and sighed, "Perks of dating a Beatle."

"Eh, you get used to it," I replied, "Soon enough, you'll see this as just another day."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

We bid farewell and she slipped out of the car. I watched her bolt to the gate and rush inside before any of the fans could lay a hand on her. When they realized Linda was out of bounds, they turned on the cab. They saw my face in the window and began to scream.

"Go!" I shouted.

The cabbie took off. We sped down the street and away from the crazy fans. Once they were out of sight, I slid down in my seat and sighed.

As soon as we pulled up to my building, I paid the cabbie and went inside. All I wanted was to sit on the couch with a nice cup of tea, Jane, and Vera. Perhaps we could watch a movie or play a game. All I wanted was to relax and forget the rest of the world existed for awhile.

When I made it up to my flat, however, that all changed. I stepped inside and told the babysitter hello. She left instantly, having been called home for a family emergency. That left me with the napping Vera. As soon as the door shut on the babysitter, the phone rang.

"Asher-McCartney residence, McCartney speaking," I answered.

"Lia, what are you doing?"

I lifted an eyebrow, "Just got home from a show."

"We need your help," Paul replied, "Can you come down to the studio?"

I rubbed my temples, "Is it the flute again?"

"No, we need you to dub in the drumming."

I froze. Paul had called me in for many favors, most of them involving the flute, but never the drums. I never expected to be called into dub in drumming, not when they had Ringo. The only time I had ever played stand in for Ringo was when he had collapsed on tour. Surely they didn't need that now. Being a studio band, they could wait until he was better.

"What the-why?" I asked, "What happened to Ringo?"

Paul sighed, "He walked out on us. Come on, Lia, we've got a deadline to meet."

"Wait just a bloody minute, Ringo walked out on you?"

"Aren't you listening? He walked out. He quit."

"He quit The Beatles?!"

"Yes! Christ, Lia, will you just listen?"

It took a moment for me to get over my shock. Ringo was so easy going, he rolled with whatever was thrown at him and did it with a smile on his face. Of all The Beatles I expected to walk out, Ringo was the last on the list. He was the sort who would play peacekeeper rather than walk out. Whenever The Beatles broke up, I was sure he would be the last one standing, until he was the first to walk out.

"Why'd he leave?" I asked.

"I dunno, he's Ringo," Paul replied, "He got pissed or somethin', I dunno."

"How can you not know? Ringo is Ringo, it takes a lot to make him angry!"

"I dunno, Lia! Will you dub in the drumming or not?"

I frowned, "Not if I'm replacing Ringo."

"He'll be back eventually."

"Are you sure?"

"Course, he's Ringo."

"And he walked out on you," I replied, "That's a very un-Ringo thing to do."

Paul sighed, "I don't know, Lia. He could come back tomorrow or never, I don't know. The point is, we have a deadline to meet and we need you to dub in the drumming."

"No."

"What-Lia, come on," Paul pleaded, "We've got to meet the deadline."

"Meet it yourselves, then. I'm gonna check on Ringo."

I slapped the phone onto the receiver and groaned. It was inevitable, someone was going to walk out. Tensions were high amongst The Beatles, I expected this exact sort of thing. I expected John or George to walk out, not Ringo. Never did I expect Ringo. He was the happy one, the one who could lift others up when they were feeling down. Then again, those who lift others often can't lift themselves.

Just as I was about to call Ringo's house, there was a knock on my door. I groaned and dropped the phone, shuffling over to open it. Part of me expected Paul, John, or George, but, instead, I was met with the exact lad I was about to call.

"Ringo!" I exclaimed, "Christ, lad, are you alright? What happened?"

Ringo looked nothing like Ringo. His face was dark, every feature was pointed toward the ground instead of the sky. A deep frown had set in and taken over his usual cheerful grin. His eyes were glazed over like he was feeling so many emotions at once, he didn't know what he felt, so he felt nothing. By the red in the tips of his ears, I knew at least one thing he felt was fury.

"I'm bloody pissed is what I am. Fucking hell!" Ringo exclaimed.

He pushed past me and stormed into the house, his fists clenched and his jaw set. I quickly shut the door and followed him. As he began to pace, I stood and watched him, "What happened, mate?"

"John and Paul's egos are what happened," Ringo replied, "They've got heads bigger than their hats."

I ignored his Ringoism and stuck to the matter at hand, "We've known this."

"I'm bloody sick of it! They don't appreciate me, it's like I'm not even there. Hell, half the time I'm not. They don't call me in cause they don't need me. Paul redid half my drummin' anyways, they're better off now that I've quit."

I stepped forward and grabbed his shoulders, "Mate, listen, they need you more than any of you realize. Paul and John are gits, they always have been, they'll see through it and they'll call you back. They need you."

Ringo stared at the floor with his eyebrows knitted. All of a sudden, he flung his head up and met my eyes. His face had brightened just a little, "Let's get away."

"What?"

"Do you remember our London trip in 1963?" Ringo asked.

I nodded, "One of my fondest memories."

"We did that to get away. Let's do it again, yeah?"

"Where are we going to go?"

"Didn't you hear?" Ringo gripped my elbows, "Away."

***

It was nice to get away. To get away from Beatles and Storms, gigs and contracts, music and appearances. It was good to get away from being us, and the only way to do that was to find somewhere so secluded, no one would be able to find us.

The solution was found aboard Peter Seller's yacht. He had loaned it to us for two weeks, though I had no intentions of staying that long. I had left Vera with Jane, and I wanted to get back to them. Jane had reassured me she was okay with me leaving, but I still felt bad for leaving her.

I remembered Ringo and my trip to London fondly, just as I would remember our trip aboard the yacht. My times with Ringo were always filled with happiness. He had an uncanny ability to make those around him happy even when he was feeling horrible inside.

"In the shade," Ringo hummed.

I glanced up, "What's that?"

"Just a song."

"What song?"

"Dunno, it's stuck in my head."

I cocked an eyebrow, "Is it a real song?"

"Gotta be. It has a beat and everything."

"Obviously but," I shrugged, "Is it published?"

Ringo shrugged, "Probably."

"Sing it for me."

Ringo glanced at me and shrugged for the second time. He began to hum a melody that sounded familiar and yet so unfamiliar it was something new. I listened intently for any note that might give me a clue.

"I'd like to be, under the sea," Ringo sang, "In an octopus's garden, in the shade."

I grinned, "Ringo, my friend, I've never heard that song in my life."

"What's that mean?"

"I think you wrote it."

Ringo cocked his head, "I've written a lot of songs. Doesn't sound like any of mine."

"Cause it's new. Write it down, mate, it's good."

Ringo shrugged. He retreated inside of the yacht and grabbed a pencil and paper. Whenever he returned, he sat on his chair and began to write it down. I gazed over his shoulder as he wrote. Each word came out just as quickly as the next, like a waterfall. He didn't hesitate, he didn't pause. It seemed as if he had had this song in his head for a long time, but was only just realizing it's potential.

"I think it's octopi, mate," I said.

Ringo frowned, "In an octopi garden. Doesn't sound right."

"Another Ringoism for the win."

Ringo laughed. He finished writing the lyrics within ten minutes. Once he was done, he had an entire song including the melody and the guitar solo. He held it up and grinned, "Think they'll record it?"

"They've gotta," I replied, leaning on his shoulder, "Even John and Paul have to recognize a bloody good song."

Ringo beamed. He folded the paper and stuffed it in his bag. As he did, I pulled out my camera and took a photo of him. When he spun around, he grinned, "Didja get my good side?"

"They're all good sides."

"Mel, you flatter me."

I laughed. Waves were lapping at the side of the yacht and fish jumped around. I abandoned my deck chair to lean across the side of the boat and run my hand through the water. Ringo was quick to join me. The two of us felt the waves run through our hands and the railing of the boat jab into our ribs.

"Are you gonna go back?" I asked.

"I s'pose," Ringo sighed, "Think I was always gonna go back, just didn't realize it at first."

I frowned, "Would you really leave The Beatles?"

Ringo thought about that for a moment. It was a heavy question. For the past six years, The Beatles had been his life. He was a Beatle, he lived with Beatles, he worked with Beatles, everything he did he did as a Beatle. Leaving that life would be like dying and being reborn again.

"I don't know," Ringo finally answered, "I don't want to, not really, at least. They're my brothers and I don't want to leave them."

"But even brothers have limits," I finished.

Ringo nodded, "I think-I dunno- I don't think I'll have a choice soon enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Either I'll be forced to stay or I'll be forced to go. Simple as that."

I frowned. It didn't seem plausible. Even with all of the evidence right in front of me, I could never imagine The Beatles breaking up. They were brothers, the closest brothers I had ever seen. I don't think they could live without each other, now or ever. The Beatles breakup didn't seem like an assured future to me.

"I miss the good old days," Ringo cracked a smile, "Back when we were touring. We hated it but we had fun, just because we were together."

I grinned, "I miss it too, mate, I miss it too."

"Do you think we could get back there?" he asked.

"Anything's possible, I s'pose. Just-something's aren't probable."

Ringo gazed at the water and sighed, "That's what I was afraid of."

For a moment, the two of us stared at the water. We watched it build up into a tiny wave and disappear. That's how life was, really. It builds up into something large or small, only to come crashing down and vanish in the fraction of a second. Even the greatest things come to an end, The Beatles stood to prove it. The end was in sight, but none of us were willing to meet it.

"Well, Ringo, you have a decision to make," I rocked back on my heels.

Really, I was desperate for a change of subject. Talking about this made me want to cry. I couldn't imagine a world without The Beatles. A world where I could walk down the street and see all four of my greatest friends having a wonderful time. I couldn't imagine a life without John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Most of all, I couldn't imagine a life with John, Paul, George, or Ringo.

"What's that?" Ringo asked, turning to look at me.

"We've been on this lovely boat for a week now," I replied, "I think it's time to answer the age old question, will you stay or will you go?"

Ringo cocked an eyebrow, "You're loosin' me, Mel."

"Are you gonna go back and be a Beatle or is this really the end?"

For a moment, Ringo only gazed at me. Eventually, he cracked a smile, "Honestly, I thought you knew me better by now."

"Trust me, mate, I do, I just wanted to hear you say that."

He sat up straight, "I think it's time to go home."

"Back to The Beatles?"

"Back to The Beatles."


	201. Face It, You're Old

I still couldn't quite grasp the idea of my little brother getting married. Every time I looked at Michael, all I could see was that little boy who hated wearing diapers. The boy who would rather fling his food at his siblings than eat it. He was the little boy I had watch go from diapers to walking and, finally, to getting married.

"It seems like just yesterday he was toddling around," I huffed.

Paul lifted an eyebrow, "How can you remember that? You were two."

"I happen to have an excellent memory, Paul."

"You barely remember what you had for breakfast, let alone what happened when you were two."

I pointed at him, "Alright, you cheeky shit."

Paul laughed and slung an arm around my shoulders. The two of us were in the hall of the church, waiting for the bride and groom. Paul was Michael's best man while I was simply a bridesmaid. Vera was the flower girl, and she looked absolutely adorable in her lilac dress. What made it even better was how many times she had taken it off and cried whenever I put it back on. She might not be blood related to me, but you would never know based on her actions. She was a drummer at heart, a rebel skin-deep, and a all-around insomniac. 

"The point is, Mikey's gettin' married," I sighed, "And we're gettin' old."

Paul shook his head, "You're one to talk. I'm older than the lot of you."

"I'm old but you're ancient."

"That just makes me wiser."

I rolled my eyes, making him laugh. A few moments later, Michael stepped out. His black suit was perfectly ironed, not a single wrinkle was in sight. A pink flower stuck out of his buttonhole. Despite his perfect suit, his tie was a wreck. It was stuck out in all directions and tied crookedly. Even his hair was combed in the opposite direction than it should be.

"Christ, Mikey, did Da not teach you how to tie a tie?" Paul asked.

He stepped forward and began to fiddle with Michael's tie. Michael wrung his hands together, "I'm too nervous to tie it right."

"You were alright a few minutes ago," I commented, "What got you strung up now?"

Michael gulped, "I'm getting married in fifteen minutes."

"You're just now realizing this?"

"Lia, not helping," Paul replied, "Mikey, gettin' married is nothin' to be afraid of. It's going to be brilliant, you know."

Michael frowned, "What if I trip? What if I stutter? What if this is all a mistake?"

"It's not a mistake," I argued, "You love her, don'tcha?"

"Course."

"Then, it's not a mistake."

"As for you," Paul continued, "You never trip over your words, Mikey. You'll be the greatest groom in all of Liverpool."

"You're obligated to say that," Michael replied.

Paul smiled, "Am I?"

"You're my brother and my best man, course you are."

"Well, I'm neither, and I say you are the greatest, Mikey, you'll do great," I patted his shoulder.

He glanced at me, "You're my sister, you're-"

"Bloody hell, will you take the compliment?"

Michael shut his mouth and nodded. Paul laughed, grabbing Michael's shoulders, "Mikey, listen. What's got you tied up is not the getting married part, it's the wedding. It's like stage anxiety, you know? Just gotta picture the audience in their knickers and you'll be alright."

"Kinda difficult when he's related to half of them," I replied.

"Bugger off, Lia."

I giggled. Michael cracked a smile, his hands slowly stopping their shaking. That all changed when the door to the church opened and Dad appeared. He walked in with a proud smile I once thought I would never see. When he looked at his youngest child, the first to be married, every wrinkle on his face shone with pure pride. I could already see tears waiting for the perfect moment to fall. He would be the first to cry, I'm sure of it. If not him, then Mikey. 

"Ready, Michael?" Dad asked.

Michael wrung his hands together, "I s'pose so."

"Don't worry," Dad placed his hands on Michael's shoulders, "Just picture the audience in their knickers."

"That's what we said," Paul added.

Dad smiled, "Getting married is a wonderful experience. The nerves are just a part of it."

"Thanks, Da," Michael grinned.

"Come on. Let's not keep them waiting."

When Michael spun around, Dad turned to wink at us. Paul and I grinned, watching them step out of the door and into the church. As the doors swung open, we could see the long lines of people. On one side was The McCartney clan and all their friends. On the other was Angela's family. Both sides looked just as excited and just as nervous. A few people even cried.

"Think Mikey'll cry?" I asked.

Paul snorted, "There's no doubt."

The rest of the wedding party stepped out moments later. Vera came out holding Angela's hand. She had been determined to watch Angela get ready. I stepped up and grinned, "You look lovely, Angela."

"Thanks," Angela blushed.

Her dress wasn't anything spectacular. It barely fell below her knees. Really, it was more like a mini skirt than a dress. Her veil barely touched her shoulders and her sleeves were filled with so many holes, they were practically non-existent. The lace sleeves only added to the beauty, and the pearls in her hair made her look like a natural born princess.

"After this day, you'll be a McCartney and I can call you my sister," I grinned, "Can't tell you how happy that makes me."

Angela blushed harder. Paul came up behind me and smirked, "Don't go scaring her off, Lia."

"I'm not. I'm just sayin' it's about time we had another girl in the family. The testosterone is almost overwhelming."

Paul rolled his eyes and playfully shoved my shoulder. I chuckled just as we were called to our spots. Paul took the arm of the maid of honor and stood just in front of Angela and her Dad. I grabbed Vera's hand and led her to the front of the procession where a little boy waited.

"Alright, Junior, you ready to play flower girl?" I asked.

Vera gripped my hand, "I wanna go out with you."

"Don't worry, we won't be apart for long," I smiled, "I'll come just behind you."

"I'm scared."

I ruffled her hair, "There's nothing to be afraid of. You'll step out of those doors looking like the princess everyone knows you are. Just remember to drop the flowers."

"Where will you be?" she asked, her lip trembling.

I pointed to the back, "Just behind you. If it makes you feel any better, Uncle Mikey is waiting outside."

"He is?"

"And so is Grandda."

Vera's face brightened. The prospect of going to family members eased her anxiety. I kissed her forehead and said, "You'll do great, Junior."

Vera nodded. I left her to stand by the ring bearer and found my place. The groomsman I was supposed to walk in with was one of Michael's childhood friends. He and I knew each other fairly well, we had practically grown up with each other. We stood in front of Paul and the maid of honor.

"Don't trip," I whispered, glancing over my shoulder at my brother.

Paul rolled his eyes, "If either of us will trip, it'll be you."

"Says the lad who tripped on stage."

"One time. Once."

I laughed. The doors to the church opened and the procession began. Vera and the ring bearer went out first. For a few steps, everything went alright. I watched as Vera delicately dropped the flowers. Even from the distance, I could see her tiny hands shaking. She glanced up at the altar and saw Dad standing with Michael. They smiled at her, but she didn't notice. As she passed the middle of the aisle, she saw Jane and Linda sitting at the end of the front pew. Her eyes locked on the redhead and she smiled. Halfway through the ceremony, she dumped the entirety of her basket onto the ground, dropped the basket, and rushed to Jane. She practically collided with Jane as the entire crowd laughed. I didn't have to get closer to see she was crying.

"Oh, Junior," I sighed as we came closer to the altar.

Michael glanced at Vera with worry. Jane held up her thumb, telling both of us that Vera was alright. I glanced back to see Angela was laughing. Vera's little breakdown didn't mess up the wedding. The wedding was alright, but I was worried about Vera.

As the wedding party lined up along the altar, my eyes were locked on Vera. Jane had her cradled in her arms and was whispering in her ear. She wasn't crying anymore, but she didn't seem alright. I felt bad for making her do this. Jane caught my eyes and smiled, reassuring me that Vera was alright.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together Michael McCartney and Angela Fishwick in holy matrimony," the pastor said.

All of us stood as the vows were exchanged. Michael looked at Angela with the same look I saw Paul give Linda, or George give Pattie, or Ringo give Maureen. I'm sure I gave Jane the same look. It was a look of complete adoration, one which tied the two people together through a concept known as love.

"You may kiss the bride."

Michael was always one for dramatics. He grabbed Angela and dipped her. She was shocked at first but melted into the kiss. It lasted much longer than it should, causing me to clear my throat, "Alright, Mikey, save it for later."

Both Michael and Angela blushed whenever they stood back up. They grinned and began to rush down the aisle, waving at the crowds and laughing the entire way. Everybody threw rice and a few matchboxes. As soon as they were gone, it was time to move onto the reception.

"Oh, Junior, I'm sorry," I said as I sat next to Jane and Vera.

Linda had already gone to find Paul, nodding at me as she did so. Vera crawled into my lap. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. Jane rested a hand on her back, "She didn't like having all eyes on her."

"That's odd," I grinned, "You always captivate the attention of everyone, Vera."

"I got scared," she mumbled.

I kissed the top of her head, "It's alright, junior, everybody gets scared once in a while. Comes with being human."

"You're not angry?"

"Why would I be angry?"

Vera played with her fingers, "I was s'posed to go to Uncle Mikey, but I didn't."

"Did anybody get hurt?"

"No."

"Then, there's no reason to be angry."

Vera giggled. She buried her face in my neck, all smiles. Jane chuckled, "You always were good at making others see the bright side."

"Janie, love, my philosophy is there's always a bright side if you look hard enough."

Jane chuckled. The three of us began to make our way over to the reception building. Most of the wedding guests had already arrived along with the entire wedding party. Paul was sitting at the wedding party table with Linda by his side. Linda waved us over.

"You alright, Vera?" Linda asked.

Vera nodded, "I got scared."

"I didn't know little bees could get scared," Paul grinned, "I thought they have more courage than a lion!"

He poked Vera's stomach causing her to giggle. She shoved him off, "Even bees gotta be scared sometimes, Uncle Paulie."

"Right you are, little bee."

Vera giggled. She crawled up into Linda's lap as Jane and I sat next to them. I tugged at the bottom of my dress and huffed, "Can't wait to get this off."

"The reception hasn't even started yet," Jane replied.

"I still can't bloody wait."

Jane chuckled. Food was served and we all dug in. I didn't care much for fish usually, but Michael adored it. He was a natural born Liverpudlian if I ever did see one.

After food, it was time for the cake. We all watched as Angela and Michael cut the first slice. They held up the plate and grinned. Angela looked at Michael mischievously before shoving his face in the cake. All of us laughed.

"Oh, she'll fit in quite nicely," I commented.

Paul grinned, "Did we have any doubts?"


	202. Life Is Very Short

Performances never made me as exhausted as the ones at the club did. Even when we were on tour, playing in a different city every day in front of screaming fans, I was never so tired I felt like I might black out. Playing with Storms Over London, however, was twice as exhausting as playing with Revolution was. All of my energy was put into trying to maintain a calm reflection whenever Tabitha was doing her best to get a rise out of me. It was exhausting to smile whenever all you wanted to do was scream. 

Any other time, I would have screamed. I would have let my emotions get the better of me and I would have let Tabitha have it. This time, however, I kept myself under control. I did it, not so much for myself or for the band, as I did it for Linda. 

She was at her wits end with us. She and Ellen were the only two capable of stopping Tabitha and my arguments, but Ellen wasn't always around. That left Linda. She was the sort of person who could remain calm when faced with a tornado, but we were getting to her. Any day now, I expected her to start screaming with us or, my biggest fear, her to quit. So, for Linda's sanity, I kept my mouth shut. 

It was exhausting, truly. I felt like I was going to explode during every session and pass out after the rest. Luckily, Jane was home for the time being. Things got infinitely better whenever I got home to see her waiting for me. 

"Elly, if you don't do something, you're gonna go gray early," Jane muttered. 

My head was in her lap as she was playing with my hair. I had just gotten back from one such show that made me feel like I was going to either explode or implode, depending on the moment. 

"Look closer," I mumbled, "I'm probably already gray."

Jane chuckled, "Not quite."

"Might as well be. Tabitha's killing me, Janey."

"You have to do something before she actually does," Jane added. 

"There are only two options," I rolled over to where I could look up at her, "Either we find a middle ground, which is impossible, or we go our separate ways."

Jane furrowed her brows, "If you went your separate ways, that would mean-"

"Exactly, the end."

A musician's greatest fear was their last day. The last day their music meant anything to anyone or the last day their band was standing. Music had been my life since 1957, and I wasn't about to give it up now. To break away from Tabitha was to break away from the band, and I was not yet willing to let it go. 

"I know what you need," Jane suddenly exclaimed, "Hang on."

She gently pushed me off before hurrying to the front hall. I cocked my head. When Jane got an idea in her head, her vision tunneled. All she could see was what she needed to do, and that was exactly what she was going to accomplish. I just had to wait until she was done. 

I could hear her dialing and hanging up several times. Her voice was muffled, making it to where I couldn't understand her. As she called whoever she was calling, I stretched out on the floor and moaned. Vera toddled over from where she was reading in the nearby armchair. 

"What's Janie doing?" Vera asked, leaning on my chest.

I wrapped an arm around her back, "Your guess is as good as mine, Junior."

"Maybe she's calling Uncle Beebles!"

"Maybe so," I chuckled, "It always seems to be them, doesn't it?"

Vera giggled and nodded. It always seemed to be the lads. John, Paul, George, and Ringo always seemed to be around every corner. Whenever I was unsure about something or having a bad day, there they would be whether they knew it or not. Even on happy days, where things couldn't seem to get better, there they would be to prove me wrong. 

Things weren't like they used to be, we didn't spend hours upon hours together like we once did, but we were still the same. We were still the same best friends as we were in 1964. Deep down, we never changed, even though everything else did. The world we built might be falling to pieces, but our friendship was always there. 

"Alright, get your stuff packed," Jane announced when she came back into the room.

Vera and I glanced up at her. I cocked my head, "And where are we going?"

"Simple," Jane grinned at me, "You, my dear, are in desperate need of a vacation, and I know just who to go with."

~~~

Being in the alps meant skiing down the pristine white snow. It meant ski lifts and faceplants, hot chocolate and warm cookies. For anyone else, it meant a frigid vacation unlike any other. For us, however, it meant being confined to the four walls of our log cabin.

"I can't believe we're in the bloody alps and we can't even go outside," I huffed.

Jane rested her chin on my shoulder, "At least we got some skiing in."

"Some."

We had only gotten a few hours that morning, and even that was cut short. The kids didn't like the cold very much so we were all headed back inside for a round of hot chocolates. As we sat and drank our drinks, however, a snowstorm blew in, effectively trapping us within the log cabin.

It wasn't so bad. George and Ringo had managed to get a large fire going, albeit it took a few tries. Ringo managed to light the end of his shirt on fire instead of the logs. George and I got into an argument over how to arrange the logs properly, we both were wrong and Maureen did it. In the end, we did have a roaring fire that warmed the entire cabin.

The place was rustic, it reminded me of the house my uncle had on the coast of The Loch in Scotland. The walls were logs decorated with various taxidermied animals and pelts. The chairs and couches were leather, and every article of furniture was made of the same wood as the house. Jane claimed it was her grandparents cabin, but I wasn't quite sure. She told me her grandparents had passed away a long time ago. 

"Oi! Mel," George called, "You game?"

He held up a deck of cards. I grinned, "I'll wipe the floor with you, Georgie."

"I've got my lucky knickers on, you know."

"I'm luckier than that, mate."

George laughed. I sat down at the small table in the corner. George sat at one end with Ringo on the other. I sat opposite the wall as George began to deal out the cards.

I glanced behind me to check on Vera. She, Jason, and Zak were all sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace playing with their toys. They seemed to be having more fun doing that than they did skiing, which didn't surprise me. Vera was the sort of child who would choose to stay home and playing with her toys over an adventure any day. Plus, she didn't like the cold, and you couldn't get much colder than the alps.

Pattie and Maureen were sitting on the couch watching the children. Pattie's eyes were filled with a wistful dreaminess, almost as if she were watching our children and wishing they were her own. It was a wonder she and George hadn't had kids yet. If there was a reason why they kept it to themselves.

"Bloody hell," George dropped his cards, "I fold."

I sighed, "Me too. Bloody hell, mate, you got your lucky rings or somethin'?"

Ringo cackled and pulled all of the poker chips to him. It was our fourth game and he had won already. Maureen came up behind him and crossed her arms over his shoulder, "They're all his lucky rings."

"Especially this one," Ringo pointed to his wedding ring.

George chuckled, "Always a sentimentalist."

"A big sap is more like it," I cheekily grinned.

Jane snorted, "Look who's talking."

Both George and Ringo belted out laughing. I glanced back at Jane and smirked, "Bugger off."

"You wouldn't know what to do without me."

"She's got that right, mate," George began to shuffle the cards, "Without her, you wouldn't have found your way out of London."

"For your information, Harrison, Linda drove us to the airport."

Ringo chuckled, "That explains it."

"You lads are one to talk, you can't find your way out of a cardboard box."

Everybody laughed at that. Maureen stood, straightening her dress and smiling at her husband, "I think it's about time for dinner."

"I'll help," Pattie stood and followed Maureen into the kitchen.

"I'm stayin' right here," I grinned, "Got to show these lads I'm still the pro."

George rolled his eyes, "Maybe in go fish."

"Bugger off."

As we started a new game, Jane came up behind me. She leaned on the edge of the chair and looked over my shoulder at my cards. Grimacing, she clucked her tongue, "That hand is a load of rubbish, El."

"Your girlfriend's givin' away all your secrets, Mel," Ringo grinned.

George winked at Jane, "Wonder who's side she's really on."

I sneered. My hand was a royal flush, but they didn't know that. Jane chuckled, "It's my policy not to pick sides."

"And here I thought you loved me," I frowned.

"Only when I feel like it."

The entire table burst into laughter. In the end, I won that round, but Ringo still won the entire set. He had won the most games, therefore winning the betting pool. George and I each had to pony up a few pounds to give to the cackling Ringo.

"Just you wait, mate, I'll make a comeback," I wiggled my finger at him.

Ringo chuckled, "Rubbish."

"You'll see."

Maureen appeared at the door. Zak jumped up and ran to her, latching to her leg and giggling. Moments later, Jason appeared on the other side, pushing his brother with one foot as if competing for their mother's affections. Maureen simply chuckled.

"No love for your Da, then?" Ringo asked.

Zak glanced at his father, "You were busy!"

"I'm not busy now."

Zak rushed over, leaving Maureen with Jason. Each parent picked up a kid and hugged them to their chest. Ringo spun Zak around, making the kid cackle and fling his fists around.

"Aren't you glad you don't have competition?" I asked Vera.

She grinned and nodded. I picked her up and placed her on my shoulders, and she giggled the entire way. Pattie appeared at the door to the dining room and chuckled, "Dinner has been served."

"And what a lovely dinner it is," George pecked her cheek.

Ringo kissed his wife as well, "And delicious."

"You haven't even taken a bite," Maureen smiled.

"Don't have to."

We all sat down at the long oak dining table. Maureen and Pattie had prepared a warm soup which all of us gratefully began to eat. It warmed us from the inside out when we didn't even realize we were cold.

I was sitting directly across from Pattie. Glancing up, my eyes met the glass eyes of a stuffed bear. It shocked me to the point where I nearly choked on a bean. Jane hit my back as I hacked.

"You alright, Mel?" Ringo asked.

I shook my head, "Christ, all these animals are gonna give me a bloody heart attack."

"They are a bit unnerving," Maureen admitted, "There's a tiger in our bedroom."

"How'd they get a tiger?" George wondered.

I groaned, "One thing's for sure."

"What?"

"After this vacation, I'm a vegetarian."


	203. Cupid Screwed Up

I've known John for eleven years, and I've known Cynthia for almost as long. The two of them went together like bread and butter, tea and honey, guitars and drums, and Beatles and Rebels. They weren't perfect, but the good ones never were. I went to their wedding and I saw the looks in their eyes whenever they looked at each other. I thought that John and Cynthia would be the couple that finally showed me that love does exist, and that it can prosper in the most unlikeliest of places.

I have never been so wrong.

I know they loved each other. Christ, Cynthia loved John with all her heart and I know for a fact John felt the same. It was difficult to get John Lennon to show his emotions, at least when he was young, and Cynthia did it with no problem. John and Cynthia were something, but they weren't the right something. They weren't the something that was built to last.

Just after Jane left for her play, I took to bathing Vera. She didn't enjoy baths as much as the usual kid. Even with bath toys, she couldn't wait to get out. I cleaned her and pulled her out, wrapping her in a fluffy towel and carrying her to her room.

"Alright, Junior, I'm trusting you to dress yourself," I set her on the ground.

Her eyes brightened, "Really?"

"Just make sure not to blind me, alright?"

"Okay!"

She pushed me out of the room and slammed the door. The sound of clothes hitting the ground and the mumbles of a toddler could be heard even in the hall. I chuckled and went to sit in the living room.

The house was quiet, except for the occasional slam from Vera's room followed by a laugh. I felt the odd need to leave the house and go somewhere, anywhere, that was away from the silence. Even a record couldn't help with that penetrating, lingering, silence.

When Vera came running down the stairs, I glanced up. She had her toy guitar slung across her back to where the neck was beating her legs. Once again, she wore her favorite sparkly Elvis outfit. The legs were covered in dirt and crayons, and the top had a large rip in the back, but she didn't care. That was her favorite outfit. So long as it made her happy, I wasn't going to stop her.

"Am I blinding you?" she asked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and spinning.

I covered my eyes, "My eyesight is gone forever! I'll never look at my Vera's beautiful face again!"

"Just uncover your eyes, Mummy."

I peered through my fingers and grinned, "There she is!"

She laughed as I swung her into my arms. I kissed her cheeks rapidly, making her giggle even harder. When I had her practically slung across my chest, I asked, "What do you think about going on a trip?"

"A trip?" Vera asked, "What kinda trip?"

"A visiting trip, of course. We'll go visit one of your uncle's, what do you say?"

"Yeah!"

I grinned. Paul and Linda were off in New York, presumably meeting Linda's family. Ringo was at home with Maureen catching up on some much-needed family time, and George had gone back to India with Pattie. That left only one, and he was the one I most wanted to visit.

"How about we visit your Uncle Johnny, hm?" I asked.

Vera grinned, "Let's visit Uncle Johnny!"

***

"Mel, what a surprise," John grinned.

I returned the grin, "I'm just full of surprises, Johnny Boy."

"Knew that well enough," John laughed, "Come ed, you'll catch cold standin' out in the snow like that."

I stepped through the door with Vera on my back. She waved at John, "Hiya, Uncle Johnny!"

"'Ello, Vera," John ruffled her hair, "I see your Mum dressed you again."

Vera pulled off her coat to expose her Elvis outfit. She puffed out her chest and beamed up at him. She was obviously quite proud of her outfit, even though it looked like something you might find on the floor of a Liverpudlian club. I rolled my eyes, "You and I both know I didn't choose that."

"You always did have a shitty sense of fashion."

"Better than you," I replied, "Need I remind you of that shirt?"

John lifted an eyebrow, "Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

John laughed, "S'pose not. At least I don't wear a bloody sweater vest."

"I swear, someday, I'm gonna burn those things."

John cackles echoed through the house. Ever since Paul wore his first sweater vest, we had a running joke just like the stick-on beards. One day, I'll burn the beards, sweater vests, and lime green suits. None of us had a good sense of fashion, although fashion in those days was a relative concept. I hung two coats on the coat rack as John and Vera walked deeper into the house. Glancing around, I asked, "Where's Cyn and Jules?"

"Gone to visit her Mum," John replied, refusing to look at me, "Say, Mel, I've got a guest over."

"Oh, need me to come back some other time?"

"No, I think-"

"John?"

Both of us turned to look at the door to the kitchen. There, wearing nothing but an almost see-through white dress, was Yoko Ono. As soon as the two of us connected eyes, the air turned cold. It wasn't so much filled with animosity as it was confusion.

When we first met, Yoko and I were indifferent. Over time, I became filled with the opinions of three stressed out lads and an infatuated John. They made it to where I couldn't form my own opinion of Yoko, or even have a chance to get to know her. Eventually, we grew to where we disliked each other, or were jealous, I don't know. Once we got older, however, things changed. Now I see Yoko for who she is but, back then, she was mysterious and that annoyed me.

Still, it wasn't hard to see that John cared for her. He cared for her so deeply that he would be put off by anyone who said anything against her, even his best mates. Because I cared for John, by default, I cared for Yoko. I did my best to act as kindly as possible to her, for John.

"Yoko, lovely to see you again," I smiled.

Whenever I spoke to Yoko, I felt like I was betraying Cynthia. John was practically cheating on her, though I wasn't sure if they had done the deed yet or not. It didn't matter anyway, you can cheat on someone in more ways than just sex. It was apparent to me that Yoko and Cynthia were both competing for the very same spot even if they didn't know it. Having known Cynthia for so long, I felt loyal to my friend, and talking to Yoko felt like a betrayal. Yet, I had to take into consideration which friend I was more loyal to; Cynthia or John. 

Yoko nodded, but her face remained placid, "Amelia, I was not aware that you were coming."

"Neither was I," John stepped forward to sling an arm around her shoulders, "Mel's just full of surprises."

"Ah, but you love me still."

John laughed. Yoko looked mildly annoyed, but she hid it well. Vera appeared behind my legs and waved. As soon as Yoko looked at her, she softened. She seemed to be kinder to children than adults, though I wonder if that was just the adults caught up in the situation.

"Hello, Vera," Yoko waved.

Vera waved back but she didn't say a single thing. John didn't notice Vera and my trepidation, though I wasn't sure if he chose to ignore it or if he was blinded by the supposed brilliance of Yoko. There is only one thing more dangerous than a man with a clear head; a man with blind ambitions. He smiled, "Yoko's over for the time Cyn's away. We've been workin' on some stuff, Mel, great stuff!"

"Brilliant stuff," Yoko added.

I lifted an eyebrow, "What kind of stuff?"

"Art," John replied, "Music. Yoko here has the greatest ideas. They're simply brilliant, I've never met anyone as intelligent as Yoko."

Yoko smiled. She took the compliments as if she was expecting them. John didn't usually go off on people like that, it made me somewhat uncomfortable. I was happy to see him so happy, but something put me off. Perhaps it was the way that John seemed to be under some sort of spell, or the way that Yoko's eyes bored into me like she was daring me to say otherwise.

"Always did fancy yourself an artist, didn't you, John?" I smiled.

John grinned, "If I wasn't a Beatle, I'd be an artist."

"Aren't you a bit of both?"

"He can't be both," Yoko cut in, "The Beatles are constraining him. His true talents can only flourish outside of the group."

I frowned, "Really? I always thought you excelled as a Beatle, John."

"Only in the mop-top image they think of me," John wrinkled his nose.

"You're not a mop-top anymore. You haven't been for a long time."

"They don't know that," John snapped his fingers, "They see us and they think we're still the ridiculous kids with the ridiculous matching haircuts singing yeah, yeah, yeah, and what other rubbish. We can't grow while we're Beatles."

Yoko nodded, "John can do so much more, but The Beatles are keeping him back. Especially Paul."

"Especially Paul?" I repeated.

"He does not allow John to do what John needs to do," Yoko replied, "He is keeping John from growing, all because he is jealous."

"Jealous, is he?"

"Yes. John is so much more talented than him, and he sees it, so he tries to keep John from growing."

John absorbed every word Yoko said without so much as an argument. I stood there, dumbfounded. John and Paul worked together as a team. They fostered each other's creative talents until they bloomed and grew larger than The Amazon rainforest. Without each other, they would have never made it this far, and they couldn't have made it any further. Paul wasn't holding John back, he was lifting him up and vice versa.

I took a deep breath. Every part of me wanted to defend my brother, but I bit my tongue. I was in John's house talking to John's love as John's friend. Anything I did would reflect badly on him and could cause a rift between us. As much as I wanted to defend my brother and defend The Beatles, I didn't want to anger my friend. So, I held my breath.

"Well," I did my best to keep my tone level, "I think I ought to be going. I've got to get to a recording session and Tabitha won't be happy if I'm late."

John knew me well enough to know when I was lying, especially since I was no good at it. We had spent enough time together where we could read each other like books. He could see my mixed feelings about Yoko, and how I didn't like what she was saying. As much as I tried to hide it, John knew, even if he didn't want to. John rolled his eyes, "Don't be offended, Mel, Yoko's just stating her opinion. It's nothin' against you."

"I'm not offended."

"You never care about pissing off Tabitha."

For a moment, I fell silent. Yoko and John both stared at me, waiting for an answer. He was right, of course, sometimes I showed up late specifically to spite Tabitha. Now, however, I was just looking for a way out.

"Fine," I spat, "It was great visiting, John, but I've got to go."

"Where?"

"The studio, I just said that."

John shook his head, "Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist."

"They're not, John," I replied, "Paul is my brother, and you are my friend. I've seen the two of you grow even if you don't realize it. You think Paul's holding you down, fine, think that, the rest of us know otherwise."

"But-"

"Goodbye, John, I'll see you later."

I lifted Vera into my arms and left the house, grabbing our coats on the way out. Vera shoved her coat on as we walked down the path. She glanced up at me and asked, "Are we gonna go to the studio, Mummy?"

"No, Vera, not today," I replied, "It's Sunday."

We never work on Sundays.

***

"Maybe Yoko really is a nice person, I just don't get a chance to know her," I said, "Christ, there's so much shit goin' on, I'd hate to be her and walk right into the middle of it. You can barely get to know yourself in this shitstorm."

To this day, I firmly believe Yoko Ono was not at fault for what happened. She simply was in the wrong place at the wrong time and added fuel to the fire. It wasn't her fault, despite the millions of people who said it was. It really wasn't anybody's fault, not even the lads. The cracks were there whether we liked it or not, Yoko just so happened to make them bigger. 

I set up my drum kit and huffed. Linda glanced over from her keyboard and said, "From what Paul tells me, she's not too nice."

"From the few times I've seen her, she isn't, but-I don't know. I haven't really gotten a chance to know her. Can't judge a book by the first few pages."

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "Says the girl who judges them by their covers."

"My New Year's resolution is to not judge books by their covers."

Linda chuckled. New Year's was still a few months away, but I was ready. 1968 had been a shitty year from the start and I was ready for a brighter year. Had I known where we were heading, I would have clung to 1968 with every muscle I had.

"It's odd talking to her," I sighed, "I feel like I'm betraying Cyn every time I so much as look at Yoko."

Linda met my eyes, "Amelia, you're not the one betraying Cynthia here."

We both fell silent. I glanced at the drums and took a deep breath, "Bloody hell."


	204. Ad Hoc, Ad Loc, and Quid Pro Quo!

The first Beatles movie was a hit, both with the fans and with the lads. They loved the movie and enjoyed making it. The second one wasn't as much of a hit, but it wasn't the worst. The fans loved it. John, Paul, George, and Ringo didn't have much fun filming it, but they liked the end product. Magical Mystery Tour was a complete flop on both sides. All three movies had their goods and their bads, but they were nothing compared to the first and last animated hit of The Beatles.

Nobody told me The Beatles were making an animated movie until one week before its release. Paul happened to casually mention the title when he was over for a visit. That was exactly when I found out about Yellow Submarine. It was the first Beatles movie without The Beatles. Instead, voice actors played The Beatles with the worst Liverpudlian accents I have ever heard.

"Since when were they making a cartoon?" Jane asked.

I trapped the phone between my shoulder and my cheek as I got ready, "Since a year ago, apparently. Nobody bothered to tell me."

"And here I thought you were their friend."

"I'm friends with a bunch of gits," I replied, "Can't even remember to tell me they're making a bloody cartoon."

I could hear Jane's head shaking, "There's been so much going on, I'm sure it just slipped their mind."

"Doesn't take much for that to happen."

I began to lace my boot under my dress pants. The premiere was in an hour, and Ellen was supposed to come by to pick Vera and I up. Linda and I would be the only members of Storms Over London to appear at this Beatles event. Tabitha was otherwise occupied, though I thought it was a load of rubbish, and Minerva was scared stiff of public appearances. It didn't matter, anyways. Linda and I weren't going as Storms Over London, we were going to support our friends. 

"You'll have to tell me about it tonight," Jane said.

I grinned, "I wish you could come too."

"Me too, but, duty calls."

She was on call in France for a play. I sighed deeply, but nodded, "That it does, and I couldn't be prouder, Janie, love."

"I'm chuffed."

"As am I."

The two of us laughed. Vera came bounding down the stairs in her dress coat and shiny shoes. Her hat was crooked and she still had some chocolate on the sides of her mouth. Otherwise, she was ready.

"Got to go, love. Ellen should be here," I said.

Jane sighed, "Alright. Talk to you later, then."

"Course. Love you."

"Love you too."

With that, we hung up. I placed the phone on the receiver and bent down in front of Vera, "Ready to go see a movie, Junior?"

"Yeah!"

The two of us hummed as we made our way to the lift and out onto the street. Ellen was waiting at the curb with a black car. When she saw me, she sighed, "Amelia, I thought we agreed on a dress."

"Only for band events, Elly," I replied.

"This is a band event."

"Not our band."

Ellen pinched the bridge of her nose, "Alright, fine, we're already late."

"Only late for being early."

Ellen shook her head. Vera and I slid into the car as she took the driver's seat. Ellen began to speed down the street at the exact speed the limit would allow.

We pulled up to the theater to see a crowd of people already gathering. Beatles fans and press alike surrounded the front doors of the theater vying for autographs and interviews. Cameras snapped in every direction and people were constantly shouting. Ellen, Vera, and I watched as Marianne Faithfull and Mick Jagger cooly walked through the crowds and into the theater.

"You don't have to stop for an interview," Ellen said, "Just smile and wave, answering any questions in passing."

I grinned, "Easy as pie."

"I wouldn't say pie."

"Cake, then."

Ellen chuckled. I opened the door of the car and stepped out with Vera on my hip. At first, nobody noticed me. When they did, the entire crowd roared. I waved at the press and fans all wanting to talk to someone bearing the McCartney name. Questions were thrown around and I did my best to give short and simple answers.

"What do you think of The Beatles making a cartoon?"

"It's gear."

"Where is your brother?"

"He'll be along shortly."

"Who is this little girl?"

"Vera."

Vera buried her face in my shoulder to keep the flashes out of her eyes. Ellen was just behind us, waving off the press and keeping a sharp eye on the fans. I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for Ellen Marie. She single handedly kept me from being killed or accidentally killing myself. She's a saint and I swear by that even to this day.

Inside the theater wasn't as bad. It was filled with famous faces and their entourage. All of The Rolling Stones were packed into a corner talking to The Who. Mick Jagger waved at me, earning a salute in return.

"Are the lads here yet?" I asked Ellen.

She frowned, "They're supposed to be."

"That doesn't mean they are. They don't have someone pulling them out of bed anymore."

Ellen sighed. She left me in a corner to go ask if The Beatles had arrived yet. Once she vanished into the crowd, the answer came in a round of screams from outside.

"I'd say they're here," I mumbled, a small smile crossing my lips.

Vera covered her ears, "They're loud."

"They are, you should have seen them during the first tour," I grinned, "I still hear them screaming."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's why I'm goin' deaf."

Vera giggled, "You're not going deaf."

"What's that, junior? I couldn't hear you."

Vera laughed even louder. The door to the theater opened revealing George, Pattie, Paul, and Linda. The four of them all jumped into the building in an effort to avoid the shrieking fans. When the door shut, they simultaneously breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's like '64 all over again," Paul mumbled.

George frowned, "I thought we left that behind."

"Apparently not, mate."

"It's about time you bloody showed," I grinned, waltzing over to them, "Late for your own party, a shame."

Paul rolled his eyes as George laughed. Linda smiled, "We wouldn't have been late if Paul would have gotten out of the bathroom sooner."

"Too busy putting on your makeup, Paulie?" I asked.

"Oh, bugger off," Paul rolled his eyes, "Linda, I thought you were on my side."

I flung an arm around her shoulders, "You forget, Paulie, she was my mate before she was your girl."

"I try not to take sides," Linda smiled.

"Bloody hell."

Vera transferred from my arms into Paul's. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder, "They're loud, Uncle Paulie."

"That they are, little bee," Paul grinned, "How's about we go into the theater?

"What about John and Ringo?" Pattie asked.

George shrugged, "They'll be along shortly."

We were interrupted by another round of screams from outside. All of us turned to the door and George broke into a grin, "See?"

"Bloody hell," John huffed whenever he, Cynthia, Ringo, and Maureen all pushed into the theater, "Thought those maniacs had given it a rest."

Paul chuckled, "They can't, mate, it's not in their nature."

"I'll show them something to put in their nature."

Everybody laughed, except for Cynthia. My eyes followed her as she walked across the theater lobby. She kept a distance between her and John, and her arms were tightly wrapped around her stomach. Nobody seemed to notice, though, except for Linda and me. Linda glanced at me and lifted an eyebrow. I shook my head. Stepping away from the crowd, I stood next to Cynthia, "You alright, Cyn?"

"Fine, Amelia," Cynthia didn't even look at me, "Just feeling a bit under the weather."

Something told me she was lying. I smiled slightly and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Need a drink of water? Some aspirin? I've only got baby aspirin, but I'm sure Lindy has somethin'."

"No, I'm alright."

She very clearly wasn't, but I wasn't going to press on. Both of us knew exactly what was wrong, and that wasn't the time nor place to talk about it. I squeezed her shoulder, "Alright. I'm always here when you need me, Cyn."

"Thanks, Amelia," she smiled the first genuine smile I'd seen in a long time.

"Lia, come on," Paul called, "We're goin' into the theater."

I jumped to stand slightly behind Linda and Paul. We all went into the theater as a group. Ellen appeared out of nowhere, trailing next to me and glancing around. We all had reserved seats at the front of the top layer. It was the perfect view.

"I still can't bloody believe you made a cartoon," I commented, sitting between Paul and Ellen.

Vera crawled over to my lap as Paul laughed, "Ah, but we only added the end scene."

"I'm shocked you lads were in it at all."

"We had better things to do," John leaned forward to grin, "Like keep up with you, you git."

"I am an adult, John, I keep up with myself."

"Really? I never noticed before."

I rolled my eyes, causing him to laugh. The theater lights dimmed. Vera curled closer to my chest, her eyes latched on the screen. Slowly, the movie began, and it all started in an unearthly paradise called Pepperland.

As with every Beatles movie, the soundtrack was the best part. They had recorded a few songs especially for the movie, but the others were old ones taken from Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper, and the like. The very first was none other than Yellow Submarine. This wasn't unexpected, it was the second song that threw me off.

I was glancing down at Vera to re-tie her shoe when the first note hit. Instantly, I knew what it was. I had spent hours listening to that song imagining a life that was before. That song was like a lifeline to me, connecting me to the past.

"Ah, look at all the lonely people," Paul's voice came over the speakers, "Ah, look at all the lonely people."

I glanced up at the screen to see a variety of images passing. Several people and some buildings that looked remarkably like Liverpool stood strong as the submarine flew through the skies. Paul glanced at me, his eyebrows knitting together as if worrying how I would react. I glanced at him and smiled, "My favorite song of them all."

Paul smiled as well, placing a hand on my shoulder. I glanced back at the screen. On it was two people. They passed within seconds, but the memory of them was burned into my mind.

Two girls stood in a doorway holding a fishbowl between them. They were smiling brighter than they had in a long time. One was a brunette with eyes remarkably like Paul's and the other was blonde with eyes bluer than the sky. They both wore striped shirts, black pants, and suspenders, the trademark clothes of Revolution.

Molly and I had appeared in the scene based around the song about us. They had perfectly captured Molly's smile and the sparkle in her eye, even when she didn't move. It was a still life that captured her essence better than any home movie I have. I couldn't believe it.

"Lia?" Paul whispered.

I glanced at him. Tears were filling my eyes and my muscles trembled. Paul's eyebrows came together as he squeezed my shoulder, "You alright?"

"Did you do that?" I asked.

"I asked them to," Paul replied, "Thought it was fitting."

I leaned forward to wrap my arms around his shoulders, doing my best to keep Vera on my lap. She looked at me weirdly but didn't question. Paul hugged me back.

"I loved it," I mumbled, "Thank you."

He squeezed me tighter, "She was my friend too. I don't want the world to forget her."

"Because of us, they won't."

Paul smiled. We pulled apart, with him making sure I was alright one last time. When we returned to our seats, I glanced at the screen and smiled.

So long as I was breathing, the memory of Molly Mackenzie would remain strong.


	205. Didn't See That Coming (Yes I Did)

"Would you come to dinner with Paul and me tonight?" Linda asked.

I grinned, "Good thing you asked, I was planning on just showing up."

"I had no doubts," Linda chuckled, "I've got something I want to talk to you about."

"Anything I should be worried about?"

"Not at all."

Her tiny smile told me she was hiding something. Whether it be good or bad, I wasn't sure, Linda had a magnificent poker face. It was nearly impossible to tell what she was thinking at any moment.

"If you two are done, can we get to recording?" Tabitha asked, glaring at me.

I returned the glare but said nothing. Ellen had warned me not to start something with Tabitha. Everyone was at the ends of their ropes, another argument would make matters worse. She wanted me to be the best I could be and ignore Tabitha's constant provocation. It was harder than it sounded.

Tabitha got under my skin as nobody else could. Not even the bleeding reporters could annoy me as Tabitha could, she had some kind of talent. Linda says it's because the two of us are practically twins, but I never believed her. Tabitha could breathe in the wrong direction and I'd be up in arms. We never seemed to be able to see eye-to-eye, though neither of us ever actually tried.

We began to run through the song once again. It was a McCartney-Eastman original, one of the few actually on the album. Linda wasn't one for writing songs, but, when she did, they were great. Often, I brought her mine for peer review.

"Rubbish," Tabitha mumbled whenever we finished.

I pretended to ignore her statement and the warning glance Linda sent me. Mitch's voice came over the intercom, "Brilliant, girls, I think that was the take."

"Good, I have to use the toilet," Linda mumbled.

All of a sudden, she looked green. I cocked an eyebrow, "You alright, Lindy?"

"Yeah, of course I am."

She hurried out of the studio and towards the bathroom. Minerva, Tabitha, and I all watched her go, all of us thinking the same thing. Linda never looked green, in all the time I had known her, she never once got nauseous. Something was wrong. Worry clouded my mind, especially when she said she needed to talk to me.

"That's it for today, girls, wonderful work," Mitch said.

I saluted, "All thanks to you, Mitch."

"You're too kind."

Tabitha rolled her eyes. We all began to pack up, even though I didn't have much to pack. The door to the studio opened. I expected Linda, but Mitch stood at the top of the stairs, "It seems you have a visitor."

She stepped aside and let Paul in. He came in with a grin and his hands stuffed in his pockets. A cigarette was dangling from his lips, but it was unlit. As soon as he was in sight, Tabitha's face clouded over. She scoffed, "Him again."

"Good to see you too, luv," Paul winked.

"Afraid I can't say the same," she glared at him, "What are you doing here?"

I frowned, "Tabitha, please. He's just coming to pick up Linda and me."

"Doesn't mean he has to come into the bloody studio."

"I can leave, if you want me to," Paul answered, glancing at me.

I shook my head, "No, Paul, it's fine. Tabitha's just bein' a bit bitchy is all."

"I'm being bitchy?!" Tabitha nearly shouted, "Look who's talking! I'm not allowed to bring my husband to the studio, but your brother and your stupid friends are always walking in and out like we have some revolving door!"

I was about to yell back, but something caught me, "Wait-husband? You're married?"

"Have been this entire time, thank you for noticing!"

I frowned, "How did I not know that?"

"Do you ask?" Tabitha replied, "Christ, you're so wrapped up in yourself and your friends that you don't care about the rest of us!"

Looking back now, I wonder if Tabitha was right. I was so desperately gripping to the best friends I had, I forgot to make more. Perhaps, if I had been more open to making more friendships, things would have turned out better. Of course, at the moment, I was too stubborn to actually listen to her. 

"I do care!" I shouted. 

Tabitha scoffed, "Really? Then, how come you're yelling at me now!"

"You yelled first!"

"Girls, please," Mitch interjected, "I am sick of this incessant fighting."

Tabitha grabbed her bag, "Doesn't matter. I'm leaving."

Without another word, she spun on her heel and left the studio. All of us watched. She shoved past Linda on her way out, causing Linda to look at me, "You got into another fight, didn't you?"

"Did you know she was married?" I asked.

Linda cocked her head, "No? Since when?"

"Since forever," I replied, "Mitch? Minerva? Did you know?"

Both girls shook their heads. I glanced in the direction Tabitha had stormed off, my eyebrows slowly knitting together. It dawned on me that I knew almost nothing about Tabitha Plinkett. She was right, I was so wrapped in the friends I already had that I had forgotten to make new ones. Perhaps if the two of us got to know each other better, we wouldn't fight so much.

"Bloody hell, I'm an idiot," I mumbled.

Paul laughed, "I could have told you that."

"Sod off."

Chuckling, Paul asked, "You girls ready?"

"Just let me grab my drumsticks."

I grabbed my drumsticks and my notebook from my kit and began to follow Paul and Linda out. One the way, I nodded at Mitch and Minerva, "See you ladies tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Amelia," Mitch smiled.

Paul led us out to his car. Linda slid in the front with him, leaving me to stretch out in the back seat. I yawned, "Thanks for inviting me to dinner."

"You probably would've just shown up anyways," Paul commented.

"Was plannin' on it, but this is more civil."

Paul laughed. Linda looked a bit sick, but she kept it hidden well. She was silent all the way to the house. Once there, we all piled out and Linda went to the bathroom once again.

"She alright?" I asked Paul as he dumped his keys in the bowl by the door.

He glanced in the direction Linda had gone, "She's alright."

"She's not sick or anything?"

"Why do you think she's sick?"

"She keeps running to the loo," I replied, "And, she said you two needed to tell me something. Is she sick?"

Paul smiled, "No, Lia, this is good news."

"I have trouble believing that."

"Just wait."

When Linda appeared, she and Paul vanished into the kitchen. I moved into the living room only to find Heather sitting at the table coloring. She had gotten bigger than the last time I saw her, and her hair was longer. It was hard to believe she wasn't the three-year-old she was when I first met her. She was six now and looking more like her Mum every day.

"Hey there, kiddo," I grinned, sitting next to her.

Heather glanced up at me and smiled, "Aunt Melly! Wanna see the picture I drew?"

"Course."

She showed me a picture of her, Paul, Linda, Vera, and me altogether in a flower field. I took it from her and smiled, "Kiddo, this is beautiful."

"I made it for you."

"You did?"

"Yeah!"

I pulled her into a hug, "Aw, I love it. I'm gonna hang in on my fridge and look at it every day."

Heather giggled. I tucked the drawing into my pocket before heading into the kitchen to help Paul and Linda. Paul was cutting carrots as Linda stirred some broth. I appeared and asked, "Anything I can help with?"

"You can cut the bread," Linda replied, gesturing to a cutting board behind her.

I saluted, "As you wish."

Paul laughed. I went to the cutting board and pulled out a loaf of bread. As I was cutting, I asked, "So, what did you want to tell me?"

"We'll tell you over supper," Paul replied,

"Paulie, please," I whined, "The suspense is killing me."

Paul grinned, "Good, let it."

"Paulie!"

"No."

I rolled my neck and fluttered my eyelashes towards Linda, "Please, Lindy."

"Your eyes aren't as good as mine," Paul retorted.

"I can try."

Linda glanced at me and sighed, "Alright, I guess now is a good a time as ever."

"Aw, I was havin' fun watching her suffer," Paul wrinkled his nose.

"You're a git, Paul," I replied, "Now, tell me, please?"

Paul and Linda looked at each other. They shared a smile only seen between two people having the greatest moment of their lives, together. Paul dropped his carrots onto the cutting board and Linda stopped stirring the soup. They both turned to face me, their hands interlocking and their smiles growing wider.

"I'm pregnant," Linda said.

Everything stopped. For a moment, I simply stared at them. The shock was overpowering, tying my tongue and twisting my stomach into knots.

"You-you-" I stuttered, "You're pregnant?!"

Linda nodded, "Yep, I'm gonna be a Mom-again-and Paul's gonna be a Dad."

Paul's face was brighter than ever before when she said that. The shock dropped from my system, being overtaken by pure elation. All I could think was how, finally, I was going to be an Aunt. True, I was an 'Aunt' to Julian, Zak, Jason, and Heather, but this was different. I was biologically related to this child. To make things even better, this child was the product of my best friend and my brother, two of the most important people in my life. 

"Paul, you're gonna be a Dad!" I shouted, "I'm gonna be an Aunt!"

I lunged forward and wrapped one arm around Paul and one around Linda. Paul laughed and hugged me back, doing his best to keep all three of us from falling. I couldn't contain my excitement, it came in the form of bellowing laughter. Even Paul and Linda were laughing at that point.

I could barely believe it. Paul, the boy I had grown up with, was going to be a Dad. It seemed like an unimaginable concept, but I knew it was possible. He was going to be the greatest Dad England had ever seen, I just knew it.

"Bloody hell, this is amazing!" I exclaimed.

Paul grinned, "But wait, there's more."

"I wasn't aware I was in a commercial."

"We're getting married," Paul conveniently ignored my sarcastic statement.

My smile grew even wider, "It's about bloody time!"

"Hey, you knew we were going to do it eventually," Paul wiggled his finger at me, "Just took a little incentive to speed it along."

Linda patted her belly. I grinned, "Bloody hell, Lindy, now I can call you my sister for real!"

I wrapped my arms around her, laughing the entire time. Linda chuckled as well, "I always knew we were family."

"So did I, but now it's official."

"It's the McCartney Family Expansion," Paul grinned.

I smiled, "It couldn't get any better."


	206. The First Divorce

"I remember this day," Jane smiled.

The two of us were sitting on our shared bed with photo albums surrounding us. Those albums never had time to collect dust because I was always pulling them out to look at them. For once, Jane joined me.

The photo she was looking at was an old one from 1964. It was of Paul, George, and I all standing around a beach. We seemed to be in a heated conversation that was developing into loud laughter. Behind us, Jane, Cynthia, Pattie, Maureen, and Molly were all running through the waves. My only guess was that Ringo took the picture when we weren't looking.

"As do I," I grinned, "I still find sand in my teeth."

Jane laughed. Moments after this photo, I hit the dirt, my face making a hole in the sand. For months, all I tasted was grit and salt, which was never a good combination.

"Sometimes I wish I could jump into these photos and relive the moment," I sighed wistfully.

Jane rested her head on my shoulder, "Sometimes I feel the same way, and then I remember how grand life is right now."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is," Jane glanced up at me, "Things have changed since these photos were taken, but they've changed for the better. I don't think I've ever been happier than I am with you, in this moment."

I kissed the top of her head, "Once again, you prove me wrong. The past is great, but the present is so much better."

"It's getting better all the time, yeah?" Jane giggled.

"Oh, don't start that."

Both of us laughed. I wrapped my arms around her and fell backwards to where we landed on the bed right next to each other. She wrapped her arms around my middle and rested her head on my chest. I smiled, "Janie, love, I love you to the moon and back and then out again."

"Always a poetic one," Jane giggled, "I love you too."

Both of us grinned. Jane kissed my cheek, laughing whenever I pulled her closer and crashed my lips into hers. The kiss was so sweet, I never wanted it to end. With Jane pressed against me, our lips merging into one, I swear we could conquer the world. Love was the grandest weapon, and, with Jane, I had an arsenal.

The moment was pure, until the bell rang. The doorbell echoed through the house, making me wince slightly and groan. Jane pulled away, the tip of her nose still brushing against mine, "Expecting someone?"

"No, but that just tells me exactly who it is," I sighed, "One of four, take your pick."

Jane chuckled, "A fiver says it's Paul."

"I'll see your bet and say it's Ringo."

"What if it's John or George?"

"Then, we're both losers."

Jane cackled. I winked at her before slipping out of the bedroom and into the dark hall. Vera was still fast asleep in her room, with the door cracked open just a smidge and a night light shining in the corner.

"Mel, glad you're awake," John grinned whenever I flung open the door.

I frowned, "If I wasn't, your incessant bell ringing woke me up."

"Got you to the door, didn't it?"

"Git."

John cackled. I glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed, "What're you doin' here, John? It's almost one in the morning."

"Cyn kicked me out," John smiled sheepishly, "Was wonderin' if I could stay the night."

"Yoko kick you out too?"

John rubbed the back of his neck, "She's out of town for the weekend. Tried callin' Macca, but he just hung up. Thought George and Ringo would do the same."

I looked at him up and down. A night pack hung off his shoulder with clothes haphazardly shoved inside. His coat was disheveled along with the pajamas underneath. His glasses were smudged and crooked, almost like they had been broken.

"What happened?" I inquired.

John averted his eyes, "Cyn kicked me out."

"Why?"

"We're getting a divorce," John admitted, "I'm gonna marry Yoko."

For a moment, I was silent. In all honesty, I should have seen it coming, but the most obvious things are often the most elusive. His love for Yoko was blatantly obvious, it didn't help that he announced it to the public while both of them were still married. I should have seen this coming, but I was so painfully oblivious that the truth came right up to my door and slapped me across the face.

This was John's life. It was his love, his life, and his decision, what could I say against him? A thousand insults ran through my mind, all ranging from he's a git to he's a bigger git. John was my mate first, but Cynthia was also my friend and a good friend always defends their friends. What really pressed my buttons was when Julian popped into my mind. Whenever I thought of little Julian wondering where his Dad was, fury came pouring out.

"John, you bloody git!" I shouted, "How could you?!"

John lifted an eyebrow, "Why're you so pissed?"

"Why shouldn't I be?! Christ, John, Cynthia has been by your side through everything! Through every affair, every fight, every album, every tour, every everything that would make any sane woman go running, but not Cyn. Not Cyn because she loves you to bits, but you turn around and ditch her despite everything! What the bloody fuck?!"

John sneered, "Last I checked, this was my life, not yours."

"It's not just your life, John," I spat, "It's Cynthia's and Julian's too. What about your son, John? What about Julian?"

"I'm not leaving Julian."

"He doesn't know that."

"He will."

"Are you sure?" I asked, "You're so wrapped up in Yoko, you keep forgetting about everyone else, especially your son!"

John sneered, "I don't forget about anyone, Amelia."

"Yes, you do, and you know it."

The two of us had a stare down. Finally, he sneered, "Guess I'll sleep on the streets, then. Get some bloody hotel where an axe murderer attacks me."

"Don't be a git," I replied, "You may be a wanker, John, but you're still my friend. Nothing will change that. You can stay in the guest room upstairs."

John grinned, "Knew you'd come through, Mel."

"Bugger off."

John laughed. I frowned, watching him push past me and head upstairs. He was quiet to keep from waking Vera. I locked the door and followed him. When we arrived at the guest room, he stepped into the doorframe, "Thanks, mate."

"I'm not gonna let my mate sleep on the streets," I sighed, "Even if he's a bloody git."

John leaned on the door, "Mel, Yoko makes me really happy. Happier than I ever have been."

"Even with Cynthia?"

John sighed, "We were young, we made a lot of mistakes. If we had taken it slow, maybe we would have made it. No, I know we would have made it."

"Do you love her?" I asked.

"Yes," John replied without missing a beat, "I do, but Yoko makes me happy. She loves me, I love her, and we're happy."

I shook my head, "That's all that really matters, I s'pose. I'm glad you're happy."

"Thanks."

He bid me goodnight before shutting the door. I turned to face my bedroom door and released a deep sigh. Inside, I could hear Jane putting up the photo albums, but I made no move to join her.

Cynthia had been a good friend of mine since she and John got married. The two of them used to be so in love it was nauseating. I thought they would make it, but they only served to prove me wrong. I could barely believe they were ending it, yet, I asked myself why I didn't realize sooner.

After years of affairs and fights, it was only natural they would drift apart. One can only take so much pain, and that marriage was full of it. I should have seen this coming, but I refused to.

"Did I win?" Jane asked whenever I stepped into the bedroom.

I frowned, "Neither of us did, it was John."

"John? What did he want?"

"To stay the night," I fell on the bed and released a loud groan, "Cyn kicked him out. They're getting divorced."

Jane gently sat next to me, "We all knew this was coming eventually, El."

"I didn't. I was so painfully oblivious, it was great."

"You had to have at least sort of known."

"I did," I sighed, "I just didn't want to."

Jane rubbed my back, "I don't think they did either."


	207. Where's My Epic Background Music?

"They cancelled our rehearsal today," Jane smiled.

I glanced up at her, "Good, you need a day off."

"I'll take as many as I can get."

Both of us laughed. The eggs were beginning to pop, signaling that they were almost done. Jane and I both moved around the kitchen with a fluidity only made by two people with practice. We could anticipate each other's moves and know exactly where to be to get the best out of the task. She made the toast, I made the eggs, and we waited for the coffee. Jane and I worked so well together we might as well have shared a brain.

"Somethin' smells good."

John appeared at the door dressed in clean clothes. He looked so much different than he did the night he showed up at my door. He looked happier, healthier, and cleaner. In a way, he looked free. I always thought John was free, but he never was, not until his later years, at least.

"Jane makes bloody good french toast," I answered, "It's a God send, I tell you."

Jane blushed, "It's not that good."

"Absolutely divine."

"Is that what's burning?" John smirked.

I gasped, "Bloody hell, I'm burnin' the eggs!"

Both John and Jane laughed as I hurried to get the eggs off of the burner. They ended up being charred on the bottom, but the top was still edible. Slowly, I scraped the edible parts onto a plate in order to dish them out.

"Mel, you're a shit cook," John stated, sitting at the island.

I rolled my eyes, "Look who's talking."

"I am a great cook," he gloated, "Just gotta catch me on a good day."

"And when was the last? '55?"

John rolled his eyes, "Cheeky."

I laughed. Jane dished up the toast and shoved a plate in front of John. I dumped some eggs and kissed the air, "Bon appetit."

"You speak French?" John smirked as Jane slid into her seat.

I sat down, "Oui."

"Anything else?"

"That's all I got."

John laughed. We all began to eat, silence washing over us. Jane's toast melted in my mouth in a whirlwind of flavors I adored. It was a party for my mouth and had enough energy to get me through the day. John moaned, "Christ, Mel was right, this toast is brilliant."

"Thank you," Jane blushed.

I grinned, "Now you believe me?"

Jane only blushed harder. When we finished our food, I went to do the dishes. John dried, "Thanks for lettin' me stay, Mel."

"Course," I replied, "Who knows what weirdos were waiting for you on the streets and what they'd do."

"I'd like to see them try."

Both of us laughed. Once the dishes were done, John glanced at the clock and sighed, "I've got to get to the studio."

"I'm not too far behind you, mate," I replied, "Tabitha's a right bitch when I'm late."

John shook his head, "From what I've heard, Tabitha's a right bitch any old day."

"Depends. I think I egg her on."

"Heard that too."

I frowned, "Linda?"

"Linda."

We both laughed. John grabbed his coat before nodding. He vanished, the door slamming behind him. Just as it slammed, a tiny figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"Did Uncle Johnny leave?" Vera asked.

"He'll be back tonight," I replied, "Then, you can sing him your song."

Her face brightened, "Do you think he'll like it?"

"I think he'll love it."

Vera grinned. I dished her up a plate of toast and sat it on the coffee table. She turned on her cartoons and was completely absorbed as she ate her food. I stood back and chuckled.

"Going to the studio?" Jane asked.

She came up behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. I nodded, "Say since you have the day off, care to join me?"

"I thought there were no girlfriends in the studio," Jane replied.

"There weren't," I answered, "Until Tabitha threw a fit. She's allowed to bring her husband, Linda's allowed to bring Paul, and I'm allowed to bring you."

Jane lifted an eyebrow, "Tabitha's married?"

"Shocked me too."

"Well, if the girls are alright with it, I'd love to come," Jane smiled, "I love to watch you perform."

I grinned, "You're the greatest audience of them all."

Jane kissed my cheek before going upstairs to get ready. When Vera finished eating, I dressed her and grabbed her backpack. We all knew what would happen if Vera was allowed to dress herself. We were running behind schedule for the album, that wasn't a good day to be blinded by Vera's Elvis outfit. The three of us left the flat right on time.

We took a bus to the studio, riding on the top deck with the wind in our hair. Vera waved at everybody who passed just like she always did. Her smile was tiny and missing a few teeth, but it was brighter than all of the stars.

Vera bounced on my shoulders as we walked into the studio. The three of us laughed as if we had just heard the greatest joke in the world, when, really, we were just happy to be together. We walked into the recording room to see Mitch setting up the microphones.

"Morning Mitch," I beamed.

Mitch glanced up, "Good morning, Amelia, Jane, Vera."

I set Vera down. She took her backpack and ran off to the mound of beanbags. As soon as she dove in, she practically vanished underneath all of the beanbags. The only way I knew she was still there was her giggles. That was her spot every time she came to the studio, so much so that Linda and I had taken to calling it 'Vera's Corner'. 

Minerva and Linda arrived together. Linda looked slightly chubbier than usual, but you couldn't tell she was pregnant. The tiny bump was disguised beneath her billowing shirt.

"Lindy, you look wonderful," I grinned.

Linda rolled her eyes, "You're just saying that because I'm pregnant."

"Ah, but I mean it," I pointed my drumstick at her, "You look beautiful as ever, can't even tell there's a baby growin' in you."

"I guess that's a compliment?"

"It's supposed to be."

Linda chuckled. She moved to her keyboard just as the door opened. Tabitha appeared dragging a young man behind her. For a moment, I thought Tabitha had married a lumberjack. His beard was thick and short, a fashion choice most London men didn't choose. He wore a plaid shirt tucked into his tan pants. His eyes were a sparkling blue and he held Tabitha's hand tightly as if he were afraid she would leave him.

The two looked so different, for a moment I wondered if she had made up the husband thing. He looked kind, calm, and overall easy going whereas Tabitha was rude, high-strung, and selfish. Opposites do attract, but there is such a thing as being too opposite.

As soon as Tabitha saw Jane, her face clouded over. I glared at her, mentally daring her to say anything. She cleared her throat and met my eyes, "You brought your friend."

The way she said friend sounded like it left a bad taste in her mouth. Jane glanced at me, clearly nervous, but I simply sneered. Tabitha didn't know we were together, she thought Jane was nothing more than a friend. That could either be good or bad, depending on how you look at it. 

"You brought your husband," I replied.

Tabitha sneered, "That's different."

"Is it?"

"Hello, my name is Linda Eastman," Linda placed herself in the middle of our conversation, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She stuck her hand out to Tabitha's husband. He smiled and shook it, "The pleasure is all mine. I'm Jeffery Plinkett."

"So you really are married," I mused, earning a glare from Linda.

Linda was a calm person, she wouldn't often speak up but she knew what needed to be done. She wasn't the sort to start an argument, but she could end it on a dime. It was her that kept Storms Over London together for as long as we were together.

"Let's just record, shall we?" Tabitha spat, "Jeffery, you can sit on that couch over there."

She gestured to the couch Jane was sitting on. Jeffery nodded, sitting down on the opposite end of Jane. The two shook hands. I turned to my drum kit and sighed.

We ran through the first song. When we played, things seemed to be alright. The tension in the room eased a bit. For a moment, you would even begin to think we were friends. We sang together, we laughed together, and we had a good time, but only when we were playing. Once the music stop, the tension returned.

"Marvelous, girls," Mitch said over the intercom, "Simply marvelous."

Jane smiled at me, "I thought it was great too."

"Nobody asked for your opinion," Tabitha spat.

"Oi, stuff it," I snapped, "She just gave you a compliment. After all, it was your bloody song."

Tabitha sneered at me. Jeffrey laughed nervously, "It was a great song, honey."

"Thank you, Jeffery," Tabitha smiled sweetly at him, "Let's go on to the next one, shall we?"

I frowned, "What the bloody fuck?"

Jane glanced at me with a worried look. She could sense something was about to go wrong just as I could, but neither of us knew what. Even Linda gave me side glances. I chose to ignore it and focused on my playing.

We ran through the next song without a problem. Once we finished, Mitch spoke over the intercom, "Wonderful. Er-it seems as if you have some guests."

"Who?" Linda muttered.

"Probably Paul or one of the lads," I replied, "Might as well send them in, Mitch."

The door to the studio opened and Ringo and George appeared. Both seemed to be in pretty good spirits, but it was relatively new. They had just come from their studio where tensions were high and the people were higher. In fact, they were supposed to be recording at that very moment, something had to be wrong for them to just show up.

"Ringo, Georgie, what're you two lads doin' here?" I grinned.

George shrugged, "Went out for a bite, thought we'd pop by for a visit."

There was a canteen at EMI, they had no reason to leave the studio for food. Something else was wrong, but they clearly didn't want to say it with other people around. I simply smiled, "Always welcome, lads."

"No, they're not," Tabitha interjected, "Your friends are always showing up out of nowhere, it's no wonder we can never get any bloody work done!"

"We can't get any bloody work done because you're too busy arguing against everything," I replied.

Tabitha sneered, "Only the things that need to be argued. Your friends have no right to waltz in here uninvited."

"I invite them, then," I spat, "You can invite yours too, you know."

"No, I bloody well can't! Yours take up the entire studio!"

"Not as much as your fat head!"

Tabitha scoffed, "It's a wonder we've made it this far, what with a bitch as our drummer."

"You should take a look at the lead guitarist."

Tabitha sneered. Jeffrey bounced to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at me, "Don't talk to my wife that way."

"Don't talk to our mate that way," George interjected with Ringo frowning behind him.

"Everybody, please, take a breath," Linda held up her hands, "We're all a bit strung up here. Just take a deep breath and let's focus on the songs."

Tabitha balled her fists, "Not with this bullshit! Come on, Jeffrey, we're leaving."

"We still have songs to record," I spat.

"You'll have to record them without me, you arse!"

"Don't you bloody-"

"Amelia," Linda interjected, "Please, don't make it worse."

She placed a hand on my shoulder, causing me to look at her. Behind her, I could see Jane holding Vera and standing between George and Ringo. All four of them looked slightly nervous at the whole scene. On the other side of the room, Minerva was shaking so hard, I was scared she might fall over. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Christ, I'm sorry, mates. I let my anger take control again."

They all exchanged glances. Linda squeezed my shoulder, "Let's just call it a day, yeah?"

"We can't, we have to get this album out at the end of the month," I sighed, "We've got to get it finished."

"How? We just lost our lead guitarist."

I glanced up, "I have an idea, but you're not going to like it."

"What?"

My eyes traveled past her and landed on George. I smiled slightly, "Hey, Georgie, think you would sit in on lead guitar for us?"

George glanced at Ringo before nodding, "Yeah. We're tryin' to get away from John and Paul anyhow."

"What's wrong with John and Paul?"

"They won't stop arguing."

I winced, "So you come here to more arguing. Christ, mates, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Ringo shrugged, "S'pose everyone argues once in awhile."

Linda glanced at me, "Or all the time."

"I'm sorry, Lindy," I mumbled.

Linda shook her head. I wanted to stop arguing with Tabitha, but I couldn't help it. The two of us clashed so severely, it was impossible for us not to argue. I wanted this band to succeed, and, in order to do that, I had to stop fighting with Tabitha. As hard as I tried, she always managed to do something to press my buttons. One of us would start yelling and it was all downhill from there.

"Alright, we've got a lead guitarist," I said as George picked up a guitar, "We'll continue as usual, just skip Tabitha's songs."

Linda shook her head, "I don't like it."

"I know, but do we have another choice?"

She didn't reply. We all assumed our usual positions, with George on lead guitar and Ringo on tambourine. Jane and Vera both sat on the couch and watched. Vera's wide eyes were enough to make me feel ten times more guilty for fighting with Tabitha. She never did well with raised voices, especially when one of those voices was me. It would take a lot of ice cream to make her feel better.

This recording session went better than any other. For a band to work properly, they had to mesh well together. If they weren't friends, their music wasn't as fluid. They had to love each other to love the music. Linda, George, Ringo, and I had been friends for so long that we worked together better than bread and butter. Our little jam session produced some of the best material ever created under the name Storms Over London, all because the strength of our friendship was evident in our music.

Mitch called a finish later that afternoon. The songs came out wonderfully. Just in those few hours, we had finished half of the songs I had written and even one Minerva had done. Most of the album was finished without our usual lead guitarist. Looking back on it, I think it was that which truly sent Tabitha over the edge.

"Some of our best music yet," I grinned.

George and Ringo both laughed. Linda shook her head, refusing to meet my eyes. I smiled sadly, fully knowing what I did was unforgivable. When Ringo walked out on The Beatles, I lectured Paul for trying to get a replacement. Meanwhile, I turn around and do the exact same thing. It was wrong, I knew it then just as well as I know it now.

"Gotta say, that was the best recording session we've had in a long time," Ringo smiled.

George nodded, "No bickering over the songs, no storming out, was nice."

"I enjoyed it too, mates," I replied, "Thanks for comin' by."

"Course. Gotta visit our Melly," Ringo winked, causing me to laugh.

George glanced at the clock on the wall, "S'pose we should get back."

"S'pose so," Ringo sighed, "See ya, Mel."

"Bye, lads."

When they were gone, I turned to Jane and Vera. The toddler had yet to leave Jane's lap as if she were scared to touch the floor again in case I raised my voice. I sat down next to them and sighed, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Is it always like this?" Jane asked.

I nodded, "Tabitha and I- we always manage to get on each other's bad sides. I hoped today would be better, but I'm not sure that's possible anymore."

"You still made some lovely music," Jane smiled sadly, "Things will get better. I'm sure of it."

I shrugged, "I dunno, Janie."

"You just have to believe it will, and it will."

"You've got enough belief for us all," I smiled.

Jane chuckled. Vera glanced up at me, her lip quivering and her tiny fists clenching onto Jane's shirt. I smiled at her, "Alright, Junior?"

"Why do you always yell?" she asked.

"Sometimes, adults yell," I replied, "It's not right, but they do it anyways."

"Are you ever gonna stop?"

I ruffled her hair, "For you, Junior, I'll stop right now."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Linda glanced up at me. I met her eyes and knew exactly what she was going to say without her ever having to open her mouth. I shouldn't make promises I couldn't keep, and that was one promise that was as fragile as glass.

"I'll go call a cab," Jane mumbled, "It looks like you have some apologizing to do."

"I s'pose so."

Jane took Vera and left, leaving Linda and me alone. Minerva was quick to leave as soon as the session was over. It was a miracle she didn't faint, though I suspected she went home and collapsed. I stood and shuffled over to Linda's keyboard.

"I'm sorry, Lindy," I sighed, "I shouldn't have let my anger take control. Again."

Linda glanced up at me, "Have you tried being nice to her?"

"I have, honest! She's just so-ugh-I don't even know how to describe it."

"She's you."

I glanced up, "What?"

"You and Tabitha are so alike, it's uncanny," Linda smirked, "That's why you clash so much."

I rubbed the back of my neck, "Really?"

"Definitely."

I sighed. At the time, I didn't believe Linda, but later, I would learn. Wisdom comes with old age, and I have to be the wisest of them all.

"Do you really think that was the right thing to do?" Linda asked.

I cocked my head, "What?"

"Continuing to record without Tabitha. She walked out, yes, but she's still a member of the band."

"It wasn't," I rubbed the back of my neck, "I know it wasn't."

Linda frowned, "Can't you try not to be so cold to her?"

"I have, Lindy, but I can't help it. I was nice to Tabitha until she gave me a reason not to be."

Linda didn't reply. For a moment, we stared at the studio. I took in the sight of guitars on their stands and chords haphazardly laying around. The photos on the wall were familiar to me as were the beanbags littering the room. Lava lamps sat in every corner and the couch was covered in blankets. It was such a cozy place filled with so much hatred. I would forever remember the look of that studio, even when I was long gone from its walls. Aubergine Studios was home to me from the moment Revolution stepped through those doors to the moment Storms Over London stepped out.

"The rot has set in," I finally admitted.

Linda glanced at me, "What do you mean?"

"The rot, it's what all bands fear," I replied, "We're not going to make it much longer, Lindy. As much as I hate to admit it, we're not. We're all going our own ways. You're a photographer, not a musician. You're getting married and having another kid. Minerva's fainting every five seconds, it's a wonder she ever picked up a guitar. And with Tabitha and I-it's not like it used to be, you know?"

Linda nodded, "It's not like Revolution."

"Nothing could be like Revolution, and that's just the problem. Revolution was built to last, but, Storms Over London was not."

Linda sighed, "I hate it, but I agree with you."

"I hate it too," I smiled, "But, hey, at least we still have each other, right? Even if this band burns to the ground, you and I still have each other. You're my sister now, Lindy, we're not going away."

"You couldn't lose me that easily," Linda replied.

I grinned, "And I wouldn't want to."

"I will miss this, though."

"Me too, Lindy," I sighed, "Me too."

***

The cold January air pierced my skin, making me feel like ice shards were growing along my goosebumps. Sitting on the balcony at two o'clock in the morning in the middle of winter was not the greatest idea, but I did it anyways. During the early hours of the morning, time seemed different, especially outside. I sat on the balcony, my legs crossed beneath my body and a notebook sitting on the ground in front of me. As I stared up at the sky, I sighed.

"It's been one hell of an adventure, hasn't it?" I asked no one in particular, "Started out in a cavern, made it to the top, and now it's time to take the plummet to the bottom."

There was still hope. The band hadn't disbanded yet, we could easily make up and continue with our music, but I felt otherwise. Deep down, I knew, Storms Over London was doomed from the start. It was a beautiful thing, and that was exactly why it would be destroyed. The most beautiful things in the world were the first to get obliterated.

In the beginning, we were nothing. Just three ragtag girls wanting to make it in the music business despite being told it was a man's world. Against all odds, we made it to the top out of sheer spite. We fought the revolution and we fought it well. Molly, Janice, Linda, and I gave it our all, and we got everything out of it.

When the revolution fell, the storms came to take its place. It was doomed from the start. Besides Linda and I, the rest of the band barely knew each other. We had been together for a year and we were still practically strangers. Linda and I were already at the top, we had to pull Tabitha and Minerva along with us. Because of that, a strain was caused, and the cracks were becoming more prevalent.

"With every beginning comes an end," I mumbled.

All of a sudden, the words came to me. They began to flow through my mind like an endless rushing river. I picked up my pencil and began to write the last song.

"An End and A Beginning," I whispered, "I like it, but it's not time. There's still hope."

I glanced up at the moon, trying to find hope in a place where there was none.


	208. Don't Let Me Down

During recording sessions, it was best to stay quiet rather than spark another argument. Tensions were already high enough, after that episode last week, I decided not to push it. Especially not when Vera was around.

She sat next to my drum stool strumming her toy guitar. Every so often, Linda would glance at her and laugh. She was sure she was helping us record even when there wasn't a microphone near her.

"Very good girls, take a break," Mitch's voice came over the intercom, "Amelia, you have a phone call."

Tabitha scoffed. I was about to say something but, glancing down at my daughter, I bit my tongue. If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all, or, at the very least, wait until the other person isn't around.

It was Linda's idea to bring Vera to the studio that day. I originally thought she knew I couldn't find a babysitter since the last one went on vacation, but, looking back, I think she did it on purpose. With Vera there, I wouldn't start an argument with Tabitha. The little girl was the perfect symbol of peace between us because none of us wanted to start arguing and see her start wailing. 

I abandoned my drums and moved towards the door to the studio. Vera was quick to follow me, dragging her toy guitar behind her. I appeared at the production room to see Mitch with a cup of tea and a phone hanging off the hook.

"Any idea who it is?" I asked.

"Who else would it be?" Mitch smiled, "It's Paul."

I chuckled, "Should have known."

I picked up the phone and placed it to my ear. The static was almost too much, taking over the entire speaker and blurring the voice on the other side. Nevertheless, I said, "'Ello, Paulie."

"Lia, good," Paul replied, "Are you busy?"

"Just recordin'. We're almost done, anyways."

"Can you come over to Apple?"

I lifted an eyebrow, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Paul replied, "We're puttin' on a concert and we want you to come."

"A concert?"

"Yeah, on the roof."

For a moment, I was silent. It had been almost three years since the last Beatles concert, now was one hell of a time to make a comeback. We all thought concert days were behind them, but here they were putting on another show. On the roof, no less, something smelled fishy.

"On the roof?" I asked.

"Nobody wanted an oceanliner," Paul replied, "They didn't want to leave the city, so we're going to the roof."

"Why not a club or something?"

Paul groaned, "For the spectacle, Lia, why else?"

"Always dramatic, you are," I chuckled, "Alright, I'll be there."

"Good. Starts in twenty minutes."

"Christ, Paul, do you ever tell me about anything before the last minute?"

Paul laughed, "Adds to the spectacle."

"Git."

"Just get over here."

"Fine," I rolled my eyes, "Bye, Paulie."

With that, I hung up. Mitch was sitting at her chair watching me expectantly. She sipped her tea and waited for me to say anything. I ran a nervous hand through my hair, "Think they'd be angry if I ducked out early?"

"Linda, Minerva, and I will be alright with it," Mitch replied, "Tabitha, on the other hand-"

"She's gonna be bloody pissed."

Mitch nodded, "Perhaps you should break it to her gently."

"No matter what I do, she's going to get pissed. She hates my guts."

"She doesn't hate you, Amelia."

"She's pretty bloody close."

Mitch chuckled, "Just go out there and break the news slowly. Tell them we're calling an early night so everybody can go home and rest."

"Jolly good, Mitch."

She nodded. Vera took my hand as we returned to the studio. Nobody had moved, they were all still waiting for me to continue recording. Whenever I stepped in, I offered a sheepish smile, "Say, mates, how's about we call it an early quit?"

"Why?" Tabitha snapped, "Got a better place to be?"

I ignored her, "We're all knackered, get some rest and we'll start again tomorrow."

Tabitha sneered. She was obviously pissed, but she didn't say anything. I could be nicer to her than Saint Nicholas, but she would still respond with hostility. It was far too late to start rebuilding the bridges we already burned. Nothing could change how we acted towards each other; nothing, except for a breakup. Avoiding eye contact, I stepped over to Linda.

"Paul was on the phone," I mumbled, "They're puttin' on some concert on the roof of Apple."

Linda lifted an eyebrow, "On the roof?"

"On the bloody roof. Paul asked- kinda- for me to be in the audience. S'pose that means you can come too."

Linda chuckled, "I think I'm just going to go home. I'm not feeling too great."

"Come with being preggie," I chuckled, "You'll be alright getting home?"

"Of course. This isn't my first rodeo."

I lifted my eyebrow at her phrase but shrugged it off. She shouldered her bag and smiled, "Tell Paul I said good luck and not to do anything rude."

"I'll tell him," I giggled, "Not that he'll listen."

"First time for everything."

We both laughed. Linda left with Minerva right behind her. For a few minutes, it was just Tabitha and me in the studio. She glared at me, "A concert, huh?"

"On the roof," I replied, "It's a historic moment, Tabby, The Beatles are back."

She sneered, "Don't call me Tabby."

"Alright, Plinkett."

Vera tugged on my sleeve, "Let's go, Mummy."

"Alright, Junior, come ed."

I lifted her onto my back and smiled at Tabitha. She only offered a sneer in return. With Vera bouncing on my back, I made my way through the studio and out on the London streets.

The Apple Building was a short walk from Aubergine Studios. It was purely coincidental that every important building to the two bands was so close together, but it worked out well. Vera and I took the short walk to The Apple Building. As soon as we arrived at the door, we heard a loud crash resonate from the roof followed by a loud, "Fucking hell!"

"Well, John's here," I chuckled.

Vera furrowed her eyebrows but didn't say anything. I stepped into the building only to be met with Mal. It had been awhile since I last saw him, but he hadn't changed much. He still had the square head and the smile that held more kindness than all of Britain.

"'Ello, Mal," I beamed.

Mal glanced over his shoulder at me, "Amelia, I didn't know you were coming."

"I wasn't until about twenty minutes ago," I chuckled, "Paul always likes to tell me things last minute."

"Sounds like him. They're on the roof getting ready."

"Ta."

Vera and I took the lift to the top floor and the stairs to the roof. When we arrived, we saw a few reporters as well as The Beatles. John, Paul, and George were setting up their guitars in the front and the amps. Ringo had his drum kit set up and was doing a quick run through. Sitting at the piano near the staircase door was a man I had never met before.

"Mel, glad you could make it," Ringo beamed.

I chuckled, "Haven't missed a Beatles concert yet, mate, and I don't intend to start now."

"Course, you're our number one fan for a reason."

"Have been since '61 and always will be."

Ringo laughed. I glanced at the man behind me who was watching with a slight smile. Spinning, I stuck out my hand, "Don't believe we've met. The name's Amelia."

"Billy Preston," he shook my hand, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Amelia."

I grinned, "The pleasure's all mine."

"Lia!"

I spun around to see Paul beckoning me closer. I stepped to him, careful to avoid all of the cords going in every direction. Vera giggled when Paul ruffled her hair, "Almost thought you wouldn't come."

"Course I'd come, can't miss a concert," I grinned, "You're lucky I could make it, what with you tellin' me last minute and everything."

John cackled, "I said we should have called you earlier, but Macca wouldn't listen."

"Oh, bugger off, the both of you," Paul rolled his eyes.

We all laughed. George was the only one who remained silent. I glanced at him lifting an eyebrow but he wouldn't look at me. He seemed upset, and I could only guess why. The roof didn't seem like a choice of venue for the Holy Beatles, yet there they were. I could only guess George was the only one to speak against it and, as usual, John and Paul overruled. 

"Why the roof?" I asked.

Paul plugged in his bass, "Like I told you, for the spectacle."

"Gotta go out with a bang," John replied, "We're making a film, and this is the grand finale."

He gestured to the cameras dotting the roof. I lifted an eyebrow, "Since when were you making a film?"

"Since a month ago," Ringo answered.

"Thanks for tellin' me," I rolled my eyes, "Bloody hell."

Paul shrugged, "You're here now, aren't you?"

"S'pose."

"We're gonna start soon," Paul gestured to the nearby chimney, "Got a seat waitin' for you right there."

"Jolly good. Break a leg, lads."

"For you, Mel, we'll break them both," John winked. 

I chuckled. There was a bench sitting up against the chimney. On it sat Maureen and Yoko. They were both smiling at talking to each other. I plopped down on the open seat at the end of the bench next to Yoko.

"Afternoon, ladies," I winked, "Fancy meetin' you here."

Maureen smiled, "'Ello, Amelia. Have a good session?"

"Better than the last."

Word had spread of the episode Tabitha and I had when Ringo, George, and Jane came to visit. Everybody who was anybody instantly knew that Storms Over London spent more time fighting than they did recording. Luckily, the press had yet to get wind of it, but it was only a matter of time.

"They're gonna play?" Vera asked.

I nodded, "That's why we're here, Junior. They're gonna put on a show."

"Goody," Vera giggled, "I like to hear them play."

"We all do, Junior, we all do."

Paul raised his hand and waved. All attention was suddenly on the group as they began to play. It was a steady beat, one I had never heard before. Paul came up to the microphone and began to sing, "Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner, but he knew it couldn't last."

To this day, I still remember the feeling of being at the last Beatles concert. The day was so cold, I couldn't feel any part of my body but the energy moving inside. The music the lads made was filled with an energy unlike any other. There were no screaming girls or paranoid cops, only the lads and the music they made together. That was the most beautiful thing of all. That day, history was made for the last time.


	209. Wedding Bells Are Ringing

The building wasn't grand. It was nothing more than a small registry office located in the middle of London. Nobody would expect the wedding of a Beatle and a Rebel to be in that tiny building. Paul and Linda didn't want anything lavish, they were both so simple living in a world that was anything but. The wedding was just a normal day, really. Linda didn't even wear a wedding dress, she stuck to a pencil skirt a blouse that she easily could have worn to the studio. Paul wore a suit, but that wasn't anything new. Nobody else showed up in formal clothes, not even me, and I was the maid of honor.

The two of them signed a few papers with all of us watching. To my surprise, John, George, and Ringo were all missing. It was only Linda, Michael, Dad, Heather, Vera, Jane, Mal, and me. That was it. There were no wedding guests because there was no wedding.

"It's official," the judge smiled, "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. McCartney."

We all cheered. I rushed forward and flung my arms around Linda, giggling like a schoolgirl, "Welcome to the family, sis!"

"Thanks," Linda's voice was muffled in my shoulder, "It's my wedding day, but I have to question which one of us is happier."

Paul chuckled, "Lia just gets a little overexcited."

"I've always wanted a sister, now my best friend is my sister! How could this get any better?"

Linda laughed. Dad stepped up and flung an arm around Paul, "I'm so proud of you, Paul."

"Thanks, Da," Paul grinned.

He leaned forward and kissed Linda. I gagged, but Jane elbowed me, giggling the entire time. Vera was smiling brightly from her hip.

In my lifetime, I've been to many weddings, but the happiest was Paul and Linda's. I was already so close to both of them, to have them joined together was something splendid. I had spent years watching them make heart eyes at each other before they even knew they were in love. Finally, they were official and nothing could make me happier. Especially when the woman I considered my sister had officially become my sister.

"'Bout time you caught up, big brother," Michael laughed.

Paul rolled his eyes, "Just had to find the right bird."

"She was right under your nose the entire time," I tapped my nose for emphasis, "You were just too daft to see."

"Lia, it's my wedding day, you're supposed to be nice to me."

"That was never in the agreement."

All three of us laughed. Dad squeezed Paul's shoulder, "Let's get to the reception, shall we?"

"Before the screaming gets any worse," I rubbed my temples.

Paul and Linda had done their best to keep their wedding and wedding location under wraps, but, as usual, it leaked. Hoards of fans were waiting outside to ambush the new couple. Teen girls who had followed The Beatles since the early days of Beatlemania wept as the last bachelor Beatle tied the knot. It was like a scene straight out of 1964, except for the reporters all talking about Paul's marriage to Linda not the latest Beatle hit. 

Dad, Michael, and Mal all stepped out first in an effort to break the crowds. The mobs stepped to the side, but only slightly. It was enough for Paul, Linda, and Heather to get out onto the steps and start walking towards their car. On the way, they stopped for a few photos and to answer a few questions. Paul made sure to kiss Linda every time a camera was trained on them.

"I bloody hate Beatlemania," I mumbled.

Jane sighed, "It never gets any better, does it?"

"Apparently not," I replied, "At least there's no fireworks this time."

"Yet."

I groaned. Vera held tightly to my chest as we stepped out into the crowds. They were all swarming around Paul and Linda and barely took any notice of us. I had hoped we could make it to the car without them hounding us, but luck runs out when you're faced with a mob of crazy fans and information starved reporters. Paul, Linda, and Heather made it to the car with Dad and Michael just behind them. They sped off, leaving us to face the mob alone.

"Amelia, how do you feel about your brother, Paul, getting married to your bandmate, Linda?" one reporter asked.

I beamed, "I think it's bloody amazing."

"Are you afraid this will harm Storms Over London?"

I had to resist the urge to tell them Storms Over London was already hurt enough, nothing could make it worse. Instead, I bit my tongue and shook my head, lying through my teeth, "Course not. If anything, this makes things better."

Jane, Vera, and I made it to the car waiting at the curb. Mal was standing at the drivers side door waiting for us. Quickly, we slid in the back as Mal took the front. He started off down the road just as I shut the door.

"Something's never change, eh?" Mal glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

I laughed, "Right you are, mate."

The reception was just as lavish as the wedding. It was a simple dinner at the house on Cavendish Avenue. Jane and I had come over earlier that morning to fix the dinner so Linda didn't have to. After running to the market several times to get ingredients we forgot, and burning the pasta twice, we finally managed to get the dinner fixed and ready to be eaten. It sat waiting for us when we arrived.

The rest of the wedding party was already waiting in the dining room. Jane and Vera joined them as I went to the kitchen. Dad and Michael were there, Dad was opening a bottle of champagne and Michael was watching him nervously. When they saw me, they smiled.

"If it isn't the only unmarried McCartney kid," Michael smirked.

I rolled my eyes, "Bugger off, Mikey."

"Michael, be nice," Dad waggled an accusing finger at my brother, "You know the circumstances."

I glared at Michael playfully, "Exactly, Mikey. If I could, I'd already be married."

"To Jane?" Michael asked.

"No, to a post," I rolled my eyes, "Of course to Jane. If I could, I'd marry her tomorrow."

Dad set his bottle opener down and turned to smile at me. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he laid a hand each on Michael and my shoulders. He sniffled slightly as if he were about to cry, "I am overjoyed that you all have found happiness. That's all I ever wanted for you, happiness and love."

Sometimes, I forgot this was the same Dad that kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen. He had grown more compassionate since he married Angela, especially towards his children who were once sure he hated them. Now, he not only accepted our love of music, but he also accepted who we were inside. No matter what that meant. Even though my love went against everything he believed, he still loved me.

In the end, that's all that matters. How many records you produce or how many shows you've done will all be forgotten one day. No amount of money or fame can make you happy. All that mattered was love you held and the love you were given. In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make, and I had more love than I knew what to do with.

"I love you, Da," I reached forward to wrap my arms around his neck.

He hugged back, "I love you too, Amelia."

"I love you both," Michael wrapped his arms around us, "And I don't want to be left out."

"Christ, Mikey, stop being a problem child."

"Says the problem child."

Dad sighed, "Well, we had one sincere moment."

"And I'll remember it for a lifetime," I smiled at him, "Come on, Mikey, help me serve the food?"

He mock saluted. I grabbed the pasta as he grabbed the bread. Dad followed with the champagne as we entered the dining room. Everybody was talking loudly to each other, but they stopped when they saw us. Paul smirked, "Did you make the pasta, Lia?"

"Nah, Janie did," I replied, "I just made the bread."

Paul snorted, "Guess I won't be having any bread, then."

"Oh, bugger off. You should be grateful, you wanker."

"Only if you didn't burn it."

He winked at me, causing me to roll my eyes. Michael and I dished up the food as Dad poured the champagne. When we finished, I sat down next to Jane and Vera.

Everybody started to dig in. The food had turned out nicely, especially the pasta. Jane's hidden talent was cooking, I swear. She didn't often do it, but, when she did, my taste buds had a party.

"It's delicious," Linda smiled, "Thank you, Jane, Amelia."

Paul nodded, "Even the bread is good."

"It's a miracle, he likes my cooking," I gasped.

"Only because of the pasta."

I shrugged, "I'll take what I can get."

We all laughed. For a few minutes, we were silent, enjoying the pasta and each other's company. Vera and Heather whispered together and laughed, often trading slices of bread. I watched them and chuckled.

Once dinner was over, it was almost time for dessert. Before the cake could be brought out, I stood. Nobody had told me I needed to make a speech, and I hadn't prepared one, but, in the moment, I had come up with one. Clearing my throat, I said, "As the maid of honor and the sister to the groom-and now the bride- I feel like I need to make a speech."

Everybody was silent. I glanced at Paul and Linda, watching the two of them subconsciously scoot closer together. Had I not known better, I would have said they shared a conscious.

"Paul and I have been close ever since we were babies. We played together, we fought together, we went to school together, and we made music together. We seemed to be together more than we were apart, and, to me, it was the greatest thing," I glanced at Paul and smiled, "Paul has always been the strong force in my life. Through times of trouble, he was right there with me. We never went through anything alone. The good times and the bad, the rock and the roll, the gains and the losses, we were always there with each other. Paul always has been and always will be my best friend. Let me tell you, it's a blessing to be born with your best friend right there, saves a lot of searching time."

My eyes drifted to Linda's, "Contrary to what Paul would tell you, I actually met Linda first. She joined the band, and it got so much better because of her. I've loved her like a sister even before she actually became my sister, which I'm still elated about, by the way. Linda and I have been through a lot together and, well, she means a lot to me. Linda is one of my best friends. Love ya, Lindy."

"Anyways, Paulie, you and Lindy are very special to me, you know that. You both mean the world to me. So, if you screw this up, I'll cripple you."

The entire room broke out into laughter. Even Linda laughed, but Paul simply smiled. His eyes met mine and I could see a sparkle of tears in them. He blinked them away, "Thank you, Lia. That was amazing."

"Don't go cryin' on me now, Paulie," I replied, "You've still gotta cut the cake."

Paul smiled, "I can cry a little bit."

"Love you, Paulie," I smiled.

"Love you too, Lia."


	210. All We Are Saying

The complexity of the relationship between Paul and John was something that I still don't completely understand. They two loved each other endlessly, but, in 1969, it seemed as if they despised each other. I had no doubt in my mind that they still did, and still do, love each other beyond what we can measure, but then I had to wonder if they did hate each other.

It was evident in John's marriage to Yoko not even a week after Paul's marriage to Linda. We all knew he was going to marry Yoko, but I thought he would wait a bit. The two were just getting out of marriages, any normal person would wait. John and Yoko were anything but normal. Not only did they get married exactly one week after Paul, but they spent their honeymoon in bed. Literally.

Jane had a play in Amsterdam, and Vera and I flew over for the weekend to visit her. Amsterdam was nice, it was one of my favorite places I have ever visited. Before, I had only ever gone as a Rebel and a companion to The Beatles. Now, I got to go as a tourist and see all the sights I had heard so much about.

"Didja hear what's happening down at the Hilton?" one man asked.

I glanced back at them from the playground. The two men were standing at the bus stop just underneath the awning. From here, I could hear their conversation just as clear as I could if they were speaking into my ear. All I could see were their trench coats and fedoras, meaning they couldn't see me either.

"Yeah, those bloody brits have some weird ideas, don't they?" the second man asked, "What does stayin' in bed all day have to do with peace?"

The other shrugged, "I don't know. It's all a load of rubbish if you ask me."

"He's not a load of rubbish."

"He wasn't," the first man replied, "Until that Ono lady got to his head. John Lennon's gone nutty, I tell you."

My ears perked up at the mention of John's name. I knew he and Yoko were on their honeymoon, but I didn't know where they were or what they were doing. Only John would come up with the idea to sit in bed all day as a call for peace.

"Say they've got everyone coming in like some revolving door," the first man stated, "It's chaos."

The second man shook his head, "Least we're going the opposite direction."

"Thank God."

I heard all I needed to hear. Jane wouldn't be done with rehearsals until late that night, and Vera and I had nothing to do until then. Smirking, I waltzed over to where she was playing in the grass. I crouched in front of her and asked, "Say, Junior, how's about we visit your Uncle Johnny?"

"Uncle Johnny's here?" her entire face lit up.

I nodded, "He's just a couple blocks away. Let's pay him a visit, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

I lifted Vera up and we began to make our trek down the streets. Even in Amsterdam, Beatlemania was prevalent. Both Vera and I wore disguises of coats, loose brimmed hats, and fake glasses. It was enough of a disguise to let us have a vacation in peace, but not enough to make us uncomfortable.

The Hilton was on the corner, right across the street from a department store. From the ground, I could see windows near the top where the curtains were drawn and signs were hung off the glass. Instantly, I knew that was my destination.

Vera and I made it to the lift without any problem. The steward took us to one of the highest floors and dropped us off in a crowded hall. Reporters, fans, and hotel staff alike all crowded the halls, vying for a glimpse of John Lennon and his new bride. None managed, as there were a few bodyguards standing at the door. They only let those invited in, and a few members of the press at allotted times. Everybody would get their chance, eventually.

I pushed through the crowd, much to the disdain of many of the people. They cursed at me, but I paid them no heed. My friend was in there and I intended to see him, there was no way I was going to let him have this much fun without me. I pushed straight to the front where a bodyguard blocked my path, "Sorry, no one is allowed in right now."

"Come on, mate, please," I sighed, "I'm John's friend."

"That's what they all say."

"Bloody hell. I hate to do this, I really do," I reached up and took off my glasses and my hat, "The name's Amelia McCartney. Mind letting me through?"

The guard instantly let me in. Pulling the name card always seemed to work, it could get me into Buckingham Palace if I tried hard enough. I replaced my hat and glasses before stepping into the loud room. Everybody was clapping and singing along to John's latest propaganda.

"All we are saying," they sang, "Is give peace a chance."

I grinned, "Good ole Johnny Boy."

John was an advocate for peace, and he played a large part in making it happen. That was one of his first demonstrations, but it was far from his last. I feel privileged to have been there to witness it.

Most of the people were crowding around the bed. It was impossible to get through, so I decided to wait in the back for the crowd to thin out. There was an open chair tucked away in the corner. It was out of sight and out of mind, meaning nobody would notice when I stayed overtime. I sat down and pulled my legs beneath me, letting Vera sit in my lap.

Within seconds, she was singing and clapping along with them. It wasn't difficult to get a handle on the words, even for an almost four-year-old. She repeated the same line over and over with the same level of enthusiasm.

Reporters snapped pictures, a few people filmed, but everyone sang along. Even I did, chanting with an energy I didn't know I had. We were saying something wonderful and we were saying it repeatedly until it finally lodged into the thick brains of the people.

The song slowly came to an end. When they stopped, John put up his guitar. He and Yoko both looked so happy despite being in the middle of a storm. People outside were hating them for causing so much trouble, but the people inside were loving them so much it was almost disturbing. Yet, John and Yoko were as comfortable as they would be at home. I watched as they answered questions.

John looked different than he did before. For one, he was actually wearing his glasses regularly and could see things for once. He grew his hair out and had a beard longer than he would ever allow before. Beyond that, he was glowing. John only glowed when he was truly happy, and that was rare. Now, he seemed to always be happy. He was free.

I refused to miss an opportunity to bug my friend. John and Yoko seemed to be taking everybody's questions. I slyly raised my hand, patiently waiting for my friend to notice me. 

"You, in the corner," John pointed to me. 

I smirked. Making my voice deeper as to not be recognized, I asked, "You have any other harebrained schemes in the works?"

"Hey," John pointed at me, "Only my mates are allowed to call my ideas harebrained."

He turned away from me just as I started laughing. Vera glanced up at me, knitting her eyebrows in concern, "But we are Uncle Johnny's friends."

"Of course we are, Junior, he just doesn't recognize us is all," I replied. 

John answered a few more questions. Each answer was either laced with his classic sarcasm or came from his activist side. He either chanted peace or chanted laughter, there was no other answers to John. 

"Alright, that's enough for today," John suddenly said, "We may be hotshots, be even we gotta sleep."

Everybody sighed but obeyed. Slowly, the room began to empty. Everyone who had, just moments ago, been singing at the top of their lungs looked deflated as they shuffled out the room. I watched them go, one by one, until the room was empty.

"I'm bloody knackered," John yawned, "All that peace makes a bloke tired."

Yoko nodded. Just as John was about to lay down, he spotted me. My disguise was good enough, and the shadows were dark enough, that he couldn't tell who I was. Even Vera was disguised enough to throw him off. He looked at me for a moment before frowning, "Bloody hell, it's harebrained. Hey, chap, didn't you hear? Party's over, go home."

"Can't I visit my mate?" I asked, a smirk growing across my lips.

John knitted his eyebrows in confusion. Yoko leaned forward, "John?"

Suddenly, realization dawned on John's face. He grinned and began to cackle, "I should've known, only one person would call my schemes harebrained. Mel! You look like a bleeding reporter."

"Good to know the disguise works."

I stepped out of the shadows and took off my hat and glasses. Yoko relaxed when she realized who it was. Vera quickly jumped out of my arms to leap on the bed and hug John. John laughed, "And Vera too. What're you two doin' here?"

"We were in town, and I heard some blokes talkin' about a crazy party goin' down," I replied, "You know me, I had to check it out."

"Heard about the bed in, then?"

"Oh, yeah, I knew it was you before they even said your name. Have to say, this is one helluva way to spend your honeymoon."

I sat at the end of the bed and smiled. John leaned forward, "Might as well, yeah? They were gonna put us in the news anyways, might as well go on the front page with the word peace attached."

"Brilliant," I replied, "That's one way to get the word out. And the song is catchy."

John chuckled, "It's basically only one line."

"Which is what makes it catchy."

John laughed. Even Yoko smiled a genuine smile. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had seen Yoko produce an actual smile. It looked nice on her, a better look than her fake smiles used for pleasantries.

"Congratulations, mates," I said, "I'm happy for you."

John and Yoko glanced at each other. The smile they shared was tender and passionate like they knew they had a connection nobody else did. When John glanced back at me, his eyes were shining, "Thanks, Mel. Glad you're not pissed at me anymore."

"Ah, I was never pissed, John. I still think you're a git."

John laughed, "Wouldn't know what to do with myself if you didn't, Mel."

Both of us smiled. I glanced at my watch and nodded, "Well, I let you two peace bringers get some sleep. Mind if I pop by tomorrow?"

"You better," John winked, "We need a backup singer."

I giggled, "In that case, I'll bring my bongos."

"We'll need them."

I laughed. Vera crawled back in my arms, waving a goodbye to John and Yoko. They both waved back, their smiles never leaving their faces.

"Until then," I nodded, "Sweet dreams. Don't let the patriarchy bite."

John laughed, "Bugger off, you git."

"Cheeky."

We both laughed. At that moment, we were all happy. Everything seemed to be looking up, shining a bright light in our newfound darkness. For the time being, I thought things would only get better. I thought we would all be happy once again.

Had I known what was coming, I would have clung to that moment for dear life.


	211. A Break In The Storm

Ironically, it was a stormy day in London. Thunder clapped, shaking the entire city right to the core. Had I not known better, I would have said some divine force had sent that thunder as foreshadowing. Thunder didn't hold a candle to the storms brewing inside of Aubergine Studios.

I have done my best to be kind to Tabitha. Through all the glares and the insults muttered under her breath, I held my tongue. If not for myself or for the band, then for Linda. Her pregnancy was reaching the end stages and every little thing sent her into tears. The stress of Tabitha and my constant arguments couldn't be good for the baby, or for her, so I refrained. Through everything, I kept my mouth shut.

Nothing lasts forever. Even vows of silence have a breaking point. Mine came on a simple Friday when storms were crashing, both inside and out.

"These bloody drums," I mumbled, "They won't stay up for nothin'."

I was kneeling in front of my kit doing my best to fix the legs of the bass drum. Mid-song, it had crashed and thrown off our entire set. Linda stood above me, watching me wiggle the legs into place with several quiet curse words.

"It is an old drum set," Linda replied.

I sighed, "Yeah, but I can't bear to part with it."

"You don't have to," Linda smiled, "You could always get a spare."

She was right. These drums had been with me since the last year of Revolution, and I didn't have any intentions of letting them go. They would sit in my flat until I was old, gray, and near death. Even then, they would go to Vera, or my grandchildren. That doesn't mean I have to still play them. For professional reasons, I could get a new drum set and keep that one elsewhere. 

As I was wiggling the legs into place, Mitch emerged from the production studio with Ellen trailing behind her. Both were laughing as if they had heard a corny joke. Mitch held a clipboard of papers against her hip with the pen dangling off a chain.

"Well, girls, the album is almost complete," Mitch grinned, "With a few more takes and some editing, we'll get the third Storms Over London LP on the shelves."

Linda and I cheered. Minerva, being ever the quiet sort of girl, simply clapped. Tabitha remained stoic like tragedy without comedy. When I look back, I fail to remember a time whenever I saw Tabitha genuinely smile. Fake smiles were common with her. Sometimes I wondered if she knew how to smile for real.

"I think the album should start with Why Do You followed by Downtown London Town and Mystery Street," Mitch suggested, "They flow well together and offer a good introduction to the album."

All three of those were my songs, some of the first we recorded. As soon as Mitch said that, I knew we were in trouble. Tabitha was never happy when my music was put before hers. Linda and I glanced at each other, both of us feeling the fight about to ensue. She laid a hand on her stomach and shook her head.

"What do you girls think?" Ellen cautiously asked.

She kept glancing at me. Deep down, I think Ellen knew what was going to happen before any of us. She had seen many bands come and go, and she knew exactly how the process worked. She could see the cracks before any of us could.

"I think that is a terrible idea," Tabitha spat, "Why should McCartney open the album?

Mitch sighed, "As I said, Tabitha, those three songs flow together and provide the perfect opening for an album."

"My songs are just as good."

"Yours will come next."

"I don't want them to come next!"

I stood up and spun around to face Tabitha. Behind me, Linda's eyes were steadily growing. As much as I wanted to keep her from becoming stressed, certain things had to be done. Tabitha had finally plucked my last nerve, and the snapping sound could be heard throughout London.

"Why does it matter if my songs come first? Yours are close to follow," I replied.

Tabitha glared at me, "The first thing they see is the almighty McCartney name and suddenly every other song is conveniently forgotten. I can't grow if you're right there overshadowing me!"

"It's not my fault that everybody thinks my songs are better!"

"Yes, it is!" Tabitha shouted, "It is your fault because they aren't! My music is just as good as yours, but nobody can tell all because you are you!"

I rolled my eyes, "My name has nothing to do with it. Just because Paul-"

"You're right, your name has nothing to do with it. It's all on you, Amelia."

"Don't you blame me, Tabitha."

Tabitha took a step closer, "I'm only putting the blame where blame is due."

"Blame yourself a little, then," I gritted my teeth, "We could have had more albums out by now if you didn't constantly get pissed at me for nothing!"

"When will you get it through your thick head?! I'm not pissed over nothing, I'm pissed over everything! You egotistical bitch!"

"I'm the egotistical bitch?" I asked, "Maybe you ought to rethink that, Plinkett. Which one of us always causes a ruckus when their song is second, hm? Which one of us criticizes everything that everyone else does just because it isn't to their fancy? Which one of us is yelling at the others all because they didn't get the first spot on the album?"

Tabitha got right up in my face. Our noses almost touched and I could feel her warm breath against my cheeks. Most of all, I could feel the unfiltered anger radiating out of her every pore. It's enough to make the strongest army run away, but I stood strong. She sneered, "I'm not egotistical, I'm just right. I am sick and bloody tired of you and your bullshit getting in the way of my music!"

"Maybe, I wouldn't get in the way if you didn't shove me there in the first place," I spat, "I'm only in your way because you think I am. Had we worked together, maybe we would have gotten somewhere."

Tabitha's cold eyes met mine, "We both know that's impossible, McCartney."

"Do we?"

"Yes," her words were biting, "You would never let me shine, because you know I could outshine you."

I sneered. Never once did it cross my mind that Tabitha could outshine me. I knew she had talent, her songs were good but they needed improvement. Had she not fought me on every little thing, perhaps we could have developed a partnership. Instead, the two of us took up arms. In doing so, we created a mental image of each other that was far from true.

"Things can be different," I stated.

"Things can never be different," Tabitha spat, "All because of you and your larger than life ego."

She poked my chest, only making me angrier. I forcefully shoved her off, "Fine, then what? Say I am an egotistical arse, but so are you!"

"That's it!" Tabitha screamed, "I'm done! I'm quitting the band!"

Silence fell over the room. All of us stared at her with wide eyes and tied tongues. That was the last thing I expected her to do. Being in the band didn't make her happy, but Tabitha didn't care about being happy. She cared about being famous, and the only way to do that was to be in this band. She knew just as well as I did that she would never make it as far alone as she would in this band, as she did. Tabitha had already done enough with Storms Over London to make a name for herself. All she had to do was branch off of that and she could become something.

"Tabitha-" Ellen began.

"No, Ellen, I'm serious," Tabitha cut in, "I'm quitting the bloody band and I'm going to start my own solo career. As of right now, I'm no longer a part of Storms Over London."

She grabbed her guitar and shot us all one more glare before storming out of the studio. The door slamming was jarring, causing me to flinch even though it was several rooms away. For a moment, all of us stared at the door, unsure of what to say and at a loss of what to do.

In a way, I saw this coming. I knew something was going to happen to break apart Storms Over London, and I knew it would have to do with Tabitha and me. The two of us were so similar, it was impossible for us to last together. Storms Over London was doomed from the start and, in a way, I knew it. We all did, really. Somewhere, deep down, we knew this band was created only to crumble.

"Now what do we do?" Linda asked.

All of us looked to Ellen, but even she was at a loss. We could always hold an audition and find another new member, but, deep down, I knew that wouldn't work. We had reached the finish line and it was time to go to the bleachers.

"I-I have to say something," Minerva stood on shaky knees, "I-I don't want-I don't want to be a musician anymore either."

I glanced at her, my voice on the verge of breaking, and asked, "You don't?"

"No. I'm not cut out for it. I want to move to Scotland and open an animal farm. I'm too nervous to be a musician, I don't know why I ever even bothered," Minerva explained.

Linda came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was easy to tell that she was on the verge of tears too, but not as much as me. I felt like I was going to keel over at any moment. I rubbed my eyes and forced a shaky smile.

"You should-you should do that," I said, "Follow your dreams, Minnie, it's obvious this life isn't for you."

She gripped the neck of her guitar tightly, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's over."

Minerva didn't move, she stood there like a deer in the headlights just watching me. Eventually, she left, leaving behind a producer, a manager, and two broken band members. In her wake was a dark depression that would stay for days to come. Ellen and Mitch came up behind Linda and me, all four of us stared at the door.

Just seven years before, three girls decided to form a band. Against all odds, they soared to the top and had fun while they did it. Through good times and bad, the band stood strong. Just seven years ago, I started on a long journey that came to an end that stormy day in 1969.

I couldn't imagine life without a band. I've been the drummer since I was fifteen years old, I don't know anything else. A life without Revolution, Storms Over London, or even The Quarrymen was a life I didn't know how to live.

Endings are just as beautiful as beginnings. When you reach the end, you can look back on everything you did with a smile. You know you've done it all and you can finally relax. At the time, endings are devastating. Standing there in that studio that had become my second home, I felt like breaking down. Yet, I still had something I had to say.

"Well, ladies, it looks like we've reached the end," I spun around to face Linda, Ellen, and Mitch, "It's been one helluva adventure and I couldn't think of who I'd rather go through it with."

All four of us were on the verge of tears, yet we managed to smile. That one broken smile was enough to seal the deal. This was truly the end, and now, it was time for goodbyes. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around Mitch, smiling whenever I felt her hug my waist.

"Thanks for everything, Mitch," I muttered, "You've been the greatest producer any girl could ever ask for."

Mitch squeezed my stomach, "A producer is only as good as the band. Amelia, promise to keep in touch?"

"Of course, Mitch, of course."

Mitch and I separated. Exchanging one solemn smile, she went to hug Linda while I turned to Ellen. The woman I had thought of as family stood there with unshed tears glistening over her eyes. She smiled slightly, a gesture which I returned.

"Elly, you're a saint," I rushed forward to hug her, "We would have never made it this far without you."

Ellen squeezed my shoulders, "It's been wonderful, Amelia."

"You're the greatest."

"As are you," she smiled, "Amelia, you are more than my client, you are my friend, one of my closest friends I might say."

"That's not going away, Elly, promise."

The two of us pulled apart and she smiled. She placed her hands on my shoulder and looked me dead in the eye, "It has been a pleasure, Amelia."

"The pleasure is all mine, Ellen."

"We'll announce the split in a press conference tomorrow," Ellen squeezed my shoulders, "For now, go home, get some rest. You'll need it."

"Ta, Elly."

Linda followed me out. At the door, we turned and took one last look at Aubergine Studios. I made it a point to memorize everything, from the mound of bean bags in the corner to the excess blankets littering the couch. Even the lava lamps and their bouncing globs of goo remain embedded in my memory.

"Goodbye, studio," I mumbled before Linda and I stepped out.

The storms had stopped, leaving the London air dry but the ground soaking wet. Nevertheless, Linda and I began to walk down the street. Neither of us had the courage to call a cab. There was something symbolic in walking away from the place that means so much. It was like cutting the ties completely.

"Well, Mel, it's been an adventure," Linda smiled, "I can't believe it's over."

I glanced back to see the studio vanish into sight, "Neither can I, Lindy, neither can I."

At that point, I made no effort to conceal the tears pouring down my cheeks.


	212. And In The End

The larger portion of my life has been dedicated to music. I went from child to adult playing the drums, sometimes I swear I was born with a drumstick in my hand. Music had been a part of me for as long as I can remember, and with that came the band.

It started as The Quarrymen. I was nothing more than a pianist-turned-drummer and I thought that's all I'd ever be. John, Paul, George, and I would be stuck in Liverpool until we gave up, but that wasn't the case. Bands became such a huge part of my life that I don't know what to do without them. I can't imagine waking up and not going to the studio, or going to the studio only to find it empty.

Being in a band and being a solo artist are two very different things. In a band, you play with your friends. You are never alone because there is always someone right next to you going through the exact same things as you. With Revolution, Storms Over London, and even The Beatles, I always had someone smiling right along with me whenever we made our music. Now, all of that was gone. I was left all alone in a world meant for groups.

"Amelia, please, drinking will do nothing," Jane practically begged.

I sat with my back pressed against the wall as if trying to come over the numbness by digging my spine into the bumps on the wall. All I could feel was an overwhelming sense of nothing, like I had felt everything so strongly that there was nothing left to feel. I knew, as soon as that numbness past, I would be left with overwhelming despair. I wanted to feel, but I didn't want to feel that, so, I drank.

Jane knelt next to me and frowned. She never did well when anyone near her was drinking, especially those she loved. I wanted to guzzle down as much whiskey as it took to get blackout drunk. Later on, I had to go sign papers to formally disband Storms Over London, and I planned to show up drunker than an Irish man in an all you can drink pub. Jane was obviously displeased with this fact. She didn't hesitate in forcefully jerking the bottle from my hands and holding it just out of reach.

"I know you're upset, but drinking yourself blind will only make matters worse," she lectured.

I weakly sighed, "Doesn't matter. I'll drink 'till I don't remember."

"Don't remember what?"

"Everything," I mumbled, shoving my face in my knees, "Fucking everything. I want to forget it all, at least then it won't hurt."

Jane sat the bottle on a nearby table and scooted to sit next to me. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me close, allowing me to rest my head on her chest.

"I know it hurts, El, but it'll pass," she explained, "Soon, you'll only be left with good memories."

I frowned, "But no band."

"You can make another one."

"I don't want too," I mumbled, "It won't be the same."

Not without Molly. Not without Linda. Not without Janice. It won't be the same without the girls I started this with. Playing without Molly and Janice was already difficult enough. I had been doomed the moment Janice quit, and my fate had only been sealed when Molly died. Linda would still play with me if I asked, but I knew that wasn't her ambition. She was a dedicated person and, right now, her dedication rested with her family and her photography, specifically photographing her family. In a way, I was the last one standing even though all but one of my bandmates were still breathing.

"Things change, Amelia, that's how life goes," Jane did her best to comfort me, "You have to be open to change to be ready to experience everything life has to offer. Even if it causes a bit of heartache in passing, it'll get better. The next adventure is just around the corner."

I squeezed my eyes in an effort to keep the tears from falling, "What if I don't want another adventure? What if I want to cling to the life I know with all of my might, never letting it go?"

"Then, you'll be left behind."

We both fell into silence. What Jane said was profound, it was exactly what I needed even if I didn't want to hear it. What I wanted was to be a rebel again, with Molly, Janice, and Linda all playing together. I wanted to go back to the golden days of Revolution, before the toxicity of Storms Over London took over.

"I'm sorry, El, really, I am," Jane sighed, "I know it hurts, but the pain will pass. You've just gotta keep your chin up and look at the happy things."

I glanced up at her, "Like what?"

"You don't have to deal with Tabitha anymore."

"I wish I could. Maybe then I could make things right."

"What about other things?" Jane asked, "You still have me, and Vera, and Linda, and Paul, John, George, and Ringo. You still have your friends."

I smiled slightly, "I do, don't I?"

"And I can promise you, we're not going anywhere," Jane kissed my temple.

Losing the band was like losing a child. I felt everything I had built crumble into nothing. Some of the only stability in my life was gone. In was out of a job, a hobby, a passion, and a life all in one day. It felt as if a part of me had died.

It wasn't all bad, like Jane said. I could always make another band, though it would never be the same. There would never be another Revolution, I had tried and failed to make another. All things must pass, and now it was time to say goodbye to that stage in my life no matter how much I wanted it to stay.

"I think you've got some papers to sign," Jane whispered.

I sighed, "This is going to be hell."

"I know, but you won't be alone," Jane stroked my hair, "Linda will be there, and Ellen. And, when you come back, I'll be waiting."

"With a drink?"

"Definitely not, I'm hiding every bottle we have."

"Can't say I blame you," I said as I stood, "I'm not a pretty drunk."

Jane smirked, "Do you remember?"

"Nah, but I've heard stories."

Jane chuckled. She stood with me and smiled, "I'll come with you, if you like."

"As much as I want you to, I think it's best if I do this on my own," I smiled weakly, "Sort of closure, yeah?"

She kissed my cheek, "I'll be waiting."

"I'm counting on it."

She waved me off, waiting in the hall until the door shut. As soon as I stepped into the lift, everything came crashing down. I wanted to scream, cry, and sleep all at the same time, but I pressed on.

Effectively, I was going to sign a paper killing off a part of my life. Some piece of me would always be a Rebel, a Storm, but I wouldn't be anymore. From the moment I sign that paper, I am no longer Amelia McCartney The Rebel or The Storm, I'm just Amelia McCartney.

I wasn't sure exactly who just Amelia McCartney was.

We all had to sign the papers at Ellen's office near Carnaby Street. On the way there, the cab passed by the house on Cavendish Avenue. Linda was waiting for us on the curb with a backward hunch and a painful expression. When she slid in next to me, I asked, "You alright, Lindy?"

"Alright as I can be," she huffed, "I'm ready for this kid to get out of me."

I grinned, "Any idea if it's a boy or a girl?"

"We're going for a surprise," she glanced at me with an annoyed look.

I giggled, "That sounds like Paul's idea."

"It was," Linda replied, "He insisted he wanted to be surprised, so I didn't tell him I knew."

"Lindy, you sneak."

"I have a few surprises."

I smiled weakly, "Care to let me in on the secret?"

Linda leaned forward and whispered, "It's a girl."

"Brilliant!" I exclaimed, "Heather will love a sister, I'm sure."

Linda nodded. The cab pulled up to Ellen's office only to find a mob of reporters and fans. To my surprise, most of the fans were crying. I didn't expect anybody to cry for Storms Over London, we only had three albums, after all. We barely even played live, I didn't think we were warranted this reaction. Only when we got closer did I realize those fans were wearing old Revolution shirts.

"Bloody hell," I mumbled as Linda and I stepped out of the cab.

Cameras flashed and reporters all pushed for a short interview. Linda grabbed onto my elbow, though I wasn't sure if she were uneasy or if she didn't want to get separated. Both of us kept our heads down and pushed through the mob and into Ellen's office.

The lobby was completely abandoned. There wasn't a single reporter, fan, or manager in sight. It seemed as if the entire building were empty. Part of me hoped everybody had forgotten and we wouldn't have to sign the papers, until Prudence came around the corner.

"Ellen was wondering when you'd get here," Prudence smiled sadly, "They're upstairs waiting."

I nodded, "Thanks, Prudence."

"My pleasure."

Linda and I stepped into the lift. With every meter we climbed, I felt my stomach tie in a tighter knot. Any minute now, I would sign away my life's work. Everything would go down the drain with a single swish of the pen.

"I don't want to do this," I mumbled, my eyes glued to the door.

Linda squeezed my arm, "Me neither."

The lift dinged and the doors opened. We were met with a long table covered in papers. A few lawyers stood around, examining each and every word. Ellen stood at the head with Tabitha and Minerva on either side. Tabitha's husband stood behind her. Whenever he saw me, he looked like he was ready to defend his wife at all costs. Tabitha held up a hand to calm him.

"McCartney," Tabitha spat, "It's about time you showed up."

I frowned, "Can we not do this today, Tabitha? I'm not in the mood."

"I'll be civil if you will."

"Deal."

The two of us looked away. Linda and I stepped up next to Ellen, who had a paper in her hand and a pair of glasses on the tip of her nose. I rested a hand on her shoulder and cracked a smile, "Alright, Elly?"

"Alright as I can be," Ellen sighed, "There is a lot of paperwork in need of signing."

Linda nodded, "Just point us in the right direction."

There were four reporters in the corner. They remained silent, the only sounds being the snaps of their cameras. As Ellen handed us papers, I could hear their cameras snapping. It felt like they were intruding on a private moment, but I knew this was anything but private. We were a worldwide sensation, it was only right for the people to know exactly what was going on. In a way, those reporters were documenting history. The last technical photos of Revolution/Storms Over London together.

My hand began to cramp from all the papers I had to sign. Eventually, my own signature began to look like useless scribbles. Linda and I each sat in chairs, side-by-side, and filled out the papers at Ellen's desk. Minerva took the floor as Tabitha used an empty part of the table. All of us were silent as we signed the closure of Storms Over London.

With every swish of the pen, I fell deeper into the dark hole I didn't know the way out of. My life was washing away right before my eyes and there was nothing I could do about it. A few times, tears threatened to blur my signature, but I held them back. For the sake of my reputation, I held them back.

"That's all, ladies," one lawyer said, "Congratulations, Storms Over London is officially-legally-terminated."

I held back every emotion I could. Linda wrapped an arm around my shoulder, both for comforting me and for comforting herself. While she didn't put as much as herself into this band as I did, it still hurt to see it go. Linda was hurt, but I was devastated.

"That's it, then? That's the end?" I asked.

Ellen nodded solemnly. Tabitha scoffed, "Good riddance, too. Come on, Jeffrey."

Jeffrey obediently followed his wife out. Minerva wasn't too far behind, waving a pitiful goodbye to us as she left. Only Ellen, Linda, and I remained, and all three of us looked on the verge of tears. A few salty tears leaked down my cheeks, though I quickly wiped them away.

"It's been a pleasure, girls," Ellen smiled, "Do keep in touch, won't you?"

I couldn't reply. All I could do was rush forward and latch myself to Ellen just like I did in the old days. Ellen quickly wrapped her arms around me as well.

"Thank you for everything," I mumbled.

She smiled, "Thank you."

Linda joined our hug. The three of us stood there in an embrace for longer than we should have, but it didn't matter. I didn't want to let go. Letting go meant leaving, turning my back on the life I so adored.

"We'll keep in touch," Linda said.

I nodded, "You're still our friend, Elly, one of the greatest friends we've ever known."

"I love you girls," Ellen muttered, "And I always will."

"We love you too, Elly."

Linda and I left to the same reception we arrived in. We slid in the cab, neither of us knowing what to say or what to do. We didn't want to leave the office building, but we had to. It was Linda who came up with the perfect distraction.

"Why don't we go visit Paul and the other boys?" Linda asked, "See what they're up to?"

I cracked a weak smile, "That's a good idea, Lindy."

The cab dropped us off a block from the studio. We didn't want to draw any attention with a bright yellow cab rolling up to Abbey Road Studios. Linda and I thanked the cabbie before heading towards the studio.

As soon as we rounded the corner onto Abbey Road, we stopped short. Four lads were walking across the zebra-striped crosswalk, all while a photographer captured their every move. They went back and forth, walking until they were satisfied with their take. Linda and I came up to the brick wall around the studios to watch.

"What do you think this is for?" Linda asked.

I shrugged, "A new album? I dunno."

At that point, I didn't actually care. I knew Paul would tell me eventually, but, for the moment, I was too wrapped up in my own self-pity. All I wanted to do was go home and drink myself blind, but I knew Jane wouldn't let me.

The photographer was finally satisfied. John, George, and Ringo stepped up to thank him, but Paul stepped away. He came to us with a bright smile, "Didn't expect to see you here."

"We just came from Ellen's office," Linda smiled sadly, "I thought it might be a good idea for a bit of a distraction."

She glanced over at me. Paul met my eyes and his smile instantly fell. I sniffled, "It's over, Paulie."

"You signed the papers?" he mumbled.

I nodded. Without hesitation, I rushed forward and buried my face in his chest. He affectionately wrapped his arms around me. Even though I couldn't see it, I could feel his worried looks. Looking back on it, I don't think he was worried about me as much as he was worried about meeting the same fate.

"It's over," my voice was muffled by his shirt, "We're not a band anymore."


	213. A Light in The Darkness

The heaviest questions anybody could ask are; who am I? What am I supposed to do? Why am I here? I've never had problems answering that, it was easy as pie. I'm Amelia McCartney, the drummer for Revolution and Storms Over London. I'm here to make music, and make music is what I'm going to do. Now, I'm lost. I don't know who I am, what I'm supposed to do, or why I'm here anymore. I've spent so long being Amelia McCartney The Drummer that I didn't know how to be Amelia McCartney. I was lost in a room filled with directions, and there was no way out.

Sitting on the balcony at night seemed to be my only escape. There, time was different and I could forget about reality for a bit. I could pretend I still knew the way, that the path was still clear. As soon as the sun rose, however, I knew I'd still be lost.

The moon was shining brighter than usual that night. It illuminated the world similarly to it's sister the sun. Something about that moon was different, or maybe it was just the night. That August night had a moon brighter than any of its predecessors and a family overjoyed in the bleached halls of the hospital.

The phone ringing startled me. I nearly dropped my notebook off of the balcony. It seemed to ring louder than usual, though that could just be because the world was silent. There wasn't a single sound to be heard except for the incessant ringing of the phone. Quickly, I rushed into the house. Jane and Vera were still asleep, and I didn't want to wake them.

"Hello?" I answered, glancing at the stairs to make sure nobody was awake.

"Lia! Thank God!" Paul practically screamed.

I winced at his loud voice, "Christ, Paulie, can you keep it down? You're gonna give me a headache."

"Bloody hell, Lia, I can't!" Paul shouted, "Linda's in labour!"

I nearly dropped the phone, "What?!"

"She just went back, we're at the hospital now. Fucking hell, I'm going to be a Da."

Paul's breathing sped up. I could tell the entire situation was freaking him out. Suddenly, he gasped, "What if there's complications? What if Linda doesn't come out of it? What if the baby-"

"Paul, calm down," I interrupted, "Linda and the baby are going to be fine. She's done this before, she knows what she's doing."

I could hear Paul running his hands through his hair, "I'm gonna be a Da."

"You're gonna be a Da, but you have to keep your head. You freaking out won't help Linda."

Paul groaned, "I can't help it, Lia, I've never done this before."

"Neither have I."

"What about Vera?"

"I wasn't there for her birth, you git," I chuckled, "Just take a deep breath, yeah?"

"Can you come down?" he asked.

I glanced at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning, the cab services wouldn't be running. There was a chance I could take the underground, but even that was far fetched. Most all public transport systems were shut down this late at night. Nevertheless, I could tell Paul needed someone to lean on.

"I'll be right there," I replied.

"Lia, you're a lifesaver."

"I know," I cheekily replied, "Try to remain upright until I get there."

"I'll try."

With that, we hung up. I quickly shoved my feet in my boots and hurriedly wrote a note to Jane. Grabbing my hat, I rushed out of the flat.

London seemed abandoned at that time of night. The only life was the rats scuttling in the gutters and the solitary woman sprinting down the streets. All of the systems of transportation had been shut down, forcing me to walk all the way to the hospital. It took two hours, but I finally made it, bursting through the front doors completely out of breath and on the verge of collapsing.

"Bloody hell," I huffed, placing my hands on my knees.

One of the nurses walked up to me, "Can I help you, miss?"

"Yes, I'm here to see my brother," I replied, looking up to meet her eyes, "Paul McCartney? His wife's in labour."

As soon as she saw my face, she recognized me. Her eyes widened as she quickly nodded. She began to scuttle through the halls with me close at her heels. She led me to a waiting room on the second floor. The only occupants were a pacing Paul and Heather, who was fast asleep in one of the armchairs.

"Lia, why're you in your jammies?" Paul asked as soon as he saw me.

I glanced down at myself to see my plaid pajamas. I had completely forgotten that I was still wearing them, the legs bunched up on the top of my boots. Sighing, I glanced back at him, "It's four o'clock in the morning."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I was sleeping when you called."

"You never sleep."

I sighed, "I was supposed to be sleeping. Forgot I was wearing my jammies."

Paul smiled, "Thanks for comin', Lia."

"Course. Someone has to make sure you don't faint."

Paul laughed. His laugh was a bit uneasy, but that was understandable. He had never been in the position he was in now, with his wife giving birth to their baby. What was more, he wasn't allowed to see either Linda or the baby until the entire procedure was complete. It was impossible to know how long that would take. Linda could be back there for three hours or twenty-four, maybe even more. It all depended on her and the baby, none of us would know what to expect until we got the call back.

"Paulie, you're makin' ruts in the tile from pacin' so much," I commented.

Paul paused at the end of the line of chairs and glanced at me, "I can't help it, Lia."

"Sit down."

"I-"

"Paul, bloody hell, sit your arse down."

Paul looked like he wanted to object, but his arguments fell limp. He sat down next to me and crossed his legs, bouncing them both repeatedly. Eventually, I finally had enough and placed my hands on his knees to stop him.

"You're not helping anything by doing that, you know," I said.

"I'm helpin' me," he replied, "Calms me down a bit."

"Does it?"

"Kind of?"

I gazed at him. He gazed back, his eyes constantly twitching towards the maternity ward door. I sighed, causing his attention to fall back on me. Smiling, I said, "Look at you, you nervous wreck. You've faced stadiums filled with hundreds of thousands of people, and you're nervous by a tiny trip to a hospital?"

Paul frowned, "This is different. Linda is back there, she's in danger."

"She isn't in danger, Paulie," I waved him off, "Linda's a strong lass, stronger than anyone I know. She knows what she's doing and she'll get through it well enough, just you wait."

"I don't want to wait," he mumbled.

The door opened and a nurse stepped out. She held a clipboard with several papers. Glancing down at it, she called, "Family of Linda McCartney?"

"Looks like you won't have to wait," I mumbled as Paul leaped to his feet.

Paul hurried over to the nurse as I moved to Heather. I shook her shoulder gently, smiling as she woke up, "Come on, kiddo, it's time to see your Mum."

Heather was still half asleep. I ended up carrying her through the halls as we followed Paul and the nurse. Paul kept tripping over his own feet and wringing his hands. I shifted Heather to one arm in order to grip Paul's shoulder with the other, "It'll be alright, Paulie."

He didn't reply. We were led to a back room. The nurse opened the door and let us in. Just as we were walking in, the sun began to rise, piercing through the curtains and sending its rays into the room. It seemed to be greeting to new little McCartney into the world. Paul and I rounded the corner to see an exhausted looking Linda holding a little bundle of blankets.

"Linda, love, are you alright?" Paul hurried to sit on the bed next to his wife.

Linda smiled weakly, "Fine, Paul, I'm fine."

"Lindy, you look great for someone who just gave birth," I chuckled, "Not that you don't look great every other day."

She glanced at me and grinned. Paul looked down at her arms, his eyes falling upon the little bundle she held. Linda smiled, "Want to hold her?"

"Of course," Paul replied, his voice filled with amazement.

Gently, he took the little bundle from Linda's arms. The top of the bundle fell off, revealing a head of dark hair uncannily resembling Paul's. The baby cooed, reaching her tiny arms out to her Dad. Paul pulled her to his chest and smiled.

I had seen Paul light up a thousand times before, but never as brightly as he did when he held his first daughter in his arms. That little baby was his world from the moment he saw her on. His eyes held the pure, unfiltered joy every new father knew all too well. As I watched, a few tears came to the corners of his eyes and fell down his cheeks.

The scene was so tender, I wanted to save it forever. Linda's camera was never far from her. I set Heather down on the armchair in the room and grabbed the camera from Linda's bag. Snapping a photo, I smiled, "And now you'll have this moment forever."

"I already have it forever," Paul quietly replied, "Hello, little Mary."

The baby cooed once again. Paul held her hair, stroking her hair with his thumb, his grin growing with every second. I came up behind him and looked down at the content little baby.

"Welcome to the family, Mary," I said.


	214. Return of McBeardy

With every sunrise comes a sunset, it is simply the laws of nature. With every birth comes a death, with every light comes a dark, and with every beginning comes an end. All things must come to an end, whether that be now or later, it's going to happen. Even the greatest of the greats come to the finish line somehow.

I was lucky enough to witness it, or unlucky, depending on how you look at it. History was made, and I was there every step of the way. I was there at the beginning, it was only fitting for me to be there at the end.

There was nothing to do during the day anymore. Without a studio to go to or a band to perform with, I was left at home alone with my thoughts. Jane was off filming and Vera was at preschool. All I had was myself and my demons, and neither of us wanted to confront each other. That meant I had to find a distraction, and I knew just the place to go.

Standing across the street from the house on Cavendish Avenue, I watched the few stray fans wander about. Most of the mobs had heard of Paul's farm and thought he moved there. In truth, he split his time between the two destinations. Only the hardcore Beatles fans knew Paul was inside of that house.

Just as I was about to head across the street and knock on the door, the gate opened. Paul appeared. As soon as I saw him, I grinned. His beard had come back even fuller than before. During the Let It Be sessions, I was constantly teasing him that he could take off the fake beard. Now, it looked even more real than before.

Paul waved at the fans, pausing to sign a few autographs and take a few photos. I crossed the street with my hands in my pockets and a smirk across my lips. Coming up behind Paul, I said, "Fancy meetin' you here."

"Bloody hell, Lia!" Paul jumped slightly, "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Calm down, McBeardy."

Paul rolled his eyes. As he signed another autograph, he said, "What're you doin' here?"

"Can't I visit the brother whom I love?" I asked, "I was lonely. There's not much to do anymore."

I sighed forlornly. Paul shot me a sympathetic look before busting out in a smile, "Say, I'm heading to the studio, you can join me if you'd like."

"Love too."

"The lads'll be happy," Paul said as he headed down the street towards his car, "They're all strung up."

I cocked my head, "You lads need a vacation."

Paul's eyes became dark. He didn't reply. There was something he wasn't telling me, or something he didn't want to tell himself. When you can sense something terrible coming, you always try to deny it, it was simply human instinct. Paul was doing his best to ignore the fact that his entire life was about to come crumbling down just as mine had.

The two of us slid into his car. I sat in the passenger seat with my arms crossed over my body. Glancing at him, I grinned, "You do look good in a beard."

"Ta," he smirked, "And you said I could never grow one."

"Did not."

"You did. First time I wore the fake beard in '63, remember?" he winked.

I rolled my eyes, "Christ, Paulie, how can you remember something from '63 when you can't even remember your own name half the time."

"I can remember my name. It's James."

"No, it's git."

His laughter shook the entire car. I rolled my eyes, chuckling under my breath and turning my attention to the road. Abbey Road Studios soon came into view with its white walls and stone fence. Paul pulled up to the curb and stepped out with me close in tow.

Paul and I made our way through the studio lobby and into the studio itself. George Martin greeted us from his place in the production studio, his face tight with worry. Paul simply nodded his head paying no heed to George's obvious fear. I, however, noticed straight away. Slowing down, I knitted my eyebrows. He turned to look out the window to the studio with tired eyes.

George and Ringo were already in the studio. They were both on opposite sides and looked like they would rather be anywhere else. Ringo toyed with his drum kit absentmindedly. George was tuning his guitar but I could tell his mind wasn't in it. No matter how many times he tuned the G string, he couldn't get it quite right. George was a whizz at tuning guitars, he could do it when he was sleeping. Something was definitely wrong.

"Morning', laddies," Paul said, doing his best to remain pleasant.

The air was colder than it should be. George nodded a good morning as Ringo said it back. Neither of them actually looked at Paul, nor did they notice me. I furrowed my eyebrows. Usually, the three lads would have already been laughing and talking together. Ringo never frowned, he always waved and smiled at me whenever I visited. Even George would shoot me a grin. Both lads continued to ignore me and barely look at Paul. 

It was unnatural for the four lads to be so cold to each other. They were brothers, the closest brothers I had ever seen. Sometimes, I got jealous of their relationship. Something was very wrong.

"What's the matter, fellas? Blue Meanies?" I joked.

I tried to remain cheerful. Even if they didn't want to see the sunlight, I'd bring it in. Sometimes, people just needed someone to show them the light.

"Nothin', Mel," Ringo replied, "Just tired, is all."

I lifted an eyebrow, "I know you, Ringo."

"Just tired."

He was obviously lying, but I didn't press on. Glancing at George, I knew I'd get the same reaction. Paul noticed too. Either he elected to ignore it or this wasn't out of the ordinary. It had been a long time since I visited the lads in the studio, and I didn't expect them to be so cold to each other.

I sat down on the bench next to George and leaned forward. He was hunched over his guitar, doing his best to keep from meeting my eyes. Smiling slightly, I asked, "Georgie?"

He glanced up at me. As soon as his eyes met mine, I shuddered. George had a poker face like no other, but I could sense the anger behind it. It wasn't so much anger as it was a mixture of that and despair. He was angry at the situation, but he was sad that it was close to the end.

I didn't see it. In my mind, I was sure they were just having a bad day. As their mate, it was my job to make it better. Unfortunately, I did it in the worst way possible.

"Aw, a little music'll cheer you right up," I grinned.

George's frown only deepened. I could tell I hit a rough spot, though I didn't know why. Music was their cure. It got them through the toughest times and the smoothest. Music was their life and their lifeline all in one. If they were opposed to playing, then something had to be dreadfully wrong.

Our answer came in the form of John and Yoko. The doors to the studio burst open and the two of them walked in. Both were dressed in all white, and John took the lead. His gaze was steely like he had his sights set on a prize. He barely noticed George, Ringo, or me in his path to Paul.

"Morning, Johnny," Paul grinned, doing his best to hide his anxiety.

John stopped at the side of the piano and stared at his best mate, "I'm done, Paul."

"What?"

"I'm done," John replied, "I want a divorce, McCartney."


	215. Ten Good Years

"I want a divorce, McCartney."

Everything stopped. The entire world stopped turning at John's words. The birds stopped chirping, the people stopped laughing, and the world started weeping as soon as John Lennon said those five words. All of us stared at him, soaking in exactly what he had said. Only John seemed pleased with it, the rest of us were a mix of complex emotions.

The Beatles were a beautiful thing, perhaps the most beautiful thing music had ever created, or that had ever created music. They were something special, but they weren't something that was meant to last. When you get to the point where you're in the public eye no matter what you do, where every move is criticized, and where what you love becomes more of an obligation than a joy, things are bound to break apart. The Beatles weren't immune, and they knew it. Ever since The White Album, they knew it, but they denied it. All were so attached to the group, they didn't know what to do without it. Only John had to confidence to pull the plug, and, in all actuality, John didn't come to this decision on his own.

"You-wha-" Paul stuttered, unable to find the words.

"I'm quitting The Beatles," John replied, "Officially. We all saw it coming, Paul, you had to have too."

Paul couldn't reply. He opened his mouth several times, but no words came out. George and Ringo looked on solemnly. They knew this was coming, and part of me thinks they knew it was going to happen that day. They were ready, but Paul wasn't. Quickly, I lunged to my feet.

"John, you can't be serious," I said.

John spun to face me, "Of course I'm bloody serious, Amelia, I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

I don't know which hurt worse, John breaking up The Beatles or the way he used our names. He always called Paul Macca or Paulie, but never McCartney. Since the day I met him, I had always been Mel, never Amelia. John never used our real names unless he was angry, or trying to make his point clear. 

"But, this is your life," I argued, "These are your mates, your brothers. You can't just drop them like that."

"I can and I did. I'm sick and bloody tired of being a Beatle. This isn't my life-not anymore."

Yoko came up behind him and rested a supporting hand on his elbow. At the time, all I could think was how this was her fault. John was perfectly happy being a Beatle before she showed up. Everybody was content before she inserted herself directly in the middle.

"John, please, just think about this," I practically begged.

John frowned, "I have thought about it, and I'm going to do it. I'm done. I quit."

Paul looked like he was going to collapse. Even I felt the despair of a loved one dying. The Beatles were exactly like that, a loved one. They were someone we had in our lives since we were kids, losing them felt like losing Mum all over again. George stood, abandoning his guitar on the bench behind him, "I'm out too."

"Here here," Ringo agreed.

"Not you lads too," I mumbled.

George shrugged, "It's not what it used to be, Mel. We've all grown up."

"As a Beatle."

"We've grown out of it," John replied, "We're not who we were ten years ago."

"That shouldn't matter."

"But it does."

I glanced around the room. All I saw were three tired faces, all ready to get out of the life they thought was dragging them down. Being a Beatle did get tiresome, but only if you made it so. In my mind, the only way for them to make things better was if they got up and did something about it. Breaking up was the last thing I thought they would ever do, but there it was. History was unfolding before my very eyes and I refused to see it.

"The Beatles are dead," John said, glancing back at Paul, "It's over. After the album is released, I'm out for good."

George and Ringo both nodded in agreement. Paul looked like he was going to faint at any moment. All he could do was stare at John with trembling eyes.

"John, let's go," Yoko whispered.

John nodded. He and Yoko left, leaving behind a shocked Paul and a solemn George and Ringo. I simply stood there, staring at the door, unsure of what to do. Deep down, I hoped it was all a nightmare, that I would wake up any minute and The Beatles would be working on their next album.

"I'm gone," George grabbed his coat and his guitar, "Sorry, Paulie, but we all knew this was coming."

Ringo nodded, "Sorry, mate."

The two of them left. They seemed so sure in their decision, but I suspected they went home and drank as many bottles as their wives would let them. Even if they wanted this to happen, it was still worth crying over. The Beatles had been their life for ten years, just like Revolution was mine. Without The Beatles, they would be left all alone, trying to figure out who they were.

Paul had yet to move. It was only the two of us in the studio, but Paul hadn't moved a muscle. Slowly, I sat next to him.

"Paulie?" I rested a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He turned to look at me. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, "It can't be over."

"I know," I muttered, "All good things come to an end."

A single tear trailed down his cheek, "What are we if we're not Beatles?"

"You're you. You're Paul McCartney, you just have to figure out who that is."

"I don't want to," Paul hiccuped, "I don't want to not be a Beatle."

I glanced at the door and sighed, "It doesn't look like you have much of a choice."

Pauls stared at the wall with a blank expression. It was a lot to absorb, and it would take him several days. For now, I had to make sure he got home without getting into any trouble. Just as I stood, George Martin appeared at the door.

"I was afraid of this," he muttered.

"I think we all were, though we refused to acknowledge it," I looked at Paul, "I've gotta get him home."

George Martin nodded, "I suppose it is for the best. It's been a pleasure."

"As always."

I wrapped one of Paul's arms around my shoulders and helped him stand. He was wobbly, but he managed to keep upright all the way into the hall. He leaned on me heavily outside the building and towards his car. Slowly, I slid him in the passenger seat. Even in his shocked state, I expected him to protest, but he didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on his hands as I slid behind the wheel.

There were more levers and gears than I expected. Wrapping my hands around the leather of the steering wheel, I took a deep breath, "I can do this."

The car leaped off of the curb and drove down the road. It stopped every so often, and my driving was jagged. For someone who never took driving lessons, I'd say I did alright. We got to Cavendish Avenue in one piece.

I got Paul out of the car and to his gate. The few remaining fans stood back, obviously aware that something was wrong with Paul and they didn't want to disturb him. The two of us slowly made our way to the door. As I knocked, Paul became heavier.

"Wh-what happened?" Linda asked as soon as she opened the door.

She stepped to the side and let me walk Paul into the house. I dumped him on the couch and sighed, "He's an absolute wreck."

"Why?"

"John pulled the plug," I replied, "The Beatles are over, all but Paul have quit."

Linda gasped. She saw it coming. Really, all of us did, though most of us chose to ignore it. Paul buried his face in a pillow and exhaled deeply.

"How'd you get him back?" Linda asked.

I rubbed my forehead, "I drove."

"You don't have a license."

"I figured it out."

Linda sighed deeply. We both watched as Paul got off the couch. All in one swift motion, he fell onto his feet and moved to the liquor cabinet in the corner. He grabbed a bottle without any particular taste, uncapped it, and began to drink.

"We can't let him drink himself to death," Linda tugged at her hair, "Especially not with the girls upstairs."

I ran a hand through my hair, "You take care of the kids, Lindy, I'll handle Paul."

"Are you sure?"

"Wouldn't be the first time I dealt with a drunk brother," I sighed, "Besides, I know what he's going through."

Linda nodded, "Alright. Call me if you need me."

"Of course."

Linda vanished upstairs. I turned to Paul and sighed. He had already downed an entire bottle and was searching for more. Moving forward, I grabbed his arms, "Paulie, you can't drink yourself out of this one."

"I can try."

"Trust me, you can't," I replied, "I tried, it doesn't work."

He glanced back at me, his eyes still trembling with an effort to hold back tears. Gently, I guided him back to the couch. He fell down, still clenching the empty bottle.

At that moment, I was the best equipped to help him. I had gone through exactly what he was going through just a few days prior. I knew the intense sadness hidden beneath the layer of shock. I knew all too well the need to drink yourself blind in order to forget the events of the moment.

"I know it hurts right now, but listen when I tell you drinking won't do anything," I sat down next to him and smile comfortingly, "The pain will pass."

Paul hiccuped, "Then what?"

"Then, well, life goes on," I replied, "You'll just have to figure that out when the time comes. For now, you just have to keep going."

"I don't want to."

"I know, but you have to."

Paul frowned, "I want to be a Beatle. I like being a Beatle."

"I know, but everything has to come to an end sometime," I answered, "The good things always seem to end the quickest. It wasn't meant to last forever."

"Yes, it was," Paul mumbled.

I shook my head, "You and I both know it wasn't."

"I thought it was," Paul whispered.

He stared off at the wall with the same blank expression he would have for the next week. Nothing could change that except for him, and he wasn't in the right frame of mind just yet. Sighing, I leaned back on the couch, "Trust me, Paulie, it gets better."

"Does it?"

"Not really."


	216. While The World Gently Weeps

felt like I was living in some alternate reality. As if one sentence could send me soaring into a world unlike my own. Ever since John dropped the bomb, the entire world felt different. The music wasn't quite as sweet as it once was, the birds didn't sing as they used to, even the sun didn't shine as brightly. Everything had changed, for good or for bad, it was too soon to tell. With the disbandment of The Beatles, the entire world had changed.

It was unreal. Part of me expected to wake up in Hamburg with John rushing us all to a gig. I still remembered the beginning, it felt too soon for the end. Yet, there it was, lying in front of me. The finish line was there, and it was time to cross it.

I've already crossed the finish line. As soon as Storms Over London broke up, I crossed it and stood on the other side waiting for my mates. It seemed as if I've been watching them approach the finish line for a long time, but none of them were willing to cross it. Until John finally got up the courage and took the necessary leap, dragging George and Ringo along with him. Paul was the only one left behind.

Linda had taken him up to the Scotland Farm for the weekend in an effort to calm him down. I had successfully kept him from drinking himself to death, but only one person could truly keep him alive. I knew what he was going through, but Linda knew how to get through to him. She could get him to understand better than anyone else, and I had grown up with him. Something about The Lovely Linda made everybody listen, especially Paul.

Jane and I had taken the responsibility of watching the kids while Linda tried to bring Paul back down to Earth. Mary was napping in our bedroom while Vera and Heather played in the nursery. Jane and I could hear them from the living room. Vera was singing while Heather banged on toy drums. Miraculously, Mary never woke up.

"I never thought I'd be sitting here watching the news that The Beatles are breaking up," Jane commented.

Both of us were blankly staring at the telly. A reporter stood in front of Abbey Road Studios surrounded by crying fans. He was talking about how it was recently announced that The Beatles are finished. The fans cried, doing their best to get inside of the studio even though nobody was there. The lads were in a bad state, and they needed a few moments peace before signing the final papers. Everybody had gone their separate directions for the weekend, but they would have to come together one last time.

"I thought they would last forever," I sighed, "Those lads were built to last."

"Nothing is built to last."

"I thought they'd prove the world wrong once again."

Jane shook her head. She rested her cheek on my shoulder, her frown growing deeper by the second. Both of us, just like the rest of the world, were deeply shaken by this event. The Beatles had become such a icon for all of humanity, them breaking up broke the hearts of everyone on the planet. Even those that didn't like The Beatles paused when they heard the sad news.

"It's not the end though, is it?" Jane glanced up at me, "It's the end of The Beatles, but it isn't the end of the four of them. They're all still mates."

I shrugged, "I dunno, Janie. John seemed pretty pissed at Paul. George and Ringo too."

"They've been angry before."

"Not this angry," I replied, "John's so upset, he broke up the band. I remember when we first started. It was John, Paul, George, Stuart, and me. John used to say, we were going to make it. We'd get to the toppermost of the poppermost and that's where we'd stay."

"You did make it."

"But none of us stayed."

Jane didn't reply. We both watched an old reel of an early Beatles performance play on the telly. I recognized that performance, it was The Royal Variety Show. That was one of the first milestones The Beatles hit.

"What the lads built was more than a band, it was a family," I sighed, "The four of them, and, by extension, the entire world was one, big, happy family. Now, the parents are getting divorced and there's no such thing as joint custody over the entire world."

It was a definite that each lads was going to have their own solo career. All four were too in love with music to give it up that easily. Just because they weren't Beatles anymore didn't mean they couldn't be musicians. I knew for a fact that George had a backlog of songs, perhaps enough to fill up an album or two. John and Yoko had made their own band already and even released a few records. Even Ringo had an idea of a solo album in the works. Only Paul remained attached to the band that no longer existed.

"Mum once told me all good things come to an end, that's why they're the good things," Jane said, "If they lasted forever, then they wouldn't be good things."

I smiled, "Maybe then they'd be great things."

"There is such a thing as too much of a good thing."

"Janie, love, you're as smart as you are cheeky."

Jane chuckled. We both eyed the television as the reporter interviewed hysterical Beatles fans. I wondered how many girls were rushed to the hospital once the news broke. They had all just gone out and bought the new Beatles album only to discover it was the last.

"They're gonna sign the papers on Monday," I sighed, "Linda and Paul both said they want me to come, mostly because someone needs to help keep John and Paul from killing each other."

"You've had experience with that," Jane giggled.

I smirked, "Ah, only about twelve years."

Jane laughed. I glanced at the window, watching as gray clouds slowly crawled across the sky. The story began underneath that very same sky, with the same sun gazing down upon a church fete way back in 1957.

It all began when two best friends met underneath a blue sky and ended with a divorce underneath gray clouds.


	217. The Day The Music Died

Everybody alive at the time remembers where they were the day it became official. I was standing in the middle of a crowded office, papers were scattered everywhere and a thousand voices bounced within the walls. Cameras flashed, voices argued, and four solemn lads scratched their signatures onto every paper put in front of them.

The family was broken. After ten long years, it was over. We had spent most of our lives with each other, I wasn't sure what we would do now that they were separating. It felt worse than a family breaking up. This cut deeper than a knife and was as dull as a spoon. As I watched John, Paul, George, and Ringo sign the papers that officially terminated The Beatles, tears welled up in my eyes.

"I would like to say," George's voice interrupted my conscious, "These are more papers, that I don't know what they say, that I'm signing."

The entire room laughed. I gave a weak chuckle, shaking my head slightly, "Good ole, Georgie."

George met my eye and smiled slightly. They all wanted this. Even Paul wanted this, he told me so whenever he came back from Scotland. Being Beatles had become too much for them to bear, it was finally time. Nothing could have prevented this, nothing could bring it back again.

They all wanted this, but they looked like they wanted to back out. Ringo was completely silent as he signed the papers. He didn't look at anyone or anything except the dotted line. Paul and John both did their best to act like nothing was wrong. They joked around and laughed, though all of us could tell it wasn't real. The tears in the corner of their eyes told the real story. Even George's jokes fell flat, ending with his deep frown.

"Ay, stop it with the bloody cameras, will ya?" John chuckled, "We're tryin' to be serious."

Paul rolled his eyes, "You wouldn't know serious if it bit you in the arse."

Nobody laughed. John side-eyed Paul, but didn't say anything. I stepped up to the table and smiled, doing my best to lighten up the dreary mood.

"You lads ought to be good at signing stuff by now," I chuckled.

John groaned, "All those bloody autographs, we ought to."

"I dunno, I think mine's gotten better," Ringo held up a paper and admired it.

I gazed over his shoulder, "Better than The Queen's, mate."

Ringo grinned. He hunched over once more, set to signing the next papers. A few photos were snapped and would later be publicized as the last time all four Beatles were in the same room as each other. In a way, it was. The four Beatles were never again in the same room as each other. John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr were, they just weren't Beatles. They didn't have to be Beatles to be mates, it would just take awhile for them to learn that.

Paul was the one to sign the last paper. He scratched out his signature and paused. All of us gazed at the paper blankly, not really taking in what was on it but understanding exactly what it meant. Glancing up, Paul offered the room a broken smile, "This is it, laddies."

"The Beatles are through," John smiled.

George and Ringo exchanged glances but said nothing. Linda came up behind Paul and placed her hand on his shoulder comfortingly. Yoko looked like she was ready to comfort John, but he didn't need it. This was exactly what he wanted and he couldn't be happier.

"It's been one hell of an adventure, eh?" I asked, "Started from the bottom and now you're here."

John nodded, "One hell of an adventure indeed."

"I'll remember it," George added.

"Me too, mate," Ringo nodded, "Me too."

Paul smiled, "It's been a pleasure."

"That it has, Macca," John winked.

Paul's smile wavered at his nickname. The four were made to pose for a few final pictures, some of which were taken by Linda. I joined for a few Linda took, but the rest were dedicated to chronicling the last moments of The Beatles.

Really, those photographs were lies. The Beatles died the day John said he wanted a divorce. The Beatles died as soon as they lost the love they once had for each other and the music they made together. Those four signatures only made official what the rest of us already knew to be a reality.

"We made it to the toppermost of the poppermost just like we said we would," John told his mates, "Turns out, it's not all we thought it would be."

Ringo shrugged, "I had fun."

"I think we all did, even if it wasn't so great at the end," Paul added.

"We all had a laugh," George chuckled.

I smiled, "You did a lot more than that, Georgie."

After a few photos, the moment had come. John, Paul, George, Ringo, Yoko, Linda, and I all entered the lift together. We rode down in the cramped compartment, silently savoring the last moments we had together. Deep down, I knew it wouldn't last forever. We all still loved each other, and that was meant to last. We'd see each other again, one day, even if it took decades.

The lift dinged and we all stepped out. I took up the rear, following the lads out of the building. Reporters and fans alike lined the sidewalk. The lads pushed through, with me at their heels, to the curb. As soon as they made it, they stopped, all standing in a line just as they used to.

"Goodbye, lads," Paul smiled.

John grinned, "Goodbye, Macca."

"Bye, mates," Ringo gazed at each of them individually, "It's been a pleasure."

George nodded, "I second that."

They all took one last glance at each other before walking away. Paul and Linda headed off towards Cavendish Avenue, walking arm in arm down the London streets. George headed towards his car while Ringo walked in the opposite direction. John and Yoko crossed the street, heading for their car as well.

I stood on the curb for a moment. The sounds of reporters and fans all faded out of existence. All I saw was John, Paul, George, and Ringo all walking off in different directions. The Beatles all went their own ways, and they wouldn't come together again for a long time.

The Beatles made history. They made the entire world feel a love like no other. They brought together everyone who once were so different and made them see we're all human. The entire world was in a love affair with The Beatles, and now it's all over. That cloudy day in 1970, it was all over. After a decade of love, laughter, music, and friendship, it was finished. The life we once knew flew out the window and the four lads from Liverpool were faced with a world completely different than the one they once knew.

"Lia!" a voice called, "Are you coming or not?"

Paul and Linda were at the end of the street beckoning to me. I shook myself, wiping the few stray tears I didn't know fell. Smiling, I called, "Coming!"

As the family went in different directions, the era came to a close. The entire world wept that day, for the band they loved with all their hearts ceased to exist. The end had come, and we all opened our arms to embrace it.


	218. The Dusk

"Thanks for doing this, Mitch," I said.

Mitch smiled, "Anything for a friend, Amelia."

She leaned back in her production chair with a cup of tea in her hands. It was odd being back in Aubergine Studios after I thought I left it forever. It was especially odd being back alone. I was faced with recording a song, for the first time, on my own.

Yet, this was my decision. I wasn't quite ready to start a solo career, and I wasn't sure if I ever would be. For now, there was one last song I had to get down. A ripped piece of paper hung from my fingertips, just waiting to be smoothed out and played.

"Go on down, the studio's waiting," Mitch glanced out the production window.

I nodded, "Ta."

I stepped into the studio that had been my second home for nearly a decade. All of the lava lamps were shut off and half of the beanbag stack was missing. The guitars were all gone, as was my drum kit. All that remained was a few amps and a piano. It was that piano where I sat and opened my paper.

The red light came on, signalling that Mitch was ready. I took a deep breath. Flexing my fingers, I began to play. Melodic piano music filled the studio, bouncing off of the walls and into my ears. A few tears hung in the corner of my eyes as I started to sing.

"In the beginning, we were nothing."

It all began in Saint Peter's church fete that summer day in 1957. I still remembered the first words John ever said to me. He glanced at me, his eyes sparkling with a mischief I soon learned to love, and said, "Oh, this one's got a lip. I like her already."

That day history was made, and it was only going to get so much better. Had we known what was coming, that day would have stood out even brighter than the rest. To us, it was just another day where we happened to meet a friend at a festival.

"In spite of all the danger, the birds kept on weeping," I sang, "You and I weren't strangers, so long as we kept singing."

I never knew love as deep as the love we had for each other. John, Paul, George, Ringo, Molly, Janice, Linda, and I all loved each other so deeply, it was impossible to measure. Never before and never again have I known a love like that. What we have is special, and it continues to be special even after some of us are long gone.

"We wanted to get above, and it all started in a cavern deeper than love."

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still imagine myself in The Cavern Club. It has long since been torn down and renovated, but I remember the original. I remember the smell of alcohol, sweat, and hormones all mixing together to burn my nose. The laughter we shared still echoes in my mind from time to time, and I can still remember watching John, Paul, and George perform from my perch at the drums. I remembered the day a man as proper a gentlemen as Prince Philip sat next to me and introduced himself as Brian Epstein. With his porcelain doll features and smile that held all the love one man could handle, he took us on the adventure of our lives.

"Your love took us up, our love kept us down. When I Loved You, You Loved Me Do."

We never would have gotten anywhere if it weren't for the love of our fans. Even with the screams and the fear, their love pierced through. It took us to the toppermost of the poppermost, and to places we never thought we could make it. Their love brought us up, but our love kept us down.

We were rooted by our love for each other. If we didn't have each other, we would have gone off the rails, what we went through was enough to send the sanest person to the nuthouse. We protected each other, we loved each other, and we were there for each other no matter what. I'll never forget the nights the lads showed up at my door in trenchcoats and fake beards, or the nights where I showed up at theirs. Because we had each other, we managed to smile through it all.

"An end and a beginning, but the world keeps on spinning."

An end is never truly an end. The Beatles, Revolution, and Storms Over London might have made it to the finish line, but we didn't. We were done being what the world thought we were, and we were ready to be just us. As it happens, that's exactly what we needed.

"You wanted to hold my hand, I wanted to take a stand," I smiled, "We fought the revolution and showed the institution the new evolution."

Together, we changed the world. Four lads and four girls, all doing their own thing, but we were together. All of us rose to the top together, and we took the plunge together. We showed the world something they had never seen before, and we left a lasting impression on every ear we reached and every heart we touched.

"We bugs and bands, you came back to me. I love you, we love you, and that is all."

We love the fans, we love each other, and we love every single thing we did. I love those lads and those girls with all of my heart, and I will continue to love them to my dying day. Every fan meant the world to me, even if I never met them face to face. I still feel their love even when they're all gone.

"We came together and showed the world how to let it be."

The Beatles made history. They changed music for the better and made their mark on the world for generations to come. Many say they were the greatest band in the world, and continue to be long after the infamous divorce. I tend to agree with them.

The Beatles and Revolution were something great. We traveled the world together, we did what we loved together, and we made history together. Those years will always stand out in my mind as the happiest times in my life. Even through the darkest moments, everything was alright, simply because we were all together.

"There's a mystery surrounding, our Liverpool Bop. The Fools In The Trees took a leap instead of a hop."

Deep down, we're still those kids playing in clubs around Liverpool. We're still the kids who loved music more than anything and loved each other even more than that. We created a life together, and that life will always remain in our hearts to our dying day.

"I met you, I loved you, I lost you, but you didn't lose me. I'm still here, but now, I'm free."

Things have changed. In the blink of an eye, we went from ragtag bands playing at odd clubs to being on top of the world. We went from nothing to everything in the fraction of a second and right back to nothing in less that time. It seemed as if the past ten years had all passed in just one minute. Yet, at the same time, it felt like a lifetime.

Through those ten years, we were chained. Whether it be the chains of a Beatle or a Rebel, they were chains nonetheless. Those chains held us down while lifting us up all at the same time. Now, we were free to be exactly who we were.

"This song is about you. I love you, and it's true."

I can't tell you exactly who I'm singing to. I could be singing to the fans, to those who had stuck with us for ten long years, all the way from the beginning to the end. It was them who got us here, and it was them whom we had to leave behind. Perhaps I was trying to tell them, no matter what we did or where we went, they would always hold a special place in our hearts. 

Maybe I was singing to the lads. John, Paul, George, and Ringo meant so much to me, and I wanted them to know. I loved them each like brothers, and I know they loved me like a sister. We were a family, even if they got a divorce, the family still remained. Even when some of us died, I can still feel their love from beyond the veil.

I could also be singing to Molly and Jane. The two of them taught me a lot, especially about love. Before I met them, I thought I wasn't meant to know love, but they showed me the love I knew was different than what I was taught. They loved me through it all and I will love the both of them to my grave and beyond.

"An end and a beginning, that's all there is, but the world keeps spinning."

We kept going even when everything we knew had gone. Our lives had been dedicated to the bands, and each other, since we were teenagers, but now we were faced with a new life. Everything had changed, but life goes on. John, Paul, George, and Ringo all kept living even when the life they built stopped. The world kept turning without The Beatles, but it was never the same.

"The curtain has fallen, it's time to move on. Sweet dreams to you, my friend," I took a deep breath, doing my best to keep my voice steady, "And this, this is the end."

With one final tap of the piano keys, the song faded into silence. The recording light went off and Mitch's voice came over the intercom, "Beautiful, Amelia."

"Ta, Mitch."

I stood, grabbing the paper and folding it in my pocket. Smiling, I took one last look around Aubergine Studios. Somewhere deep down, I knew, once I walked out of those doors I would never be coming back.

Mitch met me at the top of the stairs. Without saying a single word, we embraced. I buried my face in her neck and smiled, "It's been a pleasure, Mitch."

"The pleasure is all mine."

We exchanged one final smile. I grabbed my coat, slinging it around my shoulders and saying, "Guess I better get back to the family. Vera's got a play tonight, she's the third tree from the left."

Mitch laughed, "Sounds like quite the show."

"That it is. Goodbye, Mitch."

"Goodbye, Amelia."

I left the studio. Stepping out into the cool London air, I glanced back at the building. If I concentrated, I could see Molly, Janice, Ellen, Paul, and I all walking in there for the first time. Now, I was walking away for the very last time.

My coat billowed behind me as I walked down the street. With every step I took, I went further from Aubergine Studios. With it, I left behind the life I once knew, walking off into the world filled with new adventures around every corner.

And this, my friends, is the end.


End file.
